Serene could feel the memory of the Night Circuit in every step she took toward the Tactics Hall: the cold that had settled behind her ribs, the raw ache in her palms where sand and rope had seared the skin. She wrapped her fingers around the practice quill at the desk as if to anchor herself. Anyone watching might have assumed she came to the class because she enjoyed strategy. The truth was simpler and less noble—strategy kept her mind from colliding with the bruise of failure. Thinking was armor.
The hall smelled of ink and old leather, the kind of scent that made one want to unroll maps and trace lines until the world fit neatly between two points. Instructor Rhett stood already at the front, his hands folded behind his back, the map he'd pinned to the board showing a rough sketch of a valley, a river, a ridge and a small hamlet clinging to the bend of water. It looked ordinary at first glance. To someone used to reading landscapes, it whispered complications.
"Today's evaluation," Rhett said, voice even, "is not about who strikes the hardest. It's about who sees."
The room answered with the dry shuffling of parchment and soft breaths. Serene kept her face neutral, eyes moving along the map without letting them linger long enough to reveal more than necessary.
Rhett tapped the hamlet. "Situation: a small border village—Vessah—has been cut off. Supply wagons cannot reach them without crossing the ridge. The Duke of Varethia requests a plan to reopen the supply route and secure the hamlet. Enemy scouts have been spotted on the eastern approaches. You have two days' worth of troops, limited cavalry, and a single engineer team to repair bridges. You must decide: route, force disposition, and a contingency for escape."
He looked up. "You will work in groups. Each group explains decisively in ten minutes. I will judge clarity, logic, and the ability to anticipate counter-moves."
He then read names and placed the first-years into teams. Serene watched as her heart performed its small, uneven dance: Alden across the room, Kael's jaw tight near the front, Rowen's neutral face in the back row. When he called her name she moved without ceremonious thought—habit of a Valehart, trained to act as if nothing mattered while everything did.
Her group contained Alden and Mira Estel, a quick-minded girl from the border fleet. Rowen's group included Kael and a lanky lad named Selwyn who had the habit of drawing straight lines where curves were needed. That they separated the two of them made the evaluation a better test; it was competence by committee instead of competition in single combat.
They took their map to a corner table. Alden folded his hands and studied the sketch. Mira tapped a pen impatiently. Serene spread her fingers over the paper, letting her eyes linger on the river bend.
"The simplest answer is bridge repair and escorted wagon convoys," Alden said. His voice was calm, practical. "Engineer team fixes the crossing. Cavalry patrols flank. Infantry holds the hamlet."
"Predictable," Mira added. "Predictable gets ambushed when the enemy knows your route."
Serene listened, letting the words fall like stones she could arrange into a foundation. "What kind of scouts do they use?" she asked. Nothing rhetorical in her voice—just necessary detail.
"Light cavalry," Alden said. "Skirmishers on the ridge."
Serene nodded slowly. A ridge that also served as high ground for skirmishers made direct crossing an exercise in attrition. The enemy's scouts favored mobility; they would probe, vanish, and use locals for information. That meant a standard escorted convoy would play right into their strengths.
"What if the enemy expects the bridge?" she said. "What if the scouts push retreat illusions to lure reinforcements into chokepoints?"
Mira frowned. "Then we need decoys."
"Decoys would need resources," Alden said. "We don't have many."
Serene's fingers traced an imaginary line downriver. "The river bends. The hamlet clings to the inside of the bend. A supply route that hugs the river bank under cover of lower scrub would be slower but less exposed. There's a ford two miles downstream sketched here as broken—if the engineer team can reinforce the ford with temporary stonework and small barricades, wagons could cross at night. The scouts are unlikely to camp in the ford because of wasting time; they'll expect a bridge at the ridge."
Mira's pen tapped the table. "Night crossing—risky."
"It's risk management," Serene said. "We're optimizing for survivability, not speed. Send half the cavalry to clear the ridge and set an early screen. Use a small company to probe the false approach at dawn as a bait. If the enemy responds, the cavalry can harry the pursuers away before they reach the hamlet."
