{Elarion – Age 10, Post-Bloodgate}
"The Day I Didn't Flinch"
Three days after the final gate closed, the survivors from all three training grounds were finally allowed outside at the same time. The air was heavy—not with grief, but with awareness. Everyone had changed. Or shattered.
I stood by the edge of the courtyard when I saw him.
Herua.
His hair was soaked with sweat. Blood was dried into the fabric of his sleeve. His limp was noticeable. A wound across his back had torn his shirt.
But he stood tall.
Eyes steady. Head unbowed.
Our eyes met briefly—and he smiled.
Just a little. Just enough.
> He made it.
And he hadn't changed.
Not inside.
---
Other kids had broken. You could see it in their faces—the emptiness, the twitching, the blank stares like they hadn't returned from wherever they had been sent.
---
It was late when I saw them again.
The Bloodgate courtyard had thinned. Children who survived were scattered in silence, some eating, some just… sitting. Not many smiled. No one laughed.
I stood by the cracked pillar, watching.
They were both there—Bour and Bon.
Sitting near the barrack wall like stray shadows, heads lowered, backs straight. Not speaking. Not moving much.
Their uniforms were torn. Faces thinner than I remembered. But I recognized them immediately. The sharp eyes. The way one always kept watching the other.
> Twins don't change. Even when the world tries to break them apart.
Herua sat nearby now, crouched by a stone basin, washing the dried blood off his hands. I could tell his back hurt—his shoulders stiffened each time he moved.
But when another boy dropped his cup, Herua picked it up and handed it back without hesitation.
> Still kind.
Still soft, underneath that pain.
Still standing.
Herua didn't see me at first.
But Bour did.
He stood without a sound. Not a smile. Not shock. Just stillness.
> "...Elarion?"
His voice was rough. Too quiet. Like he hadn't used it in days.
Bon looked up sharply. His hand gripped the stone like he might run—but didn't.
They stared at me like I wasn't real.
> "You survived."
"You really—"
"We thought—"
They didn't finish their sentences.
> Too many unfinished sentences in this place.
I walked to them. No rush. No words.
Herua turned when he heard the steps. His face didn't change, but his stance did. Straightened. Focused.
> "You're here," he said, simply.
> "I am."
---
We stood like that for a while. No one moved. No one knew what to say.
So I sat first. By the wall. Cross-legged. Close enough they could feel it—but not too close.
Herua sat next. Then the twins, one on each side.
> Not quite a circle.
Not quite a line.
Something in between.
---
> "We weren't in the same division," Bour finally said. "They told us not to look for you."
> "We didn't," Bon whispered. "We didn't break rules."
There was panic in his voice.
That I might think they'd disobeyed.
That I might leave them.
I didn't speak, but I turned to face him fully. Not glaring. Just… present.
> It was enough.
Bon swallowed and looked down again. Hands trembling faintly.
> "We saved food," he muttered. "In case you came back."
> "He means we stole food," Bour corrected, almost annoyed. "We don't have it anymore, though. The fire—"
> "Doesn't matter," I said.
They both fell silent.
---
---
He smiled faintly.
Then said, "I thought I was going to die. I really did."
I sat beside him. Not too close.
> "But you didn't."
> "I was scared every day," he said, not meeting my gaze. "But I told myself, if I die afraid, I die small. So I stayed scared. But I didn't shrink."
That silence after felt like a strange warmth. A kind I hadn't felt for a long time.
---
The next day, it came.
The confrontation.
Training had ended, and I was wiping blood from my blade when a shadow stepped into my path.
A taller boy. Dark hair. Older. Eyes like knives.
> "You're Elarion."
> "Obviously."
He didn't smile.
> "You don't remember me. But I remember you."
I paused.
> "Name?"
> "Cale. Clen's brother."
I went still.
He stepped closer.
> "He told me about you in his letters. Said he met someone brilliant. Cold, but honest. He admired you. Trusted you."
I said nothing.
> "But he never came back. Not after that night hunt, but you did."
> "You're angry."
> "I want to break your ribs."
> "That's fair."
He blinked.
> "You're not even going to deny it?"
> "No."
He stood there, fists clenched.
> "Why?"
> "Because survival demands decisions. I couldn't do anything, he died because he was killed. Was I supposed to help him."
> "He was just trying to be your friend, you should have helped!"
I stared at him coldly.
> "You don't think I am free enough to go around helping others?I am not obliged, am I? ."
> "You could have tried atleast!"
> "Did you tried?"
Silence.
His fists trembled. But he didn't swing.
> "You killed the only good person in my world," he said, voice low.
> "Then hate me. Just don't pretend I regret it."
He left.
I didn't watch him go.
---
That night, Herua and twins sat beside me in the courtyard again. Same spot. Same quiet.
He said nothing about my stiff shoulders, or the bruise blooming on my arm.
He just handed me a half-crushed piece of bread.
> "Hungry?"
I took it.
Didn't thank him.
But didn't push it away either.
Twins just watched, letting the silence grew.
---