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[indent][indent][color=#808080]Maylisse did not bother pretending to be surprised that he was late by his own standards. It was a calculated choice on his part, really.[/color]

[color=#808080]He could have started at 8:30 on the dot, and she knew this because she knew their father; punctuality with a side of intimidation was exactly how Poseidon preferred an entrance to be made. So when River hesitated, allowing a full sixty seconds to slip past the deadline as if granting a reprieve to a classroom of children, she recognized it for what it truly was: a quiet rebellion, and in her eyes, a fundamental error in judgment.[/color]

[color=#808080]She occupied a seat on the lower bench, the morning sun already heating the bench beneath her. Her posture was a study in composed elegance, legs folded at the ankles and hands resting lightly one over the other. While her position offered a comprehensive view of the entire training ground, including the rugged obstacle course and the sun-baked earth of the arena, her focus remained exclusively on one person. Him. Her brother.[/color]

[color=#808080]He finally emerged into the center of the open space, clutching a clipboard like a lifeline he hoped no one would notice he needed. The sharp, repetitive [/color][i][color=#808080]clack, clack, clack[/color][/i][color=#808080] of his fingers drumming against its back made the fine muscles along her jawline tighten.[/color]

[color=#808080]He was nervous. [/color]

[color=#808080]The realization was a cold stone in her gut. Amid all the personas he could have adopted—commanding, self-assured, even casually indifferent—he had instead revealed the most disqualifying one of all. This was not the moment for self-doubt, however, not with the entire camp's attention fixed upon him, and most certainly not with the spectral pressure of their father's judgment potentially looming over the day's proceedings.

No matter.... The show must go on.[/color]

[color=#86a8ad]“Good morning, everyone,” [/color][color=#808080]he began, his voice carrying across the hushed space.[/color][color=#86a8ad] “If it wasn't already obvious, I am River, your new leader… And son of Poseidon, if that matters.”[/color]

[color=#a9c9eb][i]If that matters? What in the bloody hell does that mean?[/i][/color][color=#808080] Maylisse thought, her lips parting in the barest ghost of an exhale. That single clause lodged beneath her skin like a splinter. It was as though his parentage were incidental to him. [/color]

[color=#808080]As River began to pace the length of the stands, her gaze tracked him with the detached interest of someone assessing a piece of disputed property. His movements were controlled, his shoulders squared, but she saw the tension riding his frame like an undercurrent.[/color]

[color=#86a8ad]“Per my father’s orders, I’m here to help get camp back on track….” [/color][color=#808080]The official wording was a diplomatic shield, Maylisse was sure. The unsentimental truth from the God of the Seas was undoubtedly more severe:  [/color][color=#808080][i]Your incompetence has become tedious. [/i][/color][color=#808080]As for the second part of his statement, Maylisse hadn’t known the dead brother, not properly, but she knew enough to conclude that he was nothing more than a cautionary tale for them both.[/color]

[color=#808080]River continued to speak, and Maylisse absorbed his words in long, unbroken lines, the way one listens to the tide. Some moments hit harder than others, like the way he credited the girl, Andy, for rebuilding in a way that both surprised her but also didn’t. He was clearly trying to lead with humanity instead of force. With transparency instead of pressure. With a tone that asked to be heard instead of demanding it from the subordinates listening in. [/color]

[color=#808080]She also knew very well that Poseidon would have hated it.[/color]

[color=#808080]Maylisse, however,  had not yet decided how to feel herself. Not truly. [/color]

[color=#808080]In their father’s doctrine, empathy was a critical weakness, a design flaw to be engineered out of any potential ruler. Maylisse’s own beliefs were not so rigidly defined, yet the stark contrast between that divine philosophy and River’s gentle approach sent a crawling unease through her. From her upbringing, she knew that true authority and genuine warmth were incompatible forces; the former would always, inevitably, snuff out the latter. So, River’s endeavour seemed less a leadership style and more a futile attempt to calm a tempest by reasoning with it. And she knew very well that there was no reasoning with her father.[/color]

