The academy always felt harsher after a test, as if the walls themselves expected more from every breath that passed between them. The morning after the tactical evaluation was no different. The cold air tasted metallic, and the courtyard stones glinted with dew like rows of sharpened blades.
Serene moved with practiced calm, though her muscles were beginning to protest again. Rest days at the academy never truly restored anything—they simply allowed pain to settle into new corners. Her ribs tightened whenever she exhaled too sharply, but she kept the rhythm of her steps perfect.
Lira walked beside her, hands folded in her sleeves. She said little—half because she was still thinking about yesterday, and half because she sensed Serene's mind working quietly behind her eyes.
Students parted slightly as they passed—not out of fear, but because conversations shifted when Serene walked by. Whispers rippled like wind cutting through tall grass.
"She predicted the ford problem—how?"
"Did you see Valehart's plan?"
"It was… clean."
"Rowen hesitated. She didn't."
Kael's voice rose from somewhere near the stairwell, sharp and irritated. "Maps don't matter on the ground. Strength does."
No one answered him.
Taren waved when he spotted Serene, trotting over with boundless energy she couldn't understand. "Serene! Lira! Did you hear? Thane's posted the evaluation ranks!"
Lira perked up. Serene didn't react outwardly, but her pulse kicked once.
They followed Taren to the bulletin board pinned to the courtyard arch. First-years crowded around it, craning necks, muttering under their breaths.
Taren elbowed through the crowd with no sense of shame. Serene stayed behind; she didn't need to push. The group parted on its own, curiosity giving her quiet space.
The parchment list was clean, efficient, graded by instructor consensus:
1. Rowen Aster
2. Serene Valehart
3. Alden Rook
4. Mira Estel
5. Kael Drakov
…
Serene felt no flare of triumph. Just a low, steady acknowledgment—confirmation, not victory.
Lira's eyes lit. "Second. That's incredible."
"It's expected," Serene answered softly.
"Why expected?"
"Because I answered what was asked. Nothing more."
Taren beamed. "That's more than most of us can say."
Behind them, Kael shoved aside two small trainees and glared at the list. His jaw clenched when he found his name beneath Alden.
He turned sharply, eyes locking onto Serene.
"You outscored me," he said flatly.
Serene offered no apology. "I scored correctly."
Kael's fists tightened. "Strategy means nothing if you can't hold a sword."
Serene did not break his stare. "Then hold yours better."
A hush rolled across the students. Kael's eyes flashed with something between humiliation and fury. He stepped forward, but Alden placed a calm hand on his arm and murmured something too soft to catch.
Kael pulled back, though his glare didn't fade.
Lira tugged Serene's sleeve lightly. "Let's go. Before he decides to… do something."
They turned away, moving toward the training yard. As they passed into the central hall, Serene felt the shift in the air before she saw the person responsible.
Rowen stood at the balcony rail above, looking down at the board.
He didn't smile.
He didn't frown.
He simply took in the order… then turned his gaze toward Serene.
Their eyes met for barely three seconds, but it felt like something quiet sharpened between them. Not hostility. Not admiration.
Recognition.
He lifted his chin a fraction—acknowledgment. Not praise. Not surprise. As if saying: that is exactly where I expected you to be.
Serene returned a small nod.
Then both looked away, moving in opposite directions.
The rivalry had settled into place without a single spoken word.
In the training yard, Instructor Thane's voice cut through the morning air like a blade drawn halfway. "Fall in!" he barked.
Serene and Lira reached their positions. Students scrambled to line up, still buzzing from the posted rankings.
Thane faced them, arms clasped behind his back. "Today we test consistency. Your minds impressed some of us yesterday. Today we see if your bodies can follow."
A collective groan rippled through the cohort.
"Silence," Thane snapped. "Pair drills. Controlled pressure. No injuries. But I expect you to push your limits."
Kael's glare lingered on Serene across the yard.
Thane continued reading.
"Lira with Mira.
Alden with Taren.
Kael with Selwyn."
