Morning in Inferna did not announce itself.

  The light arrived carefully, slipping between stone walls and tiled roofs, brushing the courtyard in pale gold as though testing whether it was welcome. Shadows loosened their hold reluctantly, retreating from the open space inch by inch. The air carried the faint chill of night, tempered by the promise of warmth to come.

  Elaine did not step into the courtyard right away.

  She watched instead.

  Roland swung again.

  The wooden blade struck Anastasia’s forearm with a sharp crack and rebounded, the impact swallowed as if it had struck something far denser than flesh. Anastasia did not flinch. She stood where she was, feet planted wide on the stone, chin lifted, smiling as though the world had simply behaved the way it was supposed to.

  Roland stepped back, breath leaving him in a controlled exhale. He rolled his shoulder once—not from pain but habit—adjusted his grip, and came in again from a different angle. The next strike landed against Anastasia’s ribs.

  Nothing.

  Anastasia laughed and nudged him forward with her shoulder, careless and playful, her wooden sword still resting loosely at her side. She hadn’t even bothered to raise it.

  Elaine exhaled softly through her nose.

  She straightened from where she stood near the edge of the path and stepped down into the courtyard, her shoes clicking once as they met the stone.

  Roland noticed first.

  His next motion stalled halfway through. The wooden sword hovered uncertainly in his hands as his eyes flicked past Anastasia, narrowing as he took in the unfamiliar figure approaching from behind Soliana’s bench.

  Anastasia followed his gaze and turned.

  “Oh,” she said brightly. “Hey.”

  Elaine stopped a few steps away, posture relaxed, hands folded loosely behind her back. Up close, she didn’t look especially imposing. She wasn’t armored. She wasn’t armed—unless one counted the staff resting casually against her shoulder. Her white robes were clean and uncreased, the silver trim catching the sunlight faintly as she moved.

  She smiled.

  “Good morning,” she said. “You two seem busy.”

  Anastasia straightened instinctively, her wooden sword lifting to rest against her shoulder in unconscious imitation of victory poses she had seen before.

  “Training,” she said proudly. “I won.”

  Roland opened his mouth, then closed it again. His eyes stayed on Elaine, measuring, weighing.

  Elaine’s gaze drifted from Anastasia’s unmarked arms to Roland’s reddening cheek. She nodded once, as if something had been quietly confirmed.

  “I see,” she said. “I’m Elaine.”

  She inclined her head slightly. Not a bow. Just acknowledgment.

  Roland hesitated before responding. “Roland,” he said at last.

  Anastasia puffed up beside him. “Princess Anastasia.”

  Elaine’s smile widened a fraction.

  “Well,” she said, “that explains the confidence.”

  Anastasia beamed.

  Roland frowned, unsure whether he’d just witnessed praise or something else entirely.

  Elaine’s attention shifted back to him. Her eyes lingered—not on his stance or his weapon, but on the way he held himself. The way his weight stayed centered. The way he hadn’t fully relaxed even after the exchange had paused.

  “You handle yourself carefully,” Elaine said. “That’s good.”

  Roland blinked. “I—thanks.”

  Anastasia scoffed. “Careful is boring. You just have to hit harder.”

  Elaine turned to her. “Does that work?”

  Anastasia’s grin widened. “So far.”

  Elaine hummed, thoughtful.

  She stepped closer—close enough that the tip of Anastasia’s wooden sword nearly brushed her sleeve. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow.

  Up close, Anastasia noticed something odd.

  Elaine wasn’t looking at her face.

  She was looking at her hands.

  “May I?” Elaine asked.

  “May you what?”

  Elaine gestured lightly toward the sword.

  Anastasia hesitated, then shrugged and handed it over.

  Elaine took the wooden sword, testing its weight once. Then she tapped it gently against Anastasia’s arm.

  The sound was dull.

  She tapped again. Harder.

  Anastasia didn’t react.

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  Elaine nodded to herself and handed the sword back.

  “Interesting,” she said.

  Roland shifted his stance. “What is?”

  Elaine straightened, folding her hands behind her back again.

  “You’re very durable,” she said to Anastasia. “And very certain of it.”

  Anastasia laughed. “Of course I am.”

