THE SELECTION II

The whole class had gone quiet, and Godori could feel every eye in the room settle on his back.
He had been standing at the front of the training hall for barely a minute. He'd spent most of it trying not to fidget, while Marco Rubino's class 4 seniors leaned against the far wall and sneered at the newcomers. Their blue-flamed tutor had already dismissed half the room with a flick of his fingers. Amana had been chosen by a tall, smiling boy who'd whispered something that made her frown. Zeika had been looked over, then passed.
And Godori had been ignored.
He had been ignored in the village too. He had got used to it. He'd just stood there, shoulders back, and waited for the next thing to go wrong.
Then the door at the back of the hall had opened, and a girl had walked in.
She was tall, slim and straight-backed, in the grey uniform of the class 3 seniors. Her dark hair was pinned back with a simple silver clip, and her face was calm and composed. She didn't hurry. She didn't look at anybody. She walked down the centre of the hall as if the room had been built for her to cross.
The seniors straightened instantly.
Even Marco stopped mid-sentence, and his blue flames flickered and dimmed.
"Irel," someone breathed.
"The stone queen," whispered somebody else, and a nervous shiver ran through the class 5 trainees.
Godori watched her come. He didn't understand why the whole room had gone so still. But when she stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of frost on her cloak, and her cool grey eyes met his, something in his chest jumped.
She tilted her head very slightly.
"You didn't have any trouble holding up until I arrived, right?" said Irel.
Her voice was calm. There was a small, dry smile at the corner of her mouth, quick and gone again.
Godori blinked. "Um. I'm sorry?"
"You heard me." She looked him up and down, slowly, the way someone might look at a horse at market. "You've been standing there like a post, and the others have been treating you like dirt. I thought you might need someone to tell you to hold your head up."
"I'm holding it up."
"Yes." Her smile deepened, very slightly. "I can see that."
---
"Hold on," said Marco.
He had come off the wall with his blue flames flaring up round his fists, and his face was tight and furious. He was a tender-looking boy, with soft brown hair and an average build, but there was something in his posture that made the whole class lean away from him.
"A class 3 can't choose a class 5 trainee," said Marco. "That's not how it works."
"I know how it works," said Irel.
"Then you know it's against the rules."
"I know the rules, Rubino. I haven't chosen anyone from class 4 since they joined." Irel's voice did not rise. "So I'm not taking anyone from your class. I'm taking him."
"Why?" Marco's voice cracked on the word. "Why *him?* He's a class 5 nobody. He won his fight by luck. Everyone knows that."
"Does everyone?" said Irel quietly.
Marco's face went red.
Godori saw it then, under the anger, the thing that Marco couldn't quite hide. It was jealousy. Raw and sharp, like a wound that had been opened and left bleeding. The boy had worked himself to the top of class 4 just to be noticed, and the girl he wanted had walked into the hall and picked a stranger in the grey cloak of the lowest class.
"I've been top of my class for a year," said Marco, very softly. "I've been trying to get your attention for a year."
"I know," said Irel, not unkindly. "I've seen you trying."
She turned away from him, and her gaze returned to Godori.
"There's a lot of potential in you," she said, quite simply. "I don't need to explain it to them. I'm not going to ignore it because the seniors are scared of a boy who doesn't know when to stop." Her eyes flicked, very briefly, toward the far wall. "Follow me."
"Hold on," said Marco again, and this time his voice was dangerous. "He's still a class 5. You don't have the authority to pull him out of the line. The tudo should decide."
"Good," said a deep, lazy voice from the door. "Then I'll decide."
---
Ragna Flamesworth leaned against the frame of the training hall doorway with his arms folded and his mask pulled up to the bridge of his nose. His eyes were half-closed, as if he'd only just woken up and wasn't sure he wanted to be awake.
"Tudo," said Marco, in a strangled voice.
"Rubino." Ragna yawned. "Stop shouting. You're making my head hurt."
"He can't take a class 5 trainee."
"She can if she wants to," said Ragna. "But she'll have to get past me first." He pushed himself off the frame, and his mouth quirked. "Or the class 4 tudo, I suppose. Where is he?"
The class 4 tudo came forward from the back of the room, a stocky, serious man with a shaved head and a long scar down one cheek. He glanced at Ragna, then at Irel, then at Godori, and his expression didn't change at all.
"There's a rule," he said. "An old one. Most people in this school have never heard of it, and the few who have forgotten it. When two trainees fight over a junior, and both sides have a claim to him, the tudo settle it. A duel of recognition." He looked at Godori. "The winner chooses the mentor. The loser gives up the claim, and the junior is free to go wherever the winner says."
"That's ridiculous," said Marco.
"It's the rule, Rubino," said Ragna lazily. "Nobody's read it in fifty years, but the rule's still the rule."
"Then I want the duel," said Marco, very quickly. "Right now. I'll pick my representative."
"Fine." The class 4 tudo nodded. "Pick him."
Marco swung round, and his eyes raked the room. Then he looked back at Godori, and his mouth curled into something sour and triumphant.
"Your duel," he said. "Against one of mine. Unless you'd rather admit you're a fraud and walk out of here."
Every head in the room turned toward Godori.
