Morning arrived without gentleness. It seeped slowly through the dormitory shutters, pale and cold, painting the room in a thin wash of silver. Serene sat up long before the first bell rang, already awake, already aware of the dull ache that pulsed along her spine. Yesterday's drills had carved themselves into her muscles. Even lying still felt like work.
She braided her hair carefully, fingers steady despite the stiffness in her knuckles. Each movement reminded her of the sword hilt she'd held for hours. The ribbon—worn but neatly tied—rested lightly against her wrist as she finished.
By the time she stepped into the corridor, the air already thrummed with quiet activity. Trainees murmured greetings, swapped complaints, exchanged predictions for the day. A few limped; others attempted stretches that made them wince.
Serene walked with straight posture, steady steps. She acknowledged those who nodded, ignored the whispers that followed. Her uniform sat crisp across her frame, even if her body felt anything but.
Lira emerged from her room just as Serene reached the staircase. She carried a stack of early-morning notes against her chest, Spirit Division symbols drawn neatly across the parchment edges.
"You're early again," Lira said softly.
"So are you."
Lira offered a timid smile. "Spirit mentors say our focus is best before sunrise. I'm… trying."
Serene nodded, falling into step beside her. They crossed the courtyard together. The morning air bit at their cheeks, carrying the distant roar of waves slamming into the cliffs below. The academy always felt alive at dawn—not with warmth, but with discipline. With expectation.
The first bell rang sharp and clear.
Commander Eira stood on the terrace above them, armor casting long shadows across the courtyard. Her expression was its usual carved stone, unreadable.
"Positions," she commanded.
Everyone moved instantly.
Warm-up drills began—not gentle stretches but full-body sequences meant to expose every weakness left from yesterday. Serene's muscles protested from the first step. The ache in her legs pulsed with each shift of weight. Her ribs felt tight where her breath strained against yesterday's bruising.
But she did not slow.
Lira struggled to match the pace, breath hitching early, but she kept moving. Her determination was quiet, fragile, but unwavering.
Kael's expression tightened as he pushed forward, movements sharp as always but lacking yesterday's confidence. His pride, more than his muscles, seemed sore. He kept glancing at Serene—quick, sharp, irritated at himself more than at her.
Taren groaned loudly every third step, muttering curses under his breath but persevering through the sequence.
Rowen's movements were measured and efficient, conserving energy without losing form. Nothing flashy. Nothing weak. Just controlled.
Eira watched all of them with evaluative eyes—counting who faltered, who hesitated, who endured. Her gaze flicked past Serene, lingering for a moment, then moved on.
After drills, the trainees split. Sword and Lance stayed in the main yard where Instructor Thane waited.
He stood like a post carved from the earth—broad-shouldered, sun-bronzed, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. The wind caught the tail of his coat, snapping it lightly behind him.
"Sword Division—step forward."
Serene joined the line with Kael and the others.
Thane surveyed them with visible dissatisfaction.
"Yesterday's trial showed me your limits," he said bluntly. "Today, we remove excuses."
He led them through footwork drills first—sharper, faster than usual. Serene's knees burned. Her steps slipped once on the stone, a nearly imperceptible error, but Thane caught it.
"Valehart."
She stopped instantly.
"Your heel drifted," he said. "Again."
She repeated the step, slower this time, grounding herself. She felt the correction more than she heard it. When she executed the full sequence again, her foot landed firmly, unwavering.
Thane gave a short nod—not praise, just acknowledgment.
"Good."
Kael's gaze flicked toward her. Something unreadable tightened in his expression—irritation? Respect he didn't want? A challenge he wasn't used to?
She wasn't sure.
The drills continued until their breath grew ragged. Then Thane shifted focus to Lance trainees, barking orders at Taren, whose enthusiasm clashed amusingly with his lack of finesse.
"Hips forward," Thane said.
"I'm trying, sir!"
"Try correctly."
By the time the mid-morning bell rang, the trainees were drenched in sweat. They dispersed toward classrooms, each step an echo of exhaustion.