  Elaine’s gaze slipped past her, toward the bench where Soliana still sat. Soliana hadn’t moved since Flora left. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, posture small but attentive, eyes moving between faces rather than blades.

  Elaine met her gaze briefly and smiled again—softer this time.

  Then she turned back to the two in front of her.

  “Would you mind,” Elaine said lightly, “if I joined you for a round?”

  Roland stiffened. “You?”

  Anastasia lit up instantly. “You want to fight me?”

  “Not quite,” Elaine said. “I want to understand you.”

  Anastasia tilted her head. “You can try.”

  Elaine’s smile sharpened, just a little.

  “Good,” she said. “Then let’s start properly.”

  She stepped back and raised one hand—not in a guard, not in a stance. Just lifted, open-palmed, casual.

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Anastasia didn’t wait.

  The moment Elaine’s hand lifted, she rushed forward, wooden sword raised high, boots pounding against the stone with fearless certainty. There was no testing strike, no hesitation—just speed, enthusiasm, and the assumption that whatever stood in front of her would yield.

  Elaine moved.

  She didn’t retreat far. Just enough.

  The sword cut through empty air.

  Anastasia spun, grinning, and swung again. Elaine stepped aside once more, robes whispering softly as she passed just out of reach. The staff in her hand remained low, unused.

  “Hold on,” Elaine said.

  Anastasia skidded to a stop, scowling. “What?”

  Elaine tilted her head, studying her—not the sword, not the stance. Her.

  “You don’t mind questions, do you?” Elaine asked.

  Anastasia blinked. “Huh?”

  “Questions,” Elaine repeated. “I like knowing who I’m fighting.”

  Anastasia puffed up. “I’m Princess Anastasia. I like winning. I don’t like losing. And I’m really tough.”

  Elaine smiled. “That much is obvious.”

  She stepped closer—not into Anastasia’s range, but near enough that the distance felt deliberate.

  “Where are you from?” Elaine asked.

  “Reina.”

  “And you like it there?”

  Anastasia shrugged. “It’s fun. Lots of people. Lots of food.”

  Elaine’s eyes flicked up, catching Anastasia’s gaze for just a heartbeat.

  “You mentioned being tough,” Elaine said. “Is that something you trained for?”

  Anastasia shook her head. “Nope. I was born like this.”

  Elaine’s attention sharpened.

  “Born,” she repeated.

  “Uh-huh. Born with a Sigil.”

  Elaine looked at Anastasia’s eyes again.

  There was nothing there. No mark. No glow.

  “That’s… unusual,” Elaine murmured.

  Roland shifted, watching closely.

  Elaine circled Anastasia slowly, staff resting against her shoulder.

  “No manifested display,” she said quietly. “Either dormant, incomplete… or the effect is secondary.”

  Anastasia crossed her arms. “Well, it works.”

  Elaine smiled faintly. “I won’t argue.”

  She stepped back and raised her hand again.

  “Alright,” Elaine said. “Let’s keep this simple.”

  Anastasia brightened. “Good!”

  Elaine tilted her head. “Tell me—what do you think about food?”

  Anastasia stared. “Food?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s dumb. Food’s great.”

  Elaine nodded. “Why?”

  “It keeps you alive!” Anastasia said, charging forward again. “It tastes good!”

  Elaine sidestepped easily.

  “True,” Elaine said. “But it also starts wars.”

  Anastasia missed and spun back around. “No it doesn’t!”

  Elaine guided the next swing aside with her staff.

  “People fight over it,” Elaine said calmly. “Hoard it. Kill for it.”

  “That’s not food’s fault!” Anastasia snapped, swinging harder.

  “And yet,” Elaine said, retreating just enough to make it count, “food is always there when those things happen.”

  Anastasia rushed her again. “It’s still good!”

  Elaine ducked under the strike, tapping Anastasia’s wrist lightly.

  “Is it good,” Elaine asked, “when someone else doesn’t get any?”

  Anastasia faltered.

  Just for a moment.

  She attacked again—faster now, no longer answering.

  Elaine’s movements changed.

  She stopped retreating as much. Redirected more. Let Anastasia’s momentum stretch wider, pull harder.

  “Food is delicious,” Elaine continued evenly. “But so is wanting it.”

  Anastasia growled and swung again.

  Elaine slipped inside her guard.

