Vane heard Anastasia before he saw her, a low golden roar rolling down the corridor of the Aurelia wing that sounded less like a fight and more like weather.
He rounded the corner into a courtyard he'd never actually been inside before, and found her standing in the center of it, rapier out, golden light saturating the air in a wide, steady radius, and at least nine loyalist students spread out around her in a loose, wary ring.
She was winning. That was the first thing he registered, watching her cut down a strike from her left with a single unhurried parry that sent the attacker's blade spinning out of his hand entirely. She was winning every individual exchange, decisively, without visible effort, the same way she always won things, mana pouring off her in that limitless, unbroken stream Isole had once called a fusion reactor that didn't leak.
She just wasn't winning fast enough.
