Dawn came muted and grey, the clouds hanging low over Aurenheim as if the sky itself hesitated to rise. The bells rang with a deeper tone that morning, the chime reverberating across the terraces with a heavier resonance than usual. Serene felt it in her ribs as she stepped out of the dormitory, her breath trailing faintly in the chill.
Her body still ached, but the pain had settled into something familiar—an ache that belonged not to yesterday, but to progress. She pulled her cloak tighter as she crossed the courtyard, boots tapping rhythmically against the pale stone. The air smelled of sea-salt and iron, the academy's constant duet.
Trainees moved around her with mixed urgency. Some hurried, still half-asleep, heads tucked into collars. Others looked sharper than usual, focused in a way that suggested they had felt the same shift in the bells' tone.
Lira joined her quietly, tucking loose hair behind her ear. "The bells sounded different today," she murmured.
"I noticed," Serene said.
Lira sighed softly. "Something's coming."
Serene didn't answer, but she suspected the same.
Commander Eira was waiting in the courtyard before the warm-up bell. She never waited there. Not this early. Not without intent.
Serene felt the air tighten.
Thane stood near her, arms crossed, scanning the trainees with a look that seemed heavier than usual. Sir Rhett stood a few paces behind, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes moving slowly across the crowd, reading everything and revealing nothing.
The moment the final bell rang, silence fell.
Eira stepped forward.
Each footfall echoed.
Her gaze swept the first-years—calm, unyielding, almost sharp enough to slice the air.
"Tomorrow," she said, voice carrying cleanly across the courtyard, "you will face your first Duel Evaluation."
Several trainees stiffened. A handful sucked in sharp breaths. Kael straightened with a snap, eyes flashing with a mix of pride and anticipation. Taren swallowed audibly. Lira's hands tightened around her sleeves.
Serene remained still.
Eira continued.
"This is not a performance. This is not for your peers, nor for your pride. The Duel Evaluation determines if you have learned enough to survive a blade—blunt or otherwise."
She paused long enough for the silence to grow heavy.
"You will not be fighting to win," she clarified. "You will be fighting to endure."
A few trainees exhaled in shaky relief—only to inhale again when she added:
"Those who lose composure fail. Those who panic fail. Those who collapse under pressure fail. Winning is not required. But refusing to fall apart is."
Kael's jaw set stubbornly. Losing—even when not required—was not a concept he tolerated easily.
Eira surveyed the faces before her.
"Your pairings will be announced this evening."
That sent a visible ripple through the group. Some whispered names, making predictions. Others stiffened at the idea of not knowing until nightfall.
"And now," Eira said with finality, "your day begins."
She stepped back. Thane and Rhett moved forward like twin shadows falling over the trainees.
The drills that followed were unforgiving.
Warm-ups were twice as long. Footwork drills repeated until legs shook. Defensive stances held until arms burned. Serene had to bite down against the strain in her shoulders, keeping her posture straight even as sweat stung her eyes.
Lira struggled beside her, breath uneven, but she didn't stop. Not once.
Kael moved with precision sharpened by nerves, though every now and then his steps struck harder than necessary—as if he were already fighting phantom opponents.
Rowen's composure remained steady, movements economical even under pressure.
Thane walked among them correcting posture with curt taps of his riding crop—not painful, just precise. When he reached Serene, he tapped her elbow lightly.
"You're locking your arm," he said. "It weakens your block."
She adjusted without argument.
"Better," he said, already moved on to the next student.
The session shifted into paired drills. Serene was matched with a boy from the northern districts—large, strong, but unsteady. His swings were heavy, dragging her backward with their weight. She had to ground herself carefully, adjusting her stance, waiting for openings rather than brute force openings.
"Don't overpower him—redirect," Thane called out.
Serene angled her blade differently, shifting weight. The boy stumbled as his momentum carried him too far, and she stabilized her guard.
He exhaled in surprise. "How did you—"
"Footwork," she said simply, though her heart was pounding harder than she wanted to admit.
By the time the morning bell rang, Serene's arms trembled faintly, and her pulse throbbed in her wrists. The courtyard buzzed with tension. Even the instructors seemed more alert than usual, as though tomorrow's duels weighed on them as well.
Lunch offered only a brief reprieve.
Taren collapsed across from Serene and Lira again. "If I don't make it through tomorrow, tell my horse I loved him."
"You don't have a horse," Lira reminded gently.
