Evening settled over Aurenheim with the kind of cold that sank through uniforms and into bone. After drills, the courtyard emptied slowly—clusters of trainees limping toward the dining hall, some arguing, some laughing too loudly from exhaustion.
Serene was not among them.
She stood in the far practice ring, alone beneath the fading sky. She had removed her outer armor pieces, leaving only the training jerkin that pressed firmly—but not painfully—against her ribs. The injury still throbbed, a quiet reminder. She lifted her blade and repeated the second stance correction Commander Eira had pointed out that morning.
Precision.
Patience.
Presence.
Her breath fogged in the chilled air.
Step—
Shift weight—
Angle wrist—
Exhale—
It still hurt.
Not unbearable.
Just enough to remind her that her body was not invincible.
Serene reset her position.
Before she could lift her blade again, a voice came from behind her.
"That angle is wrong."
She didn't turn.
Rowen Aster approached the ring with the quiet confidence of someone who didn't need to announce himself. His expression was the same as always—composed, unreadable, disciplined.
Serene kept her blade steady.
"I'm correcting it."
"You're reinforcing the wrong habit," Rowen said.
She turned then, eyes cool.
"You've been watching?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
His gaze didn't waver.
"To understand why you're choosing to move incorrectly."
Serene stiffened, not from offense but from challenge.
Rowen rarely spoke so directly.
Her tone stayed even.
"I'm adjusting for injury."
"That's not an adjustment."
Rowen stepped into the ring.
"It's compensation."
"And what's the difference?" Serene asked.
Rowen picked up a wooden practice blade from the rack, turning it in his hand with unhurried confidence.
"If you adjust," he said, "you grow stronger with new motions."
"And if I compensate?" Serene asked.
"Then you grow weaker," Rowen said, "by protecting what hurts."
Serene tightened her grip.
"My ribs aren't fully healed."
"That is not my concern," Rowen said.
The words weren't cruel.
They were simply true.
Serene inhaled through her nose.
He stepped closer, blade tapping once against the ground.
"If you enter drills tomorrow the way you moved just now, you'll hold the entire team back."
Serene met his eyes.
"Then show me the correct way."
Rowen lifted his blade.
"No. You'll find it."
Her brows lowered.
"That's not helpful."
"It's not supposed to be."
He motioned toward her stance.
"Again."
Serene lifted her sword, ignoring the pain tightening beneath her ribs.
Step.
Shift.
Angle—
Rowen's voice cut through the movement.
"Too rigid."
Serene reset, breath sharp with cold and frustration.
Again.
"Too cautious."
Again.
"You're guarding your ribs."
Again.
"You're afraid."
Her blade halted mid-air.
Serene's eyes snapped to him.
Rowen didn't blink.
"You're not fighting to learn. You're fighting not to get hurt."
Serene lowered her sword slowly.
"And you think that's fear?"
"Yes."
"It's discipline."
"No," Rowen said calmly.
"Discipline is knowing when to endure pain and when to correct your form. This is neither."
Serene hated how logical he sounded.
How clean his words were.
How they cut without drawing blood.
Her ribs throbbed.
Her lungs tightened.
She reset her stance again.
Rowen's voice came quieter this time.
"You can learn the proper motion even while injured."
"Then teach—"
He shook his head.
"I won't hand it to you. I don't insult knights by giving them answers they should earn."
Serene's grip steadied.
"Then what are you here for, Rowen Aster?"
His eyes sharpened at the sound of his full name.
"To challenge you."
Serene held his gaze.
"To break me?"
"If you break from this," Rowen said, "you don't belong here."
Her heart clenched once.
Not from fear.
Not from doubt.
From clarity.
Serene exhaled, cold breath leaving her lips in a thin cloud.
"Then let's test it."
Without waiting for a command, she struck.
Steel met wood with a sharp, ringing crack.
Rowen deflected, calm as water.
Again.
Again.
Her footwork stuttered each time the pain flared—but she didn't stop.
Rowen pushed her back with controlled force.
Not cruel.
Not aggressive.
Measuring her.
Reading her.
Testing her.
Serene's ribs screamed on the fourth exchange. Her breath caught. Rowen's blade nearly slipped past her guard.
He saw it.
He didn't strike.
He stepped in.
Before she could adjust, his voice came low.
"There. That moment."
Serene froze.
"That was compensation," he said.
"You moved your elbow to protect your ribs. It weakened your guard and your strike."
She hated that he was right.
Rowen stepped back.
Again.
"Try it. This time, let your ribs hurt."
Serene grit her teeth.
"That's reckless."
"That's reality."
She lifted her blade.
Again.
This time, she forced herself not to flinch when the pain hit.
She forced her arm to follow the correct arc.
She forced her lungs to tighten around the ache.
Her blade moved differently.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
Rowen nodded once.
"There it is."
Serene steadied her breath.
"So pain is part of the lesson?"
"No," Rowen said.
"Pain is the proof that you're learning."
She held his gaze.
Cold wind brushed past them, lifting the ends of her braid.
"You expect too much of people," Serene murmured.
"You expect too little of yourself," Rowen replied.
Silence stretched—cold, taut, charged.
Serene lowered her blade.
"Then we're both wrong."
Rowen's expression flickered, the closest thing to surprise she'd ever seen on him.
Before he could respond, footsteps approached the ring.
Alden.
He looked between them without a word, eyes taking in the lingering tension.
Lira stood behind him, her face pale with concern.
"You should rest, Serene," she said gently.
Serene sheathed her blade.
"I will."
Rowen stepped aside as she passed.
But just as she reached the edge of the ring, he spoke—quietly, but not softly.
"Tomorrow's drills will expose every weakness."
Serene paused.
"Make sure this"—Rowen nodded at her ribs—
"isn't one of them."
She didn't turn around.
She didn't answer.
She only walked away into the cold evening, her breath steady, her ribs aching, her resolve sharper than any blade she carried.
Behind her, Rowen exhaled once—long, controlled.
Not admiration.
Not irritation.
Recognition.
The rivalry had truly begun.