The way the girl fought filled Asher with indignation.

  She moved without discipline, without pattern—every swing wide, every step taken on instinct rather than fundamentals. An orphaned commoner, unbound by doctrine or lineage, and still... she stood there, with endless bravado, across from him as if she belonged.

  As if she were his equal. It was unacceptable.

  She came at him again. Flinging herself through the air with Aura explosions. This burst unched her sideways, then another burst stopped her momentum as she ricocheted into a new angle with her sword already swinging.

  Asher blocked the attack with his shield. Stone screeched under his boots as the impact shoved him back.

  That... technique. It scarcely deserves the name.

  She was just throwing herself around—Aura released all at once and wasted in exchange for uncontrolled speed. Entirely crude and inefficient. Something fit for a lowly adventurer, not a soldier.

  And yet...

  She chained it. One burst into another. Forward, backward, then sideways again, sending echoes through the arena whenever she bsted off.

  Asher raised his bde and met another one of her powerful strikes, redirecting it with a controlled flow of Aura through his arms. The impact rang through his shield rattled into his bones. He spun, stepped inside her guard, and answered with a cut aimed for her open shoulder.

  She wasn’t there.

  Another detonation fred at her chest, and she threw herself backward. His sword sshed at empty air. She smirked before unching herself again.

  His throat tightened before a frustrated grunt escaped. He refused to make a sound.

  She hadn’t known how to do that yesterday. He was certain of it.

  Asher set his stance and drew his Aura inward, compressing it along his forearms with [Aura Hardening].

  The impact nded heavy. Her bde gnced off his guard as he redirected the force, spilling the excess into the stone beneath his feet. A waste.

  The opening was so obvious he sensed it before her bde even finished its arc. Her bance was nonexistent. The recovery from her careless attack was too wide. Too slow.

  Asher used [Flow Acceleration] to push even more Aura through his meridians and let it carry him forward with even greater speed. Heat built under his skin as the distance between them vanished, his bde already cutting toward the space she’d left wide open.

  Of course, she managed to slip away again.

  Asher adjusted his footing as her detonation carried her clear of his sword, leaving a mist of kicked-up snow in her wake. Sloppy, imprudent and... effective. Effective enough to make him adjust.

  His irritation was disproportionate, and he hated that too.

  Every bit of his strength had been drilled into him. Every refinement was carved into his body through years of repetition. He knew exactly how much Aura to commit to each movement, how to reinforce without strain, how to strike without leaving himself exposed. Discipline wasn’t fshy, but it worked.

  That was the difference between soldiers and fools.

  Asher had trained since before he could lift a proper bde. Not because he wanted to—but because he was meant to. His name carried weight. His failures would echo far beyond himself. Every mistake was corrected. Every shortcut was beaten out of him. And it made him what he was meant to be.

  He never wasted power, never relied on chance, never gambled on instinct.

  That was why he stood here.

  And she—

  She burned through Aura like it meant nothing. Hurled herself into the air, into his guard, into open space, trusting she’d survive it. No lineage. No training. No understanding of what she was doing or what she was risking. She was a child amongst adults, treating reality as her personal game.

  She wasn’t brave. She wasn’t heroic. She fought like the world would always bend itself for her benefit. It was reckless. And recklessness wouldn’t save anyone, let alone help defeat the corruption.

  Asher tightened his grip on his sword and advanced again.

  He would end this properly. With control. With precision. He would prove that discipline still mattered. That effort meant something. That a lifetime of training couldn’t be overshadowed by the impulses and luck of a little girl.

  And as Luna unched herself sideways once more—smiling, unafraid, already preparing her next feral charge—he felt a familiar ache inside his chest.

  Just like before.

  Their bdes cshed, and sparks flew. Again and again. Luna rushed him in powerful bursts, using momentum and force to try to overwhelm him. She zipped around with impossible movements as her Aura violently pulsed. Every strike was met with a raised shield, every ferocious swing redirected or absorbed. He stepped when he needed to, rotated his stance when pressure built, and let her burn herself out against his defense.

  The stalemate dragged on. She never nded a clean hit. But neither did he.

  Each time he tried to capitalize, each time he cut into what should have been an opening, she vanished in a concussive fsh of Aura, reappearing from a new angle. Sloppy and rash, and still somehow everywhere.

