The morning air was colder than usual, sharp enough to sting the skin. Mist clung low across the courtyard, softening the edges of stone and steel. Serene stepped outside with measured breath—slow, controlled, respectful of the bandages beneath her tunic.
She moved cautiously, not out of fear but awareness. Every step reminded her she was responsible not only for her strength but for her injuries.
Lira matched her pace, hovering just close enough to help without smothering.
"Do you think Thane will make you spar again?" Lira whispered.
"If he does, I'll adapt," Serene said.
"You don't have to adapt to everything alone."
Serene didn't answer. She didn't know how to.
When they entered the courtyard, a silence spread through the trainees—an unnatural one. People stood straighter. Conversations died. Even Kael seemed uneasy.
Serene noticed it instantly.
Something had changed.
Then she saw her.
Commander Eira Caldrin stood at the center of the yard, armor gleaming faintly in the early light. The phoenix crest on her chestplate caught the sunrise, turning gold to fire. Her presence hit the air like a blade drawn without sound.
Thane stood beside her, expression unusually tight.
Rowen noticed the shift the same moment Serene did. He stepped out from the shadows of the stairway, eyes narrowing as he assessed the scene. Alden moved more quietly but with equal awareness. Taren swallowed audibly.
Kael muttered under his breath, "She never comes unannounced."
Eira rarely appeared in training yards unless something was about to change.
Serene straightened her spine despite the echo of pain beneath her ribs.
Eira spoke without raising her voice, yet the entire courtyard froze.
"Today," she said, "I evaluate you myself."
A ripple of unease swept through the first-years.
"This is not a test," Eira continued. "This is not punishment. This is truth."
Her eyes moved across the trainees like the edge of a blade, sharp and merciless.
"A knight must be more than strength. A knight must be more than strategy. A knight must be prepared in every breath, every movement, every choice."
She paused—and her gaze settled on Serene.
Not long.
Not tender.
A single flicker, cold and precise.
Serene felt it like a hand around her ribs.
Eira continued, "Your bodies. Your discipline. Your decisions. I will judge all of it."
Thane stepped forward, clearing his throat. "First-years—form lines."
Rowen moved to his place with calm certainty. Kael stiffened but obeyed. Lira's hands trembled. Taren stood straighter than usual. Alden exhaled slowly and closed his eyes for half a heartbeat before stepping into the line with the quiet resolve of someone already prepared for anything.
Serene joined her place in the formation, her steps deliberate, careful.
Eira walked down the line slowly.
Her boots clicked softly against stone.
She passed Kael—her gaze narrowed at his sloppy wrist angle. He corrected it instantly.
She passed Taren—her eyebrow lifted at the way he held tension in his shoulders. He dropped them without hesitation.
Then she stopped in front of Serene.
The courtyard seemed to inhale as one.
Eira's eyes were cold silver as she examined Serene from jaw to stance, from breathing pattern to foot placement.
"You are injured."
A statement. Not a question.
"Yes, Commander," Serene replied softly.
Eira stepped closer. The air felt colder.
"You arrived injured," Eira said. "And yet you completed drills yesterday."
"Yes."
"You hid the injury."
"Yes."
Eira's voice sharpened—not angry, but painfully clear. "You endangered your unit."
Serene's breath caught—not from pain, but from the memory of Thane's words.
"I understand," she said quietly.
"No," Eira said. "You do not. Not yet."
Serene went very still.
Eira's gaze held her without mercy. "Pain is not your enemy. Pride is."
The words slid under Serene's ribs like a blade—not cruel, but precise.
Then Eira stepped back.
"Show me what you learned."
Thane barked, "Sparring pairs!"
Rowen and Kael were called to different rings. Lira and Taren paired near the courtyard steps. Serene waited—her breath tremoring faintly.
Thane looked at her a moment too long.
Then—
"Serene Valehart—pair with Alden Rook."
A few trainees glanced over, surprised. Alden was calm but difficult—steady, impossible to unbalance, known for reading opponents faster than most second-years.
Lira whispered, "He won't hurt you."
Serene whispered back, "That isn't the point."
Alden stepped into the ring, drawing his practice blade with quiet control. His eyes softened just slightly when he looked at Serene—understanding, not pity.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"No," Serene said honestly. "But I will be."
Alden nodded once in respect.
Thane raised his hand.
Eira watched from the center of the courtyard.
"Begin."
Alden moved first—but not fast. Not aggressive. Just enough to test Serene's balance. She steadied herself, adjusting her weight so it didn't strain her ribs.
Alden caught the subtle shift.
"You're thinking," he murmured.
"Yes."
"Good."
He increased pressure. Not by force—but by angle. By timing. By rhythm.
Serene matched as best she could.
But her ribs tightened.
Her breath shortened.
Her stance wavered—
Alden's blade tapped lightly against her shoulder. A point scored.
Serene inhaled sharply—too sharply. Pain shot down her side. Alden stepped back immediately.
Thane's voice cracked across the yard.
"Valehart! Breathe correctly!"
"I'm trying," she whispered.
"Trying," Thane snapped, "is not doing."
Serene forced her breath deeper—controlled, even when it hurt.
Alden adjusted his stance. "Again?"
She nodded.
They resumed—this time slower. Alden tested her rhythm. Serene adapted. Alden shifted direction. Serene followed—but her ribs protested, and her footwork faltered—
Another tap. Another point.
Thane growled, "Your stance is collapsing. Correct it!"
Serene corrected it—slowly, painfully, but correctly.
Alden's eyes flickered with something like approval.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Serene lost points.
But she did not stop.
Not once.
Her body trembled.
Her breath shook.
Pain cut through every motion—
But she adjusted.
She learned.
She survived.
Finally—
"Stop," Thane commanded.
Alden lowered his blade. Serene lowered hers.
Commander Eira stepped forward.
Silence thickened like fog.
Eira examined Serene again—not her injury, but her stance. Her breath. Her eyes. Her will.
"You did not push beyond your limits today," Eira said softly. "You worked within them."
Serene closed her eyes briefly—relief, pain, respect, all mixing.
Eira nodded once.
"That," she said, voice low but steady, "is the discipline of a knight."
Serene bowed her head.
Not in victory.
Not in pride.
But in understanding.
The courtyard exhaled.
Lira looked like she might cry in relief.
Taren sighed loudly.
Kael looked conflicted—annoyed, impressed, irritated all at once.
Rowen watched without blinking, something unreadable tightening in his gaze.
Alden offered Serene a small bow. "Well fought."
Serene straightened. "Well matched."
The sun finally warmed the courtyard stones.
And for the first time since arriving at the academy—
Serene Valehart felt something different settle in her chest.
Not pain.
Not pride.
Not victory.
Discipline.
The real kind.
The kind that would shape her into someone unbreakable.