Godori felt the old cold anger rise in his chest, hot and sharp. He had been called a nobody in the village. He had been called a waste of space by people who had never once bothered to look at him. He had stood in the dirt and taken it, and then he had gone home and trained until his hands bled.
He wasn't going to walk out now.
"Okay," said Godori.
Ragna's eyebrows lifted. His eyes flicked to Godori's face, and something in his expression changed, very slightly, like a man who has just noticed a pebble in his boot that is more interesting than it looks.
"You sure about that, kid?" said Ragna.
"Yes," said Godori.
A ripple of laughter ran through the class 4 seniors. It was quick and cruel, and a few of them shook their heads openly.
"Bullshit," muttered someone near the back, and several of Godori's own classmates nodded in agreement.
"He's going to get crushed," whispered somebody else.
"He won't last a minute."
Godori didn't look at any of them.
He looked at Irel.
She was watching him steadily, her arms folded and her face calm. But there was a faint, bright glint in her grey eyes, something that looked almost like approval.
*A chance,* Godori thought. *They've been laughing at me for weeks. They've been ignoring me while I trained in the empty corners. Now I get to show them how far I've come.*
He straightened his shoulders.
"Okay," he said again, a little louder.
---
The class 4 seniors had already picked their champion.
He stepped forward from the group near the wall, grinning, with his shoulders thrown back and his hands loose at his sides. He was tall and heavyset, with a thick neck and small, bright eyes, and his tunic had been pulled open at the collar to show off the muscles of his chest.
[ **Kataugi Hatmangh** | Class 4 | Affinity: **Fire** | Age 17 ]
"Oi, luck boy," he said, cheerfully. "I'm Kataugi. Kat for short, if you want to be friends, though I doubt you'll be alive long enough for it."
"Nice to meet you," said Godori.
Kataugi's grin widened. "Polite, too. How sweet." He cracked his knuckles, and a faint orange glow flickered round them. "Marco says you're a fraud. I told him I'd prove it for him. Shall we do it in the arena, or right here where everyone can watch me take the luck out of you?"
"The arena," said Ragna, from the doorway, before Godori could answer. "I'm not having my hall covered in blood before lunch."
"Fine," said Kataugi, still grinning. "I'll see you there, luck boy."
He strolled out of the hall, shoulders rolling, and the whole class 4 group followed him in a swaggering, laughing crowd.
---
Amana caught Godori's arm as the room began to empty.
Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide with worry. She had been standing beside Zeika all through the argument, her hands clasped tight together.
"Godori," she said softly. "Are you really sure about this?"
"Yeah."
"He's a fire user. He's *huge.* And he's been training for years."
"I know."
"Then why..."
"Because they're waiting for me to back down," said Godori, and smiled at her. It was a bright, reassuring smile, the kind he'd practised in the mirror for years. "And I'm not going to."
Amana looked at him for a long moment, and then, very slowly, she let go of his sleeve.
Zeika had been watching from the other side of the room, her arms folded and her mouth set in a hard, tight line. Now she stalked across the floor and stopped in front of him, close enough that he could see the faint, sparking lightning beginning to crawl across her knuckles.
"You talk big," she said, low and fast, "but you do know this isn't going to be easy, right?"
"I know that."
"Do you?" Her eyes were fierce, almost cruel. "Kataugi's been in the arena for three years. He's broken three people's arms. He doesn't stop until somebody yields. And you're a *class 5 nobody* who got lucky once." Her voice dropped, and for a moment, something flickered in her face, something raw and unguarded. "So don't get yourself killed, idiot. Because I'm not going to be the one who has to watch it."
She turned on her heel before he could answer, and stalked off toward the door, her lightning snapping furiously at her fingertips.
Godori stared after her, a faint, puzzled smile on his face.
"Don't worry," he called, to her back.
Zeika didn't turn round. But her shoulders stiffened, and she made a short, furious sound that might have been a laugh.
---
Irel had not moved from the end of the hall.
She was leaning against the wall beside the door, her arms folded and her face calm, watching him with those steady grey eyes. When Godori walked over to her, she didn't speak at first.
"You're nervous," she said at last.
"I'm not nervous."
"You're *shaking.*"
He looked down. His hands were trembling at his sides, very faintly. He clenched them, and the shaking stopped.
"Okay," said Godori. "A little."
"Good." Irel pushed herself off the wall. "Then listen to me. Everything I taught you this week, you use now. The kai flow. The reading. The parries. Don't think about it. Let it come."
"You taught me to read moves," said Godori. "Like counting the rhythm before a strike."
"Yes. And wrap your kai round your arm when you block, so the blow doesn't land clean." She stepped closer, and her voice dropped. "You've been practising for days. Your body knows what to do. Just let it."
Godori breathed in, slowly.
He thought of the nights in the empty training ground, the bruises on his shoulders, and the sound of Irel's voice correcting every movement he made. He thought of the kai ball, glowing faintly in his palm, and the way she had smiled when he hit the board.
"Thanks, Irel," he said quietly.
Something flickered in her face, very quickly. Then it was gone, and her expression was calm again.
"Don't thank me," said Irel. "Win."
She turned and walked toward the door, her cloak swinging behind her, and did not look back.
Godori stood in the empty hall for a long moment.
Then he lifted his chin, and followed the others out toward the arena.