  Asher felt the drag in his shoulders first. Strain from the constant impacts, constant force being redirected. He adjusted, reinforced his stance, and braced for another charge.

  She darted in a straight line right for him. No feint or angle this time. Only speed and power, as her Aura bzed and she drove her bde forward.

  The thrust struck dead in the center of his shield with a massive impact that thundered through the arena.

  The ptform cracked beneath Asher’s boots as he dug in and slid backward a full step, then another. He locked his joints and flooded his Aura into his limbs, but Luna didn’t stop pushing, didn’t disengage. She leaned into the csh, driving her feet with Aura bursts at her back, pushing with everything she had.

  Her face twisted. The grin she’d been wearing all fight twitched, then vanished into a frown.

  Asher saw it clearly then. Her Aura dimmed and flickered, rising and falling with each change of her expression. Her Aura answered her emotions.

  “I’m tired of this thing,” she said, as her violet eyes flicked down to his shield.

  Then her smile returned. A genuine, pyful, delighted smile.

  She yanked her sword back with her right hand and lunged forward with her left. Her hand snatched out, and her fingers seized the edge of his shield.

  Asher tried to react, twisting his torso and sshing down toward her exposed arm.

  She slipped past. His bde only caught the edges of her messy white hair as she ducked. Her body twisted sideways, and her Aura detonated again.

  Asher was pulled forward as she tried to pry the shield from his arm. She detonated again. Again. Again.

  The explosions forced them into a chaotic spin, as Asher’s body was helplessly dragged along. The bursts continued, picking up speed and wrenching both of them off bance. Rotating force lifted his feet off the ground as she continued to tear at the shield in his grip. He tried to ssh at her as they spun, but even in this situation, she kept slipping away on feel alone, dodging by inches.

  He used [Aura Channeling] to send power into his sword arm, then thrust in one final attempt to wrest himself free from her grip. His bde pierced her upper arm. Her face scrunched as she yelped in pain, finally releasing her hold on his shield before his straps could give out.

  Asher’s vision spun. Then he realized he was the one spinning.

  He was flung across the arena, shield torn from his guard as he sailed through the air. His armor whistled as he flew, trying to reorient himself before he crashed. It was too te; he smmed back-first into the arena walls, choking as his breath escaped from his lungs.

  He sat there dazed, suspended between pain and weightlessness, control slipping through his fingers.

  And then—the memories came rushing back.

  * * *

  “Get up.” Darius’ cold gaze bore down upon Asher, who was id out in the dirt.

  Asher pushed his palms into the dirt and forced himself upright. His arms shook as he rose, skin still stinging from the st impact. He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and reset his stance without being told.

  Darius stood over him, arms csped behind his back, spotless compared to Asher’s dust-covered garb. His expression was calm, stern, it never changed. War councils, executions, even training with his youngest son, nothing could move it.

  “You overcommitted,” Darius said. “Do it again.”

  Asher nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “You let your power and weight carry you over your toes. That’s sloppy.” Darius stepped in without warning and struck. The blow nded in the center of Asher’s shield, snapping his arm aside and driving him into the dirt once more.

  Pain shot up his spine but he snuffed it before it could reach his face.

  “Get up.”

  Asher obeyed. Quicker this time.

  At the edge of the yard, three figures watched.

  Two of his brothers leaned forward against the stone wall, observing. Both were fully grown, already high officers in rank, their own training years long past. They spoke quietly between themselves, gncing over only when Asher was knocked down hard enough to draw notice. There was no mockery in their eyes. No pride either. Just distance.

  His sister stood nearby, rigid, fingers clenching the edges of her sleeves. Her eyes were glued on the two of them in the training yard. “He’s still growing,” she murmured under her breath.

  One of the brothers shrugged. “He did the same to us. Let it be. He’ll fail, and father will move on to the next one, just like he’s always done.”

  Darius circled Asher slowly.

  “Again,” he said.

  Asher inhaled, drew out his power, and dashed. His footwork was cleaner this time. His strike was tighter. He flowed through the motion exactly as drilled, exactly as corrected. It was perfect. He was perfect.

  Darius blocked it. Then he struck back.

  Asher slid several feet across the dirt before stopping himself. His entire body ached, lungs burned. They’d been training for hours, and no matter how many times Asher fixed a stance, movement, or technique, there was always something else his father found to amend.