Then—
"Serene Valehart with Rowen Aster."
Someone in the back whispered too loudly, "Again?"
Rowen stepped onto the sparring circle without questioning it. Serene followed, tightening her gloves discreetly to hide the tremble settling into her fingers. Last night's writing had strained her already aching ribs.
They faced each other.
Rowen drew his practice sword into guard first—clean, centered, efficient. His stance was precise even in stillness.
Serene mirrored, though her breath stung slightly.
Thane stepped back. "Begin."
Rowen moved instantly—a sharp, direct strike meant not to hit, but to test. Serene blocked, though the impact rattled through her ribs and made her breath hitch. Rowen's eyes flicked to the twitch of pain.
He didn't stop. He adjusted.
Serene countered with a controlled thrust, aiming for the opening she knew he'd leave—small, deliberate, predictable to someone who studied patterns.
Rowen parried smoothly.
"You're favoring your left," he murmured.
"So are you."
Neither smiled. Neither showed any emotion.
The clash of their wooden blades echoed across the training yard. Students slowed their own drills to watch. Even Kael paused mid-strike, eyes narrowing.
Rowen pressed forward.
Serene adapted.
Serene feinted.
Rowen corrected.
Their rhythm built quickly, each movement forcing the other to adjust. Serene's ribs burned. Rowen's footwork faltered once from some hidden injury. Neither acknowledged their pain.
Serene aimed a low sweep—Rowen caught it with a counter-step, pivoting cleanly.
"You read too much," he said quietly.
"You move too predictably."
Their blades met again.
Tap.
Slide.
Tap.
Every sound felt like a conversation only the two of them understood.
Finally, Thane called, "Stop."
They froze mid-motion, perfectly balanced.
Thane studied them with the faintest furrow in his brow. "Again. Five minutes."
A murmur broke across the yard—no one else had been ordered to repeat.
Rowen stepped back. Serene rolled her shoulders, ignoring the flare of pain.
He said quietly, "Are you able?"
"If you are."
He nodded. "Then again."
They resumed.
This time Serene did not try to match his strength. She aimed for rhythm—disrupting his tempo, interrupting his stance, demanding micro-adjustments he was not used to making so frequently.
Rowen felt it.
His breath deepened.
His precision slipped—not visibly, but perceptibly.
Serene pressed lightly, not with force but intelligence.
Rowen's eyes sharpened. "You're doing that on purpose."
"You should adapt."
He did.
Their blades clashed harder now, controlled yet more urgent. The world around them slipped quiet—nothing but breath, movement, and the faint ache of bruises.
When Thane called break again, Rowen was breathing heavier than Serene expected.
She was too—but she hid it well.
They lowered their blades.
Rowen spoke first. "You push differently than most."
"So do you."
He paused. "You're closing the gap."
Serene wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. "Then widen it."
Rowen's jaw twitched—a subtle, almost amused challenge. "Try."
Thane dismissed them.
As Serene turned away, a wave of dizziness hit her, brief but sharp. She steadied herself with a breath before anyone noticed.
Well—almost anyone.
Rowen's eyes flicked toward her, not in concern, but awareness.
He saw.
He didn't comment.
Instead, he simply stepped past her, voice calm, almost low enough for only her to hear.
"Don't push past what your body can't give. Not yet."
Serene met his gaze evenly. "I know my limits."
"Sometimes," he said, "limits are what make you act."
Then he walked off.
Serene watched him go, fingers curling around her sword hilt.
A rival who read her body as well as her blade.
A rival she would have to surpass.
Not with strength.
Not yet.
But with mind.
The academy bells rang for midday meal. Students filed away, chatter rising like dust.
Lira appeared beside Serene, cheeks flushed. "That looked… intense."
"It was practice."
"Practice doesn't draw that many stares," Lira said softly.
Serene didn't answer.
She simply walked toward the hall, back straight, breath tight, mind already working on the next way to sharpen herself.
If Rowen was the standard—
Then she would meet it.
Eventually, she would break it.