Serene wiped her brow with a cloth and headed to the Tactics Hall.
The room was cool, lit by tall windows that filtered sunlight into pale gold layers across the wooden desks. Sir Rhett Albrecht stood by the board, parchment in hand, expression composed as always.
He did not greet them when they entered. He simply waited until the last trainee sat.
"Today," he said calmly, "we challenge the assumptions you cling to."
Groans rippled quietly. Serene kept her posture steady.
Rhett tapped the board with a pointer. "You will examine group scenarios. Not solutions—assumptions. The enemy you imagine in your mind is more dangerous than the one before you."
Kael slanted his head slightly, annoyed before the exercise even began.
Rhett walked slowly down the aisle.
"You," he said to a boy in the second row. "If your commander is wounded, what do you do?"
"Protect him, sir."
"And how long before you are also dead?" Rhett asked, voice steady. "Two breaths? Three?"
The boy flinched.
Rhett turned.
"Rowen."
Rowen looked up.
"Define leadership."
Rowen answered without hesitation. "Responsibility. Not privilege."
A faint curve touched Rhett's lips—something like approval, if sharpened by expectation.
His gaze shifted again.
"Lady Valehart."
Serene stood as instructed.
"What is your greatest weakness?"
No one had ever asked her that so plainly—not at home, not in the academy, not even in the privacy of her own mirror.
Her answer rose without force.
"I hesitate when judging my own limits."
Rhett's eyes narrowed, studying her as though she'd drawn a sword.
"A rare admission," he said quietly. "Sit."
She obeyed.
By the time class ended, most trainees looked mentally drained. The hall emptied slowly, leaving behind only the faint scent of ink and quiet dread.
Lunch in the dining hall offered no relief.
Taren collapsed across from Serene and Lira.
"Rhett is a menace," he groaned.
"You survived," Lira said gently.
"Barely. My brain is soup."
Serene ate silently, listening to the conversation around her. Gossip. Complaints. Predictions. Someone whispered about an upcoming test. Another speculated about the duel examination.
Kael stalked in halfway through the meal, face set in a deep frown. He ignored his tablemates' chatter and ate with precision, jaw tight. Occasionally he glanced toward Serene, as though measuring something he refused to name.
Rowen sat by the window again, reading through his notes while eating. His presence was quiet enough to blend into the room, yet not forgettable.
Serene finished her meal and returned to the yard for afternoon drills. This time, trainees were paired randomly for defensive exercises. She ended up partnered with a tall girl whose grip trembled each time they reset.
"Relax your wrist," Serene said softly.
"I can't—if I relax, I'll drop it."
"Then hold it like this."
She adjusted the girl's posture with a gentle but firm touch. Slowly, the student's stance steadied.
"You're… good at this," the girl murmured.
Serene didn't answer. She didn't teach for praise. She simply practiced until the girl's movements steadied enough to resemble a real defense.
Evening bells tolled at last, echoing through the terraces.
Serene returned to her dormitory with slow steps. Her arms felt like lead. Her breath was shallow. When she reached her room, she stood silently for a moment, letting the quiet settle.
She changed into lighter clothes, washed her face, and sat at her desk. Lira passed her room quietly, offering a soft, tired goodnight. Taren's voice drifted faintly from down the hall—complaining about blisters again. Kael's heavy footsteps echoed briefly before fading into the upper corridor. Rowen's steady stride passed by as he returned to his own room.
Serene inhaled slowly.
Today had not been victory or failure.
It had not been easy or particularly triumphant.
It was the academy—unyielding, demanding, relentless.
And she had made it through another day.
As she lay down, exhaustion slipping over her like a blanket of stone, she felt something steady beneath the fatigue.
Not pride.
Not joy.
Just the quiet sense that she had shaped herself a little more today than yesterday.
Outside, the moon climbed the sky, casting pale silver through her window.
The academy did not soften its edges.
But neither did she.