  “That,” Darius said, “is what you’re expected to do.”

  No approval followed. There was no acknowledgement. There never was. Darius turned away as if the exchange had never happened.

  Asher swallowed his emotions and reset his stance anyway. He gnced over to the side of the yard.

  His sister took a step forward, then stopped herself. She pressed her lips together, with a pitying expression fixed on him. She looked like she wanted to call out to him, but Asher looked away before she could. He turned his eyes to the dirt instead. On anything that wasn’t her. He had to stay focused.

  Darius looked down at him. “Again.”

  Asher tightened his grip on his bde and struck.

  * * *

  A voice echoed through the corridor outside the training yard.

  Asher was in a nearby room, changing out of his gear, catching his breath, and wiping the blood and grime from his body. He didn’t catch the start of it, but the single raised voice drew his attention.

  “He’s thirteen.”

  Asher peeked through the crack in the door. His sister stood stiff, with her fists clenched at her sides. He couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine what it looked like.

  Darius stopped walking.

  “He’s younger than the recruits you turn away,” she continued. “He hasn’t even finished healing from the st session. You’re breaking him.”

  Darius turned to face her. “He is behind,” he said calmly. “That is unacceptable. Potential that does not advance is wasted. And I do not waste resources.”

  “Behind who?!” His sister raised her voice, gesturing with her arms out wide. “He’s just a child! You’re treating him like he’s one of your stupid soldiers!”

  “He is my son.”

  “That’s not the same thing! You didn’t train us like this! Just let him be a kid for once!”

  “I did,” Darius replied. “I trained all of you, and simply, none of you were good enough.”

  She took a step closer, looking up at him. “He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t ugh. He doesn’t cry. He never asks for anything. He even flinches every time he hears your voice. You don’t correct him—you grind him down until there’s nothing left but obedience.”

  “That,” Darius said, letting the word ruminate, “is discipline.”

  Her voice broke. “You’re going to lose him.”

  Darius studied her for a long, silent moment. Then he spoke.

  “You misunderstand your pce. And his.”

  She opened her mouth to plead her argument once more.

  But he didn’t let her. “Return to your quarters. You will depart by morning.”

  She froze. “What?!”

  “You are no longer to observe his training. Or interfere in his development.”

  She stared at him, disbelief spreading across her face. “You’re being unreasonable—”

  “Enough,” Darius replied. “I’ve spoken. Leave me.” He turned away.

  * * *

  She didn’t say goodbye.

  Asher learned she was gone from an empty seat at the table.

  One of his brothers mentioned it in passing. “She’s been sent to her mother’s estate.”

  Asher’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He set it down carefully, forcing his hands steady despite the hollow feeling spreading beneath his ribs. No one looked at him when they said it.

  Training resumed that afternoon. Darius corrected his stance twice. Struck him once. Moved on.

  Asher didn’t ask where she had gone. He didn’t ask why. He learned something far more important instead.

  Attachments were liabilities. Concern invited removal. And weakness—even in others—had consequences.

  So he buried it.

  * * *

  Asher’s consciousness returned.

  He was slouched against the wall, knee bent painfully beneath him, the crowd’s roar pressing into his ears. His shield was gone. His arm felt numb, heavy, slow to respond. He struggled to keep his eyes open, each blink bringing sharpness back into his vision.

  His sword y a short distance away. He reached for it, fingers closing around the hilt just as his eyes tracked movement.

  A blur of white barreled toward him.

  He tried to rise. His legs failed him. He barely managed to get his sword up before it hit him.

  The white-hair girl brought her sword down at his hunched-over form.

  Their swords collided. His back smmed into the stone, and his breath was ripped from him a second time. He felt himself slide down the wall. Felt his sword slip from his grasp.

  When the ringing faded enough for thought to return, Luna was standing a few paces away. She hadn’t followed through. Hadn’t pressed the advantage.

  “Get up.”

  His legs twitched to obey before he remembered where he was. Her words dug at his memories. The very same words his father always told him. Coming from a child barely older than he was at that time.

  Asher gritted his teeth and forced himself upright, stumbling once before he got off the wall. Pain stung throughout his body, but he ignored it. Pain was familiar. He could manage pain.

