Five fulldays after meeting the black eyed man, Cavaar stalked through a maze towards the round arena at the center. He looked up to see the silver flag he was working his way towards rippling in the moonlight.

“Behind us!” The squad mate on his right hissed. “We should outrun them and get to the flag.” Three opposing students rushed around the corner he and Yarik had just turned. They were probably hoping to catch them off guard. They didn't. 

Cavaar sprung towards the two on the right. 

“What are you doing?” Yarik yelled.

“Take the one on the left!” Cavaar threw successive cuts to keep his opponents at bay, smiling at the way his poison coated saber caught the moon light. He rotated to keep one opponent in front of the other, then threw a hard side cut and smiled at the expected clang of steel on steel. As their blades touched, he rotated his own and lunged forwards. The curve of his saber guided the point around his opponent's sword. The student gave a yelp as he was stabbed in the chest. It wasn't deep enough to be fatal, but it was more than enough for the poison. He looked at Cavaar wide eyed and fell, already starting to twitch into unconsciousness. The student hardly hit the ground before Cavaar was leaping over his body. One swing and the surprised student on the other side was on the ground.

They ran for the flag. Their other squad mates were most likely there already. Given the risk of being taken out in one ambush, the squad had agreed to split up into five groups of two and take different routes through the maze. Cavaar and Yarik had already been delayed by a few fights. Cavaar knew that last one had pushed their luck when the flag was so close, but it had felt so good to win three to two.

They rushed into the flag arena and felt like two soldiers stumbling onto a battlefield filled with corpses. The twitching and unconscious bodies of their squad members were strewn about the flag in a rough circle. One lone teammate was still fighting. She danced around four opponents, her slight figure moving like a phantom. It seemed to Cavaar and Yarik that her assailants' swords were passing through her. One fell and then another, but more soon poured into the yard to take their place, and then the illusion was shattered. She was caught from behind, toppling to the ground.

An eerie silence descended, more students poured into the arena. They all turned to face the two remaining members of squad four. For one protracted moment no one moved. The students eyed Cavaar and Yarik the way wolves eye their prey before pouncing. The two friends stood back to back. The wolves stalked, grinning ear to ear, flashing their white fangs in the lunar light.

“See you on the other side, friend.” Yarik whispered in his ear.

“Dawn must follow night.” Cavaar replied with the mantra of the Blades.

The wolves closed the circle and descended on their prey. Some fell, but the two were soon overwhelmed by the many, and Cavaar sunk into darkness.

He woke again with the rising of the moon. Silver rays shone through window and illuminated motes of dust. Cavaar moved his neck and winced, remembering the blade that had sliced him. Training sabers were not sharp enough to be lethal, but they were sharp enough to be painful. He struggled to a sitting position and watched Yarik do the same on the other side of the room. 

“How do you feel, friend?” Cavaar asked.

Yarik glared at him. “How do you think?”

Cavaar smiled and pulled on his boots. Batrachus poison had a way of seeping through the body. He stood up too fast and regretted it, swaying on his feet. His stomach threatened to empty itself.

“How do you feel?” Yarik said.

Cavaar recovered and smiled weakly. “Same as you, friend.”

They crossed the yard under the moonlight, cutting paths through the dew, collecting the dampness on their boots. Students filed into the meal hall and formed a groggy line for bread and water. Yarik and Cavaar joined their squad-mates at the table and started choking down their food. 

“Hey,” a large boy named Hob said. “Why'd you two take so long to get to the flag?”

Cavaar looked up and glanced at Yarik. “We ran into some fights.”

“Yeah? So did we,” Hob slapped his bunk mate on the back. “And we made it there way before you.” He jerked his flabby head around at the other squad members and gathered their attention. “We all did.”

Cavaar ignored him.

“Hey! You hear me? We could've won the evaluation if it wasn't for you.”

Cavaar laughed. “Really Hob? How many kills did you get huh? Because I got five. If you were better at fighting you might have survived long enough for me to get to the flag.” Yarik stirred next to him on the bench, but Cavaar continued. “If you're looking for someone to blame, don't look at me. I'm the best fighter in the squad.” Hob bristled. The squad members shook their heads. “What? Its true. I'm not afraid of saying it.”

“I got seven.” Maria spoke up from the end of the table. She finished off the last bite of her bread and flipped her porcelain hair. “All of them after I got to the flag… None of that really matters though.” The bell rang for training to start. Maria started walking and called over her shoulder, “we still lost.”