Ruthless ??/ Fourth Wing

The wind howled against my face as I stood at the base of the Gauntlet, my pulse roaring in my ears. The cliffs before me rose like an ancient beast, jagged and unforgiving, each ascent a challenge of its own. The air was thick with the scent of damp rock and sweat, and the echoes of cadets who had come before me lingered in the wind, sharp whispers of their failures and triumphs.

I wasn't going to fail. Not today.

Xaden's words from earlier rang in my mind: "This is the real test, Nora. Show them you can handle it. Show them you're worthy of more than just survival."

I glanced at the crowd that had gathered to witness the Gauntlet. They were silent—waiting for me to make my move. I could feel their eyes on me, could almost taste the tension in the air. The weight of their expectations pressed down on me, but I pushed it aside. I didn't have time to care about them.

I had to finish the Gauntlet. And I had to finish it alone.

The First Ascent

The first obstacle loomed before me: the spinning log. The fifteen-foot log lay horizontally, its rough, uneven surface glinting in the morning light as it slowly rotated in a counterclockwise motion, just above the narrow gravel path. I had to catch it at the right moment, or I'd be thrown off the cliff. The first test was all about timing.

I set my feet, watching the log spin. The second it moved into the perfect spot, I sprinted forward.

I leapt, my hands catching the edge of the log just as it swung toward me. The momentum almost threw me off, but I gripped tightly, my muscles straining as I tried to center myself. I could feel the log shifting beneath me, my legs swinging as it turned again, but I managed to hold on, my fingers digging into the coarse surface.

Focus. Breathe.

I braced my feet against the spinning log and, with every ounce of strength, pushed off just as it rotated again, sending me flying toward the rocky ledge ahead. I landed on my feet, panting hard, but I didn't waste a second. I pushed forward.

The Second Ascent

The air was thinner now, the wind biting through the air as I neared the second obstacle: a series of five giant hanging balls, each swaying gently from chains above, the iron rail stretching across them. I swallowed hard. The balls were just wide enough to hold for a split second, but they were too slick to grip properly.

I took a deep breath and glanced up. There was no turning back now.

The first ball swung toward me, and I jumped, reaching out with both hands. My fingers brushed against it, but I couldn't get a solid hold. I had to hug it, my body pressed against the smooth metal as the ball swung backward with the force of my jump. The momentum carried me forward, and I barely managed to launch myself toward the second ball.

My heart hammered in my chest as I swung from ball to ball, each one slipping from my grasp but never letting me fall—never completely letting go. The chains creaked under my weight, and I felt the iron burn into my arms, my shoulders aching with each desperate movement.