Kael Drakov liked the world best when it was simple.
Strength above weakness.
Speed above hesitation.
Steel above strategy.
Those were the rules he grew up with.
Those were the rules his father — Lord Commander Drakov of the Falcon Order — had carved into him until the lessons felt like bones beneath skin.
But lately… nothing felt simple anymore.
The sun rose hot over Aurenheim, painting the courtyard in gold and glare. The first-years dragged themselves across the yard, sore and exhausted from Eira's inspection. Some limped. Some groaned. Some whispered about who had impressed her and who had disappointed her.
Kael ignored them all.
He sat on the stone ledge near the training racks, whetstone in hand, sharpening his practice sword in aggressive, irritated strokes. The rasp of steel against stone echoed too loudly.
He kept glancing across the yard — though he refused to admit it.
Serene Valehart stood under the shade of an archway, moving slowly through her drills. Her footwork was precise, controlled. Her ribcage rose and fell carefully, bandages hidden beneath her tunic. Every movement was measured.
She wasn't pushing.
She wasn't showing off.
She wasn't even trying to draw attention.
But attention followed her anyway.
Whispers.
Stares.
Silent calculations.
Kael's hand tightened around the hilt.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Varethia's nobles were diplomats — soft, polished, good for ceremonies, not war. His father said lilies wilted under pressure.
But Serene hadn't wilted.
She'd stood in Eira's gaze without trembling.
She'd survived Thane's scolding.
She'd kept fighting yesterday even when she could barely breathe.
She adapted, learned, improved — all without theatrics or arrogance.
Kael didn't know what to do with that.
Taren jogged past, waving his arms. "Kael! You survived inspection day without dying! I'm proud of you!"
"Go away," Kael muttered.
"Still grumpy? Want to talk about your emotional wounds?"
Kael glared so hard that Taren stumbled backward. "Okay! Okay! I'm going!"
Taren fled, still laughing.
Kael exhaled sharply. Taren never made sense.
But then — lately, nothing else did either.
Especially not her.
Serene stepped back into sunlight. Her hair caught the brightness like polished ash-gold. She tested her stance again, waiting until the pain in her ribs settled before moving.
Kael wanted to look away.
But couldn't.
Something in him twisted — irritation, confusion, maybe even shame — because she shouldn't be able to do what she did.
She shouldn't outthink him.
She shouldn't read the battlefield better.
She shouldn't move with that quiet confidence that made even Alden pay attention.
She shouldn't meet Rowen's eyes without flinching — like she saw him as equal.
Kael's fingers trembled on the hilt.
His father's voice rang in his head:
Strength is the only truth. Strategy is cowardice. Pain is your teacher. Do not falter. Do not admit weakness.
But Serene had admitted weakness — gone to the healer — and somehow that had made her stronger.
How was that possible?
Kael ground the whetstone so hard the metal screeched.
A shadow fell over him.
"Drakov."
Thane.
Kael straightened instantly. "Sir."
"You'll spar with Alden today."
Kael stiffened. "Why?"
Thane's eyes were cold. "Because someone with sense needs to break your bad habits."
Kael opened his mouth to argue — Thane's glare shut him down.
Then Thane left.
Kael swore under his breath.
Alden Rook walked toward him, calm as ever. His dark hair was tied back loosely, his expression soft but unreadably focused. He rested his wooden blade against his shoulder.
"You ready?" Alden asked, voice warm and infuriatingly steady.
Kael stood. "I'm always ready."
They stepped into the sparring ring. The murmur of the courtyard faded. Only the two of them existed now — Kael, with burning pride, and Alden, with quiet strength.
"Begin," Alden said.
And they did.
Kael lunged with raw force — Alden deflected with minimal effort.
Kael slashed harder — Alden redirected his blade with two fingers' worth of movement.
Kael charged — Alden stepped aside like stepping out of a breeze.
Every failed strike made Kael's blood grow hotter.
"What is that?" Kael snapped. "Are you even trying?"
Alden blinked once. "Fighting isn't thrashing."
"I'm not—!"
"You are," Alden said gently. "Thrashing."
Kael swung again, teeth gritted, breath tightening. Alden parried cleanly — the wooden blades slapped, echoing.
"You're fighting to destroy something," Alden continued.
"I'm fighting to win!"
"No," Alden said softly. "You're fighting because you're angry."
Kael froze.
Angry?
He wasn't angry—
Yes he was. His blood had been burning for days. His thoughts were tangled. His pride was bruised. His father's shadow felt too tight around his throat.
Alden stepped back. "You're not focused on me."
Kael's jaw clenched. "Shut up."
"Your blade is searching for a different opponent."
"Shut up."
Alden tilted his head, following Kael's line of sight.
Serene Valehart had just finished another stance correction. She stood in the middle of the courtyard, sweat dripping down her temple, her breath shallow but controlled.
Her posture was steady — even through pain.
Alden murmured, "It's her, isn't it?"
Kael's breath halted.
Alden's voice was quiet. "You don't know what to do with someone like her."
Kael's grip on the sword faltered.
"She's not like us," he muttered. "She's… different."
Alden nodded. "She is."
"She's not strong."
"She is."
"She's not better than—"
"She might be," Alden said softly.
Kael felt something inside him snap.
"I'm the strongest first-year," Kael growled. "I should be."
"Strength isn't just muscle," Alden replied. "She's… more balanced already."
Balanced.
The word hit Kael like a blow.
Serene wasn't trying to be better. She simply was — not in everything, but in ways that mattered.
"I don't hate her," Kael whispered, surprise flooding him.
Alden smiled faintly. "Of course not. You hate what she forces you to see."
Kael swallowed, throat dry.
"What's that?" he asked.
"That you're afraid," Alden answered. "Afraid she will surpass you."
Kael's lungs froze.
Because it was true.
Serene had been here only a short time, but every day she grew sharper, faster, more precise. Her intelligence cut as deeply as any blade. Her discipline was developing. Her humility masked a quiet, frightening ambition.
And worst of all—
she didn't even know she was challenging him.
She simply existed.
And somehow, that was enough to threaten everything Kael believed he was supposed to be.
Alden stepped back, lowering his blade. "Again?"
Kael couldn't speak.
The courtyard buzzed around them. Serene wiped sweat from her brow, wincing slightly. Lira said something that made her smile faintly. Even Rowen paused mid-drill to glance toward her — an unreadable expression flickering in his eyes.
Kael hated it.
Hated the feeling gnawing at his chest.
Hated the doubt.
Hated that he had never questioned himself until she arrived.
The Falcon heir should never hesitate.
But Kael hesitated now.
Alden spoke quietly, as if sensing the tremor in Kael's grip.
"She's not your enemy."
Kael didn't answer.
Alden added, "She's just the standard."
Kael froze.
The standard.
For the first time in his life, Kael Drakov realized he wasn't the one others measured themselves against.
He was measuring himself against her.
And for a Falcon—
that was unbearable.
When Alden finally walked away, Kael stood alone in the courtyard, breathing hard, blade trembling in his hand, heart pounding with fear he refused to name.
Across the yard, Serene Valehart moved into another drill — graceful, steady, precise.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
He didn't hate her.
He hated that she was everything he wasn't yet.
And for the first time, a quiet, fierce vow formed in him:
I will surpass her.
Not because he wanted to break her.
But because she pushed him to grow —
even when he didn't want to.