Page 16 of Dance of the Phoenix
“In the Hecatomb, you’ll participate in a two-on-two fight,” Ragnor replied patiently. “The pairs consist of a Common and a Gifted. After the first week, which will be closely supervised by Magnus and myself, we will decide who to pair with whom.”
Lowering her hand, Zoey’s face turned contemplative as she mulled it over.
“Don’t mind it for now,” Ragnor said. “All you need to do is focus on bettering yourself as much as possible until the Hecatomb.”
The meeting was adjourned soon after, and the training finally began.
The training room assigned to the Common Hecatomb participants was large and wide, reminding me of a martial arts training room. Mattresses covered the floor, two rings suspended from the ceiling and ladders scaling one wall.
The other four Commons and I were currently standing in a resting stance while a man called George, who looked like an actual tank—all muscle, no fat—moved slowly among us, silently sizing each of us up with dark, cryptic eyes.
I kept a blank expression on, impassively staring ahead every time he scanned me up and down. I didn’t know what he was trying to achieve—it wasn’t like he could tell much about our abilities with a simple deep stare—but whatever it was, all I could do was wait until he was done.
And minutes later he stopped in his tracks and clapped his hands together once so loudly, the sound echoed in the room. My eyes automatically snapped toward him.
“Give me jumping jacks,” he said, folding his veiny tree-trunk arms.
There was a short moment of shock before all five of us started jumping. Thank God I had put on a tight bra that held my boobs in place; otherwise they would’ve been all over the place.
For the first few minutes, no one uttered a word. Everyone was simply doing what George had told us to, no questions asked. However, at some point, the sound of short breaths filled the air. It didn’t come from Yelene, Sulien, or CJ, who seemed no worse for wear, what with their highly developed stamina. Rather it came from Zoey, who didn’t seem like she was built for such a long, monotonous exercise. I, too, was suffering, but I’d learned how to breathe while doing such exercise, so my only problem was the sweat pooling on my skin.
When George raised his hand for us to stop, all of us stilled our movements and returned to a resting stance. His eyes then moved to Zoey, and he pointed at her and said, “Start doing laps around the room and don’t stop until I tell you to.”
Zoey’s face was already flushed from the initial workout, but it seemed to redden even more at being singled out. But she didn’t say anything and instead stoically nodded and did as ordered.
George returned his gaze to the four of us who remained standing before he said, “Get down to push-ups.”
The four of us settled into position and began. And this time, I felt myself starting to fight for breaths while sweat dripped into my eyes. Biting my lip, I forced myself through every push-up, ignoring the uncontrollable shaking of my arms and the groaning muscles in the backs of my legs.
“Stop.”
I climbed to my feet and found George’s eyes on me. “Start doing laps.”
Barely breathing, all I could do was nod just like Zoey did before I joined her.
This was how the first hour of training passed. As Zoey and I ran our laps, exhausted and sweaty, the other three did the exercises George ordered them to. It wasn’t until the beginning of the second hour that he suddenly said, “Everyone, stop.”
Zoey practically fell down on all fours, spitting as she fought to breathe. I sat down with my back to the wall, wishing the air conditioner was stronger.
George approached and looked down at us with disapproval. “You two. Take a fifteen-minute break before starting laps again.”
This did not land well with Zoey. “Excuse me?” she said, perplexed.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “You heard me.”
She seemed furious. “I can hardly move my legs, and you expect me to run laps again?!”
He crouched before her, his expression suddenly dead serious. “You chose to offer yourself as a participant,” he told her in a silky tone with an underlying edge. “You could’ve avoided it, pretended this has nothing to do with you, and gone on with your life. But you’re here now”—his face darkened—“and I’m going to make sure to doeverything I can so you will survive what’s to come. The question is, will you?”
Zoey visibly gritted her teeth as she glowered at him, and, to my surprise, her eyes glowed a soft gold. “Yes.”
“Then do what I say and be back here in ten minutes.”
I cleared my throat, and both Zoey and George turned to me. “I thought you said we had fifteen,” I told him with a shrug.
He gave me a humorless smile. “You will have even less if you continue to waste my time.”
Zoey and I were immediately on our feet, running out of the room as if our sore muscles were figments of our imaginations.