[color=#808080]She watched River cross the arena alone, his downturned head a posture she knew intimately. The defensive hunch of his shoulders, the cyclical grip on the clipboard—clenching, relaxing, then clenching again—were silent admissions of a strain she understood all too well. Her own posture did not relent, but the quality of her observation altered. It wasn't sympathy, an emotion she considered worthless. It was something closer to… a profound and unsettling acknowledgment. She saw the weight of the title he now bore. She felt the shared inheritance of their bloodline. She recognized the constant, unseen force guiding their steps, a pressure that had dictated the course of both their lives.[/color]

[color=#808080]He was here to establish his worth.
She was here to decide if he had any.
And in the deep quiet where her connection to the sea thrived, a cold truth resurfaced and drew breath:[/color]

[color=#a9c9eb][i]If he fails, Poseidon will blame us both.[/i][/color]
[i][color=#a9c9eb]If he triumphs, Poseidon will credit no one.[/color][/i]
[color=#a9c9eb][i]Either way… I cannot look away.[/i][/color]

[color=#808080]So she didn’t. Maylisse did not even blink as River stripped off his shirt.[/color]

[color=#808080]A ripple of reaction went through the other spectators, a mix of open stares, muffled laughter, and the eager leaning forward of an audience anticipating a free show. Maylisse, by comparison, didn’t even flinch. Having been raised among both the refined elite of London and relentlessly driven athletes, a bare torso was as noteworthy as a piece of furniture to her. [/color]

[color=#808080]From the instant his feet met the first obstacle, her mind became a ledger of his every move. His knees drove high, his placement on the tires was secure, his rhythm consistent. The polished nature of his form was an irritant that felt peculiarly directed at her. She was hunting for flaws—for a misstep, a moment of doubt, any crack in his composure that would confirm the heavy suspicion she carried: that their father’s judgment had been flawed. That this sibling was unworthy of the role, let alone the divine legacy it symbolized.[/color]

[color=#808080]But River kept clearing the hurdles.  Even the half-mount on the fourth log for the subsequent obstacle was correct.  He nearly clipped on the third, though.[/color]

[color=#808080]Maylisse’s lip twitched. [/color][i][color=#a9c9eb]There it is.[/color][/i]

[color=#808080]But he recovered. Every damn time, he recovered.[/color]

[color=#808080]By the time River retrieved his abandoned shirt and made the walk back toward Andy, dripping and breathless, Maylisse realized she had not looked away once. She watched him wipe his brow with the shirt, watched the way his chest rose and fell, watched how he didn’t smirk, didn’t look for cheers or validation, and just nodded at Andy like a man who had simply done what needed doing. She exhaled slowly, controlling her diaphragm until not a single tremor touched her posture.[/color]

[color=#808080]He had performed admirably.[/color]
[color=#808080]Exceptionally so.[/color]

[color=#808080]And a part of her felt a needle-like resentment at the fact.[/color]

[color=#86a8ad]"You have 15 minutes to complete the course—" [/color][color=#808080]River paused, drawing a deep lungful of air in an obvious attempt to steady his breathing and find his voice. [/color][color=#86a8ad]"—Because this is an assessment, there will be no skipping obstacles, no cheating, no powers, and no helping each other. Break any of the rules, and it is an automatic failure." [/color][color=#808080]Her eyes followed as he scanned his notes a final time before giving a decisive nod. [/color][color=#86a8ad]"Alright then. You’ll run the course in groups of five.” [/color][color=#808080]Then he called the first names:[/color]

[color=#86a8ad]“First up is Sloane, Sylas, Nate—”[/color]

[color=#808080]The first three names washed over her, meaningless background static. But then—[/color]

[color=#86a8ad]“Maylisse—”[/color]

[color=#808080]A heavy thump echoed against her ribcage, a jarring and involuntary spike of adrenaline that felt like a betrayal by her own body. She crushed the sensation instantly, smothering it beneath a lifetime of imposed discipline—a reflex honed by years of exacting tutors and demanding instructors who valued ironclad self-mastery above all else.[/color]