  He couldn’t manage Humiliation, however.

  He dragged himself up and raised his sword, acutely aware of the space between them.

  A few paces. Too close to retreat. Too far to strike without committing.

  Luna tilted her head, studying him as if he were a problem she was struggling to solve. “Thought I had you there,” she said lightly. “But you stood up. That’s great. I’m proud of you.”

  The words were cruel. She might not have known it, but hearing those words from anybody, even his enemy, was enough to crush his heart.

  Asher straightened, rolling his shoulders despite the screaming from his muscles and bones. His sword’s hilt creaked from the strength of his grip. He felt the crowd again then—tens of thousands of eyes, all watching him falter, watching him struggle to regain footing against a girl six years his junior.

  A commoner. An undisciplined, impulsive—

  His Aura ignored his will and surged with his emotions.

  The air around him distorted. His skin prickled as power bled out from his core. His breathing quickened along with his pulse.

  Luna noticed immediately. Her smile sharpened. “Hey! There it is,” she taunted. “Are you ready?”

  Asher took a step forward. Then another.

  He should have slowed. Should have measured his output. Should have stabilized his core before advancing. He knew all of it. Had drilled it into himself for years. But the thought slipped away beneath the pressure in his chest, beneath the memory of that training ground. The blood in the dirt, the voice that never praised, only admonished.

  “I am not losing to you,” he said, the words came out before he could stop them.

  Luna raised a brow, then her grin widened. “Wow! You do talk. I felt like a crazy person talking to myself here.”

  The crowd behind him ughed.

  The restraint gave way. Asher lunged.

  His bde came in fast and heavy as his Aura fed into the strike, far past what the motion required. It was strong—stronger than before—but it wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing. His footing was off. His timing too eager. The cut aimed to end things instead of control them.

  Luna ducked aside with a short detonation, crouched, and slid with a hand in the snow as she barely avoided his sword. The tip had still grazed her side, slicing the fabric between her armor ptes and drawing a thin line of blood.

  She looked down at it, surprised. Then back up at him. “...You’re angry,” she said, almost like a question.

  Asher ignored her taunts. He attacked.

  His movements lost all the precision he’d trained so hard for. Each strike was sharper, heavier, and less restrained. Aura swelled to his limbs in rough bursts as he forced more power through pathways that hadn’t been prepared for it. He was chasing her across the arena with raw aggression.

  Luna backstepped, detonated sideways, ducked under a sweeping cut that would’ve taken her head off. Her grin was gone now, repced with a focused pout.

  “Hey,” she said. “You’re getting sloppy.” More taunts that cut at him where steel couldn’t.

  Asher roared and committed fully. He drew everything inward and released it all at once, beginning a technique he’d practiced thousands of times in silence—a sequence meant to overwhelm, to dominate space, to leave no room for escape.

  But, this wasn’t where he was supposed to use it. How he was supposed to use it.

  He’d skipped a step. Forced power where control should have been.

  He threw his strongest sequence into a sweeping cut toward her. She stepped into it. Into him—accepting the bde. Her shoulder smmed his chest as his sword sank deep into her abdomen, forcing its way between armor ptes.

  They both froze, face to face.

  Asher felt it. The resistance, the give. The warmth seeping across his hand. Her breath reflecting off his face.

  He stared at her in disbelief. He’d won. He’d finally—

  Luna looked up at him and smiled. Blood smeared her teeth. She coughed, spattering some on his face as the rest ran freely from her mouth. A pool began to form at their feet, staining the snow around them.

  Her eyes were bright. Alive. “I win,” she whispered.

  Her Aura shifted and converged into her arm as she raised it. A fsh lit up his vision. Another detonation that came not from her torso but from her fist. A barbaric attack that nded square in his face.

  Asher’s senses bnked. He didn’t feel the pain at first. Only the sensation of weight leaving his body. He flew. Again.

  His vision sparked, then went dark, then white as he slid down into a heap.

  The crowd howled.

  Asher y there, chest heaving, blood in his mouth, ears ringing, weapon gone, control gone. And for the first time in his life, he screamed back. Not out of rage. Not out of defiance. But from his raw emotions, unfiltered and unmistakably human.

  The sound tore from his throat, ripping past discipline, past pride, past the mask he’d worn since childhood.

  And Luna stood over him.