  “Greed tastes good too.”

  Anastasia didn’t reply.

  She charged.

  Again.

  Again.

  Her swings grew wider. Less controlled. The argument had stopped. Only motion remained.

  Elaine waited.

  Then she struck.

  The staff snapped forward once—quick, precise—and met Anastasia’s head with a solid thunk.

  “Oww!”

  Anastasia yelped, dropping her sword and clutching her head.

  Elaine stepped back immediately.

  The courtyard went quiet.

  Anastasia stared at Elaine, stunned. “You—you hit me!”

  Elaine regarded her calmly. “You stopped believing what you were saying.”

  Later, when Anastasia sat rubbing her head and Elaine explained, Roland listened without interrupting.

  And Soliana watched.

  Something in the space between people had shifted.

  Not loudly.

  But completely.

  Anastasia sat on the stone, wooden sword forgotten at her side, one hand still pressed to her head.

  “That wasn’t fair,” she said. “You didn’t even hit hard.”

  Elaine crouched in front of her.

  “No,” she said. “I didn’t.”

  Roland shifted uneasily. “Then why did it work?”

  Elaine looked at him. This time, she didn’t hedge.

  “Because your Sigil doesn’t answer strength alone,” she said.

  “It answers belief.”

  Anastasia frowned. “But I’m tough.”

  “Yes,” Elaine said immediately. “You are.”

  She didn’t let that hang uncertain.

  “How your sigil manifest is based on an entirely different set of criteria. Belief does not decide that.”

  Anastasia’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

  “But,” Elaine added, raising one finger, “belief decides how strongly your Sigil responds in a fight.”

  Roland’s brow creased. “So… belief makes it stronger?”

  “Or weaker,” Elaine said. “Or unstable.”

  She tapped the stone beneath them.

  “Think of it like standing,” Elaine said. “Your body doesn’t disappear if you lose balance. But if your footing slips, it doesn’t matter how strong your legs are—you go down.”

  Anastasia stared at the ground.

  “When Roland hits you,” Elaine went on, “you don’t question the outcome. You don’t prepare for pain. You don’t even think about it. Your belief is absolute.”

  Anastasia nodded slowly.

  “That certainty keeps your Sigil steady,” Elaine said. “Not because it created your power—but because it lets your power act without resistance.”

  Roland’s eyes widened a fraction.

  “But when we fought,” Elaine continued, “I forced you to doubt something you were using to fight.”

  Anastasia looked up. “Food?”

  “Yes.”

  Elaine didn’t smile.

  “At first, you believed what you were saying,” she said. “Food is good. Food is necessary. Food is life.”

  Anastasia nodded again, more hesitantly now.

  “Then you started to feel the cracks,” Elaine said. “Not in the argument—in yourself.”

  Roland swallowed.

  “When that happened,” Elaine said, “your belief wavered. And when belief wavers, a Sigil doesn’t disappear.”

  She held her fingers a breath apart.

  “It slips.”

  Anastasia clenched her hands. “So that’s why it hurt.”

  “Yes,” Elaine said plainly. “Your Sigil didn’t fail. It hesitated.”

  The courtyard stayed silent.

  Roland broke it. “This only works because she’s already strong, doesn’t it?”

  Elaine nodded.

  “Against someone weak, this is pointless,” she said. “Against someone overwhelmingly strong, it becomes essential.”

  She straightened.

  “At high levels,” Elaine continued, “most Sigils can’t overpower each other directly. Strength meets strength and nothing moves.”

  Her gaze sharpened.

  “That’s when belief becomes a battlefield.”

  Anastasia hugged her knees. “So if someone messes with what you believe—”

  “—they can weaken you,” Elaine finished. “Or destroy you. Or turn your own power against you.”

  Roland felt cold.

  “I don’t know why Sigils are tied to belief,” Elaine said. “I only know that they are. And that pretending otherwise gets people killed.”

  She rested the staff against her shoulder.

  “When you can’t break someone’s power,” Elaine said,

  “you attack what lets them stand.”

  She looked directly at Anastasia.

  “You didn’t lose because you’re weak,” Elaine said.

  “You lost because, for a moment, you didn’t know what you were standing on.”

  Silence settled again.

  This time, it wasn’t confusion that filled it.

  It was understanding.