[color=#808080]In one seamless motion, Maylisse rose to her feet. She placed the coat she had been holding onto the bench and stepped neatly out of the row. Her progression toward the starting line was a study in unruffled grace, and once there, she squared her shoulders, bypassing any warm-up stretches as such preparations were for those who doubted their own capabilities. Instead, she took one steadying breath and let her eyes trace the path to the course’s finish.[/color]

[color=#808080]Fifteen minutes. Ten obstacles. No powers. No help. No failure.[/color]

[color=#808080]River raised his hand and brought it down, signalling them to start. [/color]

[color=#808080]Maylisse propelled herself into motion, not with a burst of raw power like Andy or the aggressive drive of Stilts the Sod, but with the ingrained efficiency of one whose every gesture had been refined by critical eyes. Her footfalls landed in the center of each tire with a metronomic precision, and there was no hesitation in her pace. Yet, despite her control, she couldn't match the innate, spring-loaded grace of the other woman, who flowed through the sequence as if by second nature.[/color]

[color=#808080]Her stature provided a distinct advantage on the log hurdles, offering a cleaner line than Andy's more compact frame could manage. She cleared the first two barriers with an almost disdainful ease. However, by the third obstacle, a subtle deficiency in her conditioning became apparent. Though she mimicked River's technique—palms planting, legs swinging up—the movement cost her a fraction of a second. The heavy[/color][i][color=#808080] thud [/color][/i][color=#808080]of Stilts landing on the next log ahead of her sent a jolt of irritation through her system. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself forward, springing across the fourth and fifth logs as if they were mere stepping stones, but Andy remained several strides in the lead.[/color]

[color=#808080]Any expectation that the low crawl would shift the dynamic was quickly dismissed. The instant her skin made contact with the coarse, abrasive sand, a wave of visceral distaste washed over Maylisse. Her upbringing had been a dual curriculum: the polished arts of poise and elegance from London, and the terrifying disciplines of power and dominion from her father. Nowhere in either syllabus was there a module on scrambling on all fours through what might as well be filth. Yet, she committed her body to the task without reservation, overriding her revulsion with sheer force of will. She drove herself forward, her elbows digging and pulling through the loose earth. Her movements were rigid compared to the natural flow of her competitors, but the force of her intent was undeniable. The utter lack of dignity was a petty concern at this point. She would be witnessed giving a flawless effort, even in something so debasing.[/color]

[color=#808080]It was then that a more analytical part of her consciousness stirred from its slumber: the dispassionate tactician.[/color]

[color=#808080]She glanced ahead, eyes narrowing on the two figures currently carving a lead.[/color]

[color=#808080]Andy, hugging the ground, moved with an instinctual efficiency that spoke of a lifetime of drills. Stilts, all lanky limbs and competitive fury, relied on raw power, his passage gouging a deep furrow in the sand.[/color]

[color=#808080]A faint, scornful curve appeared on Maylisse’s mouth.[/color]

[color=#a9c9eb][i]Of course, they’re ahead. The bloke’s an offensively tall walking ladder, and the bird looks like she practically grew up in a boot camp instead of a home.[/i][/color]

[color=#808080]As for the two behind her, she spared not a single thought. Why would she? They weren’t threats. They weren’t even variables. They were filler, mere background bodies meant to fail quietly while she took her rightful place near the top where she naturally belonged. Even if, for the moment, that position was just behind the leaders she so despised.[/color]

[color=#808080]Maylisse pushed herself upright, the coarse grit falling from her palms in a taunting shower. The crawl had stolen more precious time than she had allotted for, and a hot frustration began to burn behind her sternum. Andy was already at the rope, her hands finding their hold, while Stilts was right beside her, his height an unfair advantage and his expression radiating a smug, obstinate confidence.[/color]

[color=#808080]When Maylisse’s fingers finally closed around the rough, heavy cord, a bolt of undiluted fury electrified her blood. She seized the rope with more force than finesse, her hands clamping down in a grip meant to punish the fibres for daring to carry someone else upward before her. It was a mistake. She knew that instantly. Momentum requires rhythm. Climbing requires technique. But in that moment, she was not operating on logic; she was reacting from a place of wounded arrogance. She jumped, her muscles tightening as she secured the rope between her feet in a clumsy imitation of River’s earlier demonstration. She possessed the intellect to replicate the motions, but she could not summon the essential calm. The discipline was absent. The patience, nonexistent.[/color]

