Be'lana gripped the rusty barbell and lifted it overhead. Her purple dreadlocks swung as she lowered the weight. The circus tent smelled like sawdust and sweat. She wiped red and white face paint from her brow. Every morning she trained her body stronger. Every night she studied the forbidden technique in her uncle's journal. The Spiral of Thunder had crushed his chest during his final performance. She would master it. She would survive it. This was her dream. The forest clearing held what she needed. Wooden beams stood twenty feet high. Metal chains hung between them. Sharp spikes ringed the outer edges. Her uncle had built this training ground years ago. The arena waited for her in silence. Be'lana walked through the entrance. She touched a beam and felt splinters dig into her palm. This was where he had died. This was where she would learn. The morning sun cast shadows across the dirt floor. She set down her axe and began to stretch. She needed something heavier than iron for the next stage. Be'lana pulled the bundled sticks from her pack. Red cylinders wrapped together formed a barbell shape. Dynamite. The fuses dangled loose at each end. This weight would force her to move faster. One mistake and the explosion would tear through her. She gripped the middle bar and lifted. Her arms shook. The dynamite barbell rose above her head. She held it there for three seconds. Four. Five. Then lowered it slowly to the ground. Her heart hammered in her chest. This was how the technique began. A towering game stood near the arena's edge. The hi-striker reached higher than the wooden beams. A bell sat at the top. Dark paint covered the metal sides. She grabbed the hammer that leaned against its base. This machine would tell her if she was ready. Be'lana raised the hammer and brought it down hard. The metal puck shot upward. It rang the bell with a sharp clang. Sparks showered down around her. She wiped sweat from her face and smiled. Her body was strong enough now. Tomorrow she would begin the Spiral of Thunder.