Alden's head tilted. "Sound. But the ford will need protection. If the enemy has light cavalry, they can burn the supplies at the ford before the wagons cross."
"We use staggered crossings with the engineer team holding a forward defensive position," Serene replied. "And a light detachment—archers and skirmishers—hold the line behind the ford while wagons move through. Meanwhile, a smaller force performs a false retreat toward the ridge. The normal expectation is to secure the high ground and control observation. If the enemy chases the retreat, they compromise mobility; the cavalry can then split and strike their flanks."
Mira's eyes brightened. "A trap that uses their strength against them."
"Precisely." Serene's voice was smooth. "It forces an enemy that relies on hit-and-run to commit to a heavy pursuit—then they lose the advantage. If they refuse to pursue, the ford goes unnoticed and wagons cross unmolested."
She looked at Alden. "We'd need to make the ford appear useless—rocks, a collapsed timber, something to suggest it's unsalvageable."
Alden nodded. "And the engineer team needs a diversion."
"Someone must feign an attempted crossing at the bridge at dawn," Mira said, fingers already drawing. "Lights set to suggest a larger force. Sparks. Campfires. We force them to spread their scouts."
Serene's pen slid along the map, marking positions. "Make sure your main supply movement is staggered, two-night shifts. If the enemy has informants in the hamlet, use local merchants—pay them to act as guides who will misdirect the enemy about the timing. Keep the engineer's work hidden until wagons approach—cover noise with controlled campfires upstream. Steer scouts into false trails by leaving traces of activity."
Alden leaned back, impressed. "It's a diplomatic solution masked as strategy."
Serene's mouth twitched at the remark. The Valehart instinct to talk in circles until others gave the right answer had been honed into precision. "Diplomacy avoids blood. Here, we can use that knowledge: predict reactions and design the enemy's perception. Engineering supplies and the real crossing are handled discreetly. If needed, use a small contingent to cut communications—light raiders to chase down messengers."
Mira clapped once, quietly delighted. "This is good."
Serene's eyes flicked to the door where Rowen's group had taken their turn. Rowen stood with Kael and Selwyn, and he spoke with a measured authority that left no doubt of his competence—calculations of movement, reserve placement, the economy of force. His group proposed something more direct: secure the ridge, fortify, and move in force at dawn. It was a long, disciplined plan—one that would work if you had time and supply superiority. But it assumed the enemy would act predictably and that the field would not favor ambush.
When their group presented, Rhett asked pointed questions. Rowen answered without rhetorical flourishes, his voice flat but precise. The instructors nodded. Later, Alden told Serene Rowen's solution in low tones: "Solid. Direct. Effective if you can hold the ridge. Risk if you can't."
"Which is why deception has a role," Serene said. The thought circled back to balance: direct force to seize a decisive position, but deception to manage asymmetry.
Their ten minutes came up. Rhett's eyes had watched them the entire time, that pale, unreadable face taking in not only the logic but the way they anticipated variance. When their explanation concluded, he straightened, pinched his chin, and asked one more question: "If the enemy scouts were not light cavalry but former mountain guerillas—fighters who know the ford intimately—how would you adjust?"
The room paused. It was the kind of twist that exposed certainty.
Mira's fingers stilled. Alden looked at Serene with a spark of unspoken challenge.
Serene didn't hesitate. "If they know the ford, we cannot rely on its deception. We must then change the objective: instead of crossing and retreating, establish a temporary forward depot within the bend of the river by using pontoon elements to create floating platforms—then disguise them with foliage. Use the river to move supplies stealthily at night while the main force secures an approach road a few miles inland. It increases complexity but reduces the need for fixed crossings."
Rhett's brow lifted a fraction. "And if the river is shallow and unsuitable for pontoons?"
"Then adapt," she said. "Use the hamlet as a staging ground for smaller packs—light loads carried by mules over hidden paths while cavalry conducts buffer screens. The key is to reduce the predictability of the main route and force the enemy to spread its scouts thin."
Rhett's posture eased, almost imperceptibly. "Good. You read not only terrain but human expectation."