[color=#808080]Her climb was therefore a burst of raw power, but it was messy and exhausting.[/color]

[color=#808080]Her shoulders burned too soon. Her hands slipped twice (not enough to cost her the climb but enough to make her clench her jaw). When she finally reached the top, she descended with a jarring impact, her shoes meeting the packed earth with a force that travelled unpleasantly up her legs. She swallowed the sensation, along with a chaser of pure chagrin.[/color]

[color=#808080]Andy had already moved on, Stilts a handful of steps ahead.[/color]

[color=#808080]Maylisse threw herself forward in pursuit.[/color]

[color=#808080]The rope-net bridge offered her a momentary reprieve. Balance came naturally to her with her sleek, controlled movements that mirrored how she walked polished marble floors without ever allowing her mother to hear her footsteps. She crossed swiftly, lightly, as though the ground beneath her was solid stone and not shifting rope-knots that wanted to tangle her ankles. She even gained a sliver of ground when Stilts, the overgrown git, stumbled at the exit platform, his big frame too unwieldy for the delicate transition.[/color]

[color=#808080]This minor victory, however, was instantly erased.[/color]

[color=#808080]The rope swing awaited, and Andy hit hers seamlessly, catching the rope at just the right moment of sway and launching off with a momentum born of experience.[/color]

[color=#808080]Maylisse, by contrast, seized her rope as if it were a rival. Her launch was powerful but poorly angled, resulting in an awkward, stumbling landing that forced her to wrench her body back into alignment. By the time she had recovered, Andy was already advancing toward the balance beams, Stilts closing in behind her.[/color]

[color=#808080]At that point, Andy had already reached the balance beams. Maylisse jogged after her, breath steady but pulsing with anger. The beams rose before her like three thin insults. She approached the incline without hesitation, her arms spreading lightly at her sides, posture elegant even now. The beams required control. She had that.[/color]

[color=#808080]But what she didn’t have was patience.[/color]

[color=#808080]She stepped too quickly onto the final downward beam, her foot slipping for a fraction of a second. She corrected immediately, her body snapping back into equilibrium, but she [/color][color=#808080][i]felt[/i][/color][color=#808080] it. She felt the vulnerability of the moment.[/color]

[color=#a9c9eb][i]Focus,[/i][/color][color=#808080] she snapped internally. [/color][color=#a9c9eb][i]You’re way better than this.[/i][/color]

[color=#808080]And then she reached salvation.[/color]

[color=#808080]The pool.[/color]

[color=#808080]The moment Maylisse’s feet left the ground and her body sliced into the water, everything changed. The world above her, full of noise, expectation, and the irritating scrape of competition, fell away in a clean, blue silence. The pain in her arms dissolved into nothing. The burn in her legs didn’t vanish, but it transformed into something more soothing. Her lungs, tight with exertion and pride, eased open like a tide withdrawing from the shore.[/color]

[color=#808080]Here, in the embrace of the water, the titles that chained her above held no power.
She was no longer a daughter of the Beaumont name.
She was not a demigod performing for a god's approval.
The exhausting mask of perfection could finally be discarded.[/color]

[color=#808080]Here, every movement was inherently just…right.[/color]

[color=#808080]The water did not simply surround her; it recognized her. It moved with her, a familiar force coaxing her limbs into powerful, fluid arcs and streamlining her body into a purposeful line. She moved not through the water but with it, her form elongating into a seamless and effortless glide.[/color]

[color=#808080]For the first time that day, a genuine and untouchable power coursed through her. The others could possess their land-bound strength and practiced skill. But this domain, this buoyant world, was[/color][i][color=#808080] her[/color][/i][color=#808080] exclusive sanctuary.[/color]

[color=#808080]Maylisse emerged from the pool in one powerful motion. Her hands found the ledge, and she lifted herself from the water with an ease that had been absent on land. Liquid streamed from her in silvery sheets, as if the pool itself were reluctant to let her go. But the moment her soles met the packed earth, the spell was broken. The din of the camp and the weight of the contest came crashing back.[/color]

