GAUNTLET

I slump against the wooden locker. “Well, that could have been infinitely better,” I grumble to myself as I drag the sweat-drenched athletic tunic over my head.

Sure, somehow I managed to score a strike on the castle during the first round of Chtypáo tryouts and earn myself an invite to this round. However, this second round is… Ugh, brutal.

For starters, they stuck me as the Castle Keeper. A position I have never played before. Then, they had their two Vanguard Knights—Captain Kolby Fenwick, and 7th Year Rian McAvoy—sling strikes at me until I nearly lost all feeling in my fingers. And then, when I thought things might take a turn for the better, they moved me to Tower Guard and brought Astaroth onto the pitch to utterly destroy me. 

“Seriously, why did it have to be him of all people?” I groan dejectedly as I smoosh my face against the dark-stained wood of the locker.

As I wallow in my own poor performance, a loud commotion echoes through the locker room, bringing with it the telltale whispers of gossiping mages. 

I roll my head to the side and catch a glimpse of my dormmate stomping toward me down the row of lockers. 

Speak of the dragon…

But just as he’s about to pass by, Astaroth snaps, practically throwing his Chtypáo helm onto the wooden bench beside me. 

I just stare at him. What have you got to be so pissed about, huh? You’ve already guaranteed your spot on the team. Not like the rest of us. You didn’t have to go out there and make us look like a bunch of fools, you jackass.

As I sit there silently stewing, Astaroth yanks his overly large tunic up and over his head. 

My breath catches in my throat. Not only does my dormmate have a physique that should be a fucking crime. He has inkwork scrolled across a substantial portion of his torso.

I just gape at him. What in the Dark Abyss…?

And it’s not just any inkwork either. It’s an intricate magikal array in a dark vermilion hue, the color of a wax seal. Which—now that I’m thinking about it—I’ve never noticed until now, despite us being dormmates, because he always seems to be dressed by the time I get out of bed in the morning.

“Is that how you did it?” someone demands, startling me out of openly gawking at my half-naked dormmate.

My gaze darts toward the voice, and I realize it’s  Roland Smoot, Reginald’s older brother. One of the three reserve members of the Hippogryphs carried over from last year. Though why he wasn’t just added to the core team, I don’t know.

“Is what how I did it?” Astaroth asks coldly.

As he turns to look at Roland Smoot, I discover his inkwork runs the entirety of his spine and along his ribs too.

“Those,” Smoot says, jerking his chin toward to inkwork. “You enhanced yourself with magik.”

My dormmate’s whole body goes rigid, and I swear for an instant the inkwork flashes a brighter hue.

“Because no one’s that—”

Astaroth slams his fist into the wooden locker. “Why don’t you just admit what this is really about, Smoot.”

“And what’s that?” Roland scoffs, straightening up to his full towering height merely to look down his nose at Astaroth. 

“That you don’t want someone like me on your team.”

The 9th Year folds his arms across his broad chest. “Well, are you really surprised? I do know what you did.”

Astaroth flinches.

What he…did? My gaze darts between the two of them. Does Smoot know what got him kicked out of Astar Academy?

Roland sneers. “Someone like you doesn’t belong here.”

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“Gauntlet” ExSpelled © 2025 by Kat Vancil

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