Serene woke to the sound of her own breath catching.
For a moment she didn't know where she was—
the ceiling felt wrong, too low, too plain, lacking the carved lilies of her room back in Varethia. The air held the faint smell of oil and steel instead of polished wood and incense. Her ribs pulsed before she even moved, a dull, throbbing ache that reminded her of stone and cold water and the sand crawl that still haunted her skin.
Reality arrived slowly.
The Knight Academy.
Her narrow bed.
The raw burn along her palms.
The bruises blooming like storm clouds beneath her shirt.
The Night Circuit had followed her into morning.
She pushed herself upright carefully, swallowing a hiss when her ribs protested. Everything hurt—not dramatically, not like a story of heroic wounds. It hurt in the ordinary, unforgiving way that made every inhale tight and every stretch dangerous. Even her fingers felt swollen, bandages rubbing against tender skin.
She sat for a moment, letting her breath settle.
The silence of the dormitory felt strange.
Too still.
Too honest.
Usually the hallways were alive with voices—boasting, complaining, laughing, competing. Today, an uneasy quiet clung to the walls. Students walked slower, spoke softer, glanced at one another with the haunted recognition of those who survived the same storm.
When Serene stepped out of her room, Lira was already outside her own door, leaning against the wall as though it alone held her upright. Her hair was down, still damp from the infirmary salve, dark circles beneath her eyes giving her an almost fragile appearance.
"You're up," Lira said softly, though her voice cracked mid-word.
"So are you," Serene replied.
Lira smiled weakly. "Barely."
They didn't hug. They didn't need to.
Just walking side by side felt like a confession:
I is still here. And so are you.
The first-year dining hall was half empty, and those inside moved like shadows—not from drama, but exhaustion. Some students had their hands wrapped, some limped, some avoided eye contact entirely. A few had already disappeared from the academy altogether; their absence felt heavier than any injury.
Taren sat at the end of one table, head resting in his hands, staring into his cup of tea as though trying to read the future at the bottom. He perked up when he saw them.
"Serene! Lira!" He waved, then winced when the movement tugged at a strained muscle in his shoulder. "Alive… barely… but alive!"
He tried to grin. It trembled.
Serene sat across from him carefully. Even lowering herself into the seat hurt. Lira took the spot beside her, her hands wrapped neatly in linen.
Taren leaned in, voice low. "Did you hear? Seven people quit last night. Packed their bags before dawn."
Serene stirred her tea slowly. "I'm not surprised."
Lira frowned. "Do you think it makes them weak?"
Taren shook his head immediately. "No. I think… they just realized this isn't what they wanted." He hesitated. "To be honest, I almost asked to go with them."
Serene looked at him quietly.
He met her gaze. "I didn't. I'm still here. But… I thought about it."
Lira nudged his arm gently. "That doesn't make you weak."
Taren breathed out shakily. "Feels like it."
Serene's voice was steady. "If you were weak, you wouldn't be sitting at this table."
Taren blinked, surprised by her certainty. Then he straightened a little, as though her words fit him better than his doubt.
Before more could be said, the dining hall shifted—like a current of air shifting direction. Heads turned. Serene didn't need to look to know; she felt it along her spine.
Rowen had entered.
Not dramatically.
Not with attention-seeking presence.
Just with his usual quiet, self-contained steadiness. He had his gloves on again, fingers flexing subtly—another ritual, another readjustment. He wasn't injured badly, but there was a stiffness in his shoulders, a tightness in the way he walked.
His eyes scanned the hall once—
not searching, simply observing—
and landed briefly on Serene.
He didn't stare.
Didn't smile.
Just a single, small acknowledgement.
Then he moved on, retrieving a tray and taking a seat a few tables away.
Kael entered moments later, and if Rowen was a quiet storm, Kael was the aftermath of one. His pride looked cracked at the edges, the set of his mouth tight, his motions sharp but slower than usual. A long bruise trailed along his jaw, and dried blood stained the cuff of his sleeve.
He walked past their table without a word, but something in his gaze flickered when he saw Serene—
not hostility,
not disdain,
not even rivalry.
Recognition.
And something unspoken beneath it.
When he reached his own table, he sat heavily, as if the act of sitting took effort he hated admitting.
Lira watched him go, then whispered, "He was shaken last night."
Taren snorted. "He was broken. We all were. Some of us just knew it sooner."
Serene didn't add to the conversation. Her ribs ached too much to waste words. Her pride hurt even more.
But she had finished.
Even if she finished in pieces.
Breakfast passed slowly, like moving through water. When the bell rang for morning gathering, even the sound felt heavy. Trainees filed out into the courtyard, shoulders hunched against the cold, steps uneven.
Commander Eira awaited them.
Her presence always had weight, but today it felt doubled. As though she, too, understood what the night had taken from them.
Her eyes swept across the group—from those standing proudly to those shaking, from the ones trying to hide bruises to those who wore them openly.
"You are still here," Eira said simply.
There was no praise in her voice.
No pity.
No warmth.
But the words landed like something solid.
"You learned last night that strength is not talent. Not speed. Not perfection."
Silence thickened.
"Strength," she said, "is what remains after you break."
Serene felt something shift inside her chest.
Eira continued. "Some of you discovered limits. Some of you crossed them. Some of you shattered. All of you who stand before me now chose to continue."
She looked at Serene for a single beat—
a brief, unreadable pause.
"Today, you do not train."
Gasps filled the courtyard.
Shock.
Relief.
Confusion.
Eira raised a hand.
"Today, you recover. You eat. You sleep. You reflect."
A breath.
"And tomorrow… you train twice as hard."
Groans filled the air.
But Serene only stood straighter.
Because the truth was simple:
Recovery wasn't rest.
It was preparation.
As the crowd dispersed, Lira touched Serene's elbow gently. "Are you going to lie down?"
"In a moment."
Taren sighed. "I'm going to sleep for… maybe a year."
Alden walked past then, offering a small nod to Serene—acknowledgement, not comfort. She returned it quietly.
Rowen passed after him. He slowed as he approached her, eyes flicking briefly to her ribs as if assessing her condition silently. Then:
"Valehart."
"Yes?"
"You did not stop."
She blinked. "No."
"That matters."
He walked away without waiting for a response.
Serene watched him go, then exhaled slowly, letting the weight of everything settle into the bruises of her body.
Today she was broken.
Tomorrow she would train.
And little by little, she would rebuild.
Not into who she was supposed to be—
but into the knight she chose to become.