"Then tell the stable horses I loved them."
Serene hadn't realized she was smiling until Lira's expression softened.
Across the hall, Kael sat with Falcon trainees, head lowered over his meal, jaw tight. His pride had wrapped itself around tomorrow's duel like a blade around a sheath.
Rowen remained alone at the window table, reviewing notes between bites. Serene saw the faint crease between his brows—thoughtful, not troubled. He, too, knew tomorrow mattered.
After lunch, tactics class began under Rhett's assessing gaze.
He walked to the center of the room, parchment in hand.
"Your minds," he said, "must be steadier than your blades."
He handed each trainee a scenario page, filled with quick sketches and notations.
"You will analyze the duel," Rhett instructed, "not as a combatant—but as a strategist."
It was clever, Serene realized. He was forcing them to approach tomorrow not with fear, but with understanding.
She studied her paper: a drawn arena, two silhouettes, obstacles marked with tiny symbols. The task: deduce strengths, weaknesses, predicted behavior.
Kael frowned intensely at his sheet, scribbling fast. Rowen wrote with calm precision. Taren stared at his for a full minute before whispering to Serene:
"What does this little symbol mean?"
"A low wall," she said.
"Oh. I thought it was food."
Serene blinked. "…Why would food be in the arena?"
"Morale boost?"
Rhett's voice cut through their whispered exchange. "If your opponent is distracted by food during combat, Vayne, then the empire is doomed."
Taren shut his mouth instantly.
When the bell rang, most left the room looking more thoughtful than before.
Afternoon drills resumed, sharper than the morning. Defensive sweeps. Controlled strikes. Pressure sparring where partners pushed until one faltered—then continued until they learned not to.
Serene kept her composure, though her arms numbed toward the end. She faltered once, blade slipping half a breath late. Her partner scored a clean tap against her wrist.
She exhaled sharply—not anger, not shame, just recognition of a mistake.
She reset her stance.
Taren stumbled repeatedly during his drills, earning a litany of corrections from Thane. Lira worked with a Spirit trainee, practicing calm breathing between movements, her face drawn from strain yet determined.
Kael trained with an intensity that bordered on reckless. His opponent had to brace hard to avoid being overpowered. At one point, Kael struck too quickly and Thane snapped: "Control!"
Kael froze, breathing hard, chastened.
Rowen trained quietly. Controlled. Intentional. He didn't dominate. He didn't struggle. He moved as though he was studying the ground itself.
Evening bells finally rang, echoing through the terraces like a release of held breath. Trainees sagged in relief.
Commander Eira returned to the courtyard with a scroll in hand.
The courtyard fell silent.
She unrolled it slowly, the parchment catching faint light.
"These are the pairings for tomorrow's Duel Evaluation."
She began reading names in even pairs, voice steady and firm.
Kael Drakov → paired with a second boy from the highlands.
Taren Vayne → paired with a girl from the western plains.
Rowen Aster → paired with a northern trainee.
The list continued.
When Eira reached near the end, Serene felt a faint stillness settle in her chest.
"Serene Valehart," Eira called, "you will duel Arin Fenn."
A murmur rippled.
Arin—quiet, broad-shouldered, patient Arin—known for strength but not aggression. A trainee who trained alone more than with others. Balanced. Careful. Respectful.
Not easy.
Not impossible.
A fair test.
Eira rolled up the scroll.
"Rest well," she ordered. "Tomorrow decides how you move forward."
The crowd dispersed slowly. Some whispered anxiously. Others tried to mask their fear with forced confidence. Taren looked relieved—then terrified again. Kael's jaw set, shoulders squared, eyes burning with anticipation. Lira offered Serene a small nod, quiet encouragement.
Serene walked back to the dormitory calmly, each step steady, each breath controlled. Her arms ached. Her ribs felt tight. Sweat dried cold against her skin.
She reached her room, lit a small lantern, and laid her sword across the desk. Her reflection in the blade was faint and warped, but the steadiness in her eyes was unmistakable.
Tomorrow she wouldn't need to be impressive.
She wouldn't need to win.
She wouldn't need to outshine anyone.
She only needed to stand.
To endure.
To prove that a lily could hold its own in the ring where blades met.
The lantern flickered softly. The sea roared beyond the cliffs. Voices drifted faintly through the corridor—fear, excitement, dread, hope.
Serene closed her eyes for a moment.
Another day ended.
Another test waited.
And she was ready to meet it.