[color=#808080]But with it came a crystalline [/color][i][color=#808080]clarity[/color][/i][color=#808080].[/color]

[color=#808080]Winning this race was insignificant.[/color]
[color=#808080]Her final position was irrelevant.[/color]
[color=#808080]Even the ever-present, critical voice of her father in her mind, which always demanded absolute supremacy, seemed to fade into a faint echo, dampened by the memory of the water that still beaded on her skin.[/color]

[color=#a9c9eb][i]You are not here to win.[/i][/color]
[i][color=#a9c9eb]You are here to observe.[/color][/i]

[color=#808080]The thought slid in with the same calmness the water had gifted her.[/color]
[color=#808080]River was the mission.[/color]
[color=#808080]River’s performance, River’s decisions, River’s strange, human attempt at leadership—that was what she was here to measure.[/color]

[color=#808080]She wasn’t here to outrun a military brat.[/color]
[color=#808080]She wasn’t here to embarrass a walking telephone pole with clear anger issues.[/color]
[color=#808080]She wasn’t here to prove her bloodline.[/color]

[color=#808080]And so the final obstacles passed in a state of detached focus. Maylisse moved with a newfound economy, her actions precise and devoid of the frantic energy that had plagued her earlier. She no longer fought for position or prestige, her objective having shifted entirely. At the long jump, she paused for only a moment, drawing a calm breath and settling her weight before launching into a flawless arc over the pit. She landed with a controlled impact, her body decelerating gracefully until she came to a full and deliberate stop.[/color]

[color=#808080]A single breath escaped her lips. Without a backward glance at the other participants still struggling through the course, she turned to leave the field. Their progress was now irrelevant; their final standings held no interest for her. In her mind, her part in this spectacle was conclusively over.[/color]

[color=#808080]But then, the atmosphere behind her altered just enough for her to pick up on it. A gradual temperature rise. A shift in pressure so subtle most wouldn’t notice, but she felt it the way a violin string feels a plucked note in the same room. A soft, coaxing warmth gathered at her back, gentle and meant to comfort.[/color]

[color=#808080]River was drying her. 
Of course he was. 
He’d done it for everyone else, quietly, unobtrusively, as if kindness could be dispersed like mist. She wondered if he even fully realized when he used his abilities, or if it simply poured out of him by instinct, the way some people breathed.[/color]

[color=#808080]But the problem was simple: His power was reaching for hers. This water belonged to [i]her[/i].[/color]

[color=#808080]Maylisse raised her hand without even turning around, a preemptive command that halted his influence before it could touch her. Her fingers parted slightly, establishing a definitive boundary. Then, with a thought, she drew the moisture from her own garments. The water lifted from the fabric in a shimmering curtain, hanging for a moment in the air as a constellation of perfect, glittering spheres. With a sighing hiss, they flashed into steam, leaving a light, transient cloud that dissolved in the sunlight.[/color]

[color=#808080]The air grew still once more, the connection between their abilities cleanly severed.[/color]

[color=#808080]Only then did she glance back, a minimal turn of her head that offered the barest profile and the ghost of a smile.[/color]

[color=#a9c9eb]“That’s not necessary, love,”[/color][color=#808080] she said, her voice a masterclass in layered intent: courteous in its melody, yet absolute in its finality. She paused, allowing the silence to stretch for a beat before adding the slightest concession.

[color=#a9c9eb]“But… thanks.”[/color]

Then, she turned before he could respond, not a hair nor a breath out of place.[/color]
[/indent][/indent]
[hr][sub][color=9b9b9b][b][i]Location: Arena 
Interactions: River
Mentions: Andy, Sylas, Sloane, Nate[/i][/b][/color][/sub]
[right][sup][color=#a9c9eb][b]#a9c9eb[/b][/color][color=2e2c2c]...[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]...[/color][url=https://i.pinimg.com/1200x/9e/d6/ba/9ed6ba913739602155ea7b1ec41975d3.jpg][color=9b9b9b][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url][/sup][/right]