Rowen's group had been precise and efficient. Serene's solution was not flashier; it was flexible, shaped by anticipating behaviors rather than only occupying space. That difference mattered in the hall. The instructors, particularly Rhett, appreciated a mind that accounted for the enemy as a thinking actor.
When the teams dispersed, a murmur went around the hall. Some said Serene's plan was clever. Others thought it cautious. Kael, who had been watching, folded his arms and shifted his stance in a way that made Serene's pulse twitch—not with fear but with the old, familiar check of attention from a rival. He was not pleased that conversation turned to strategy rather than simple strength.
Rowen's eye met hers across the room for the briefest moment—no smile, none of the warmth that could be mistaken for affection, just a look that measured and cataloged. She felt the exchange like a touchstone: he had heard the argument and had to revise his mental map of her. That small recognition from him registered more than any praise from peers.
Later, outside, the day had leaked into a cool dusk. The yard smelled of oil and the low conversation of trainees comparing outcomes. Serene walked with Lira, who chattered about the different teams—about Selwyn's odd but effective idea to use drays as decoy wagons, about Mira's insistence on subterfuge, about Alden's steady calculations.
"You should have seen Rowen's face when Rhett asked his twist question," Lira said. "He faltered a fraction."
Serene slowed. "He recovered."
"That was when you jumped in with the pontoon idea," Lira went on. "How did you think of that?"
Serene considered the small river bend on the map again—how hamlets hug inside curves to use calm water for fishing and fording. "I thought about what it would mean if the enemy had local knowledge. A bridge and an obvious ford are assumptions. If the enemy is the kind to know the land intimately, what the hamlet needs isn't a straight crossing but multiple smaller solutions to make them guess."
Lira's eyes shone. "You're like the Valeharts."
Serene's fingers brushed the ribbon at her wrist instinctively—her house crest hidden in the silk. "That's obvious because I am.Valeharts use mouths before swords."
"You used both today," Lira said. "You didn't fight, but you won the room."
Serene felt a small, private flush—less satisfaction and more a recognition that a weapon of hers had been visible. It didn't change her ribs, nor did it ease the memory of sand in her palms, but it gave her something else to carry: proof that a mind could protect a body.
Kael lingered near the archway. His posture was closed, lips thin. When he saw Serene approaching he shifted, the way a storm shifts. He didn't speak as she passed. Instead he addressed Alden in a low voice that Serene only caught a fragment of: "They talked too much. Strategy is for the halls, not the ridge."
Alden's reply was cool. "Strategy is the ridge. Without it, the ridge is an empty rock."
Kael's jaw worked, then he moved on.
Serene kept walking. Rowen had stepped aside into a quieter corridor and gave her a nod—a small motion different from their earlier terse exchanges. She accepted it simply and moved along. The rivalry was nascent and honest: two people who measured the world with different instruments and found one another worth recalibrating for.
That night, back in her bunk, Serene unrolled her little notebook. She wrote not in long paragraphs but in lists—possible enemy types, environmental contingencies, supply options for a hamlet like Vessah—and beside each line she noted the human factor: "If scouts rely on locals, change route; if scouts are mercenaries, use decoy." It was a habit from home—diplomats kept checklists because words and outcomes could be slippery. She slept later than usual and fitful, her lungs catching as if the night still held water, but her mind rested on the small satisfaction that strategy could be a shield. Tomorrow they would spar again, and the next day they would run drills. But for the first time in weeks she felt less like someone who simply endured, and more like someone whose endurance could be chosen rather than assigned.
Somewhere at the edge of her sleep she imagined the hamlet, small and stubborn, the wagons rolling quietly at night over a hidden ford, lanterns dimmed, soldiers whispering while engineers worked with wet stone and timber, the enemy scouts finding campfires but following ghosts. The idea felt fragile and cold and possible—like a treaty inked in midnight.
When dawn came, she would parse maps again. She would speak with instructors, be corrected, refine and argue. It was the Valehart way: to meet force with foresight, and when steel came, to let steel be guided by mind.