The top of the observation spire was slightly cold, but Soren found it didn’t bother him much. He sat cross-legged, hands resting on his thighs, eyes closed, and beyond him, the stars turned in slow silence. There was no day or night here. Just the distant shimmer of starlight filtered through reinforced glass, and the ambient glow of the ship's systems running beneath his feet. Down below, The Resolute Wind carried on with its endless hum, but up here, he could pretend time had stopped.

  It had been almost two weeks since Piria. The pain was beginning to fade. The team spent their time mourning the lacravida way, sharing stories and memories of him, celebrating his life, but there was no way to do a sky burial, or a funeral pyre. The only thing the Liberty Union offered was a military send-off, the equivalent of burial at sea. The body would have been released into space, respectfully, of course, with a casket and all the rest.

  Riza had said no.

  She wasn’t ready to let go of him yet, and said that type of send off wasn’t what he deserved. So Elias remained aboard, down below decks, preserved in cryo-stasis.

  Aurania hadn’t immediately agreed. She was worried Riza might have been frozen with grief, spending every ounce of time down with the body. And Riza did still go down there sometimes, but she didn’t let herself be paralyzed. She had begun training with them again. She was slightly slower at first, but it was barely noticeable, and after a few sessions, she found her old groove again.

  Soren took a deep breath and held it for a long time. His breathing was steady, slower than it should’ve been for a human. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Let it stretch. He reached for stillness, not just in the body, but in the weight behind his thoughts.

  He hadn’t been seeing eye-to-eye with Aurania over the past few weeks. It felt like things were shaken up. Their drills still worked well enough, the squad operated like a single body. But he was out of sync with Aurania. The attraction felt skewed. Like there had been a fissure. The way she had comforted him on Piria had helped him calm down, but it seemed like she had purposely started being distant with him. Answering shortly or not at all. Leaving the room right after he entered. Maybe he was imagining it.

  The mental link had even been quieter than usual. He frequently tried to focus on it during meditation, but it was like it had gone dormant. What had awakened though, was the power. Whatever he had tapped into during his rage. He felt it, coiled under his ribs, electric and alive. It felt like a power that didn’t belong to him, not yet at least. It wanted to move and lash out. But here, now, he was just trying to listen.

  Lately, Soren felt like he could hear more than he used to, at least during meditation. Footsteps two decks down. The pulse of coolant lines behind the bulkhead. A shift in gravity fields as the ship adjusted orientation. Voices far away, too far. And closer, familiar presences moving down the corridor toward the lift.

  Soren found he agreed with Riza about Elias. The man’s presence had taken root surprisingly strong with Soren from the first time they met, and he wasn’t ready to completely let go either. Soren hadn’t been down to see him, but he didn’t feel like he needed to.

  Sometimes he felt like he could feel Elias’ presence. But it was too distant to grasp, so Soren usually came to the conclusion he was imagining it. He thought he could sense him faintly right now, as he tried to stretch his perceptions out, eyes closed. But it was still too ambiguous to tell if it was real.

  The elevator door opened behind him. Soren opened his eyes and stood, turning to greet Riza. She had started wearing more open attire when she wasn’t in armor. It exposed a lot of old battle wounds, but she wore them well. He took it as a sign of growth, that she hadn’t cloistered back into her shell without Elias.

  “You look well,” he told her honestly. They hadn’t talked much since… well ever really. Of all the people on their team, Riza was the one he had talked to the least, even before Piria.

  She was watching him, head turned slightly to the side. She had a hard look on her face, half glare, half Riza’s normal face. She stayed quiet, but walked closer to him, until she stood just an arm’s width away.

  “Fight me,” Riza said after a while.

  Soren’s face opened in surprise. “Fight you? Why would I fight you?”

  “Because you are weak. And slow.”

  He didn’t know if she was intentionally trying to provoke him, or just lashing out in pain. He remained calm. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Who do you want to say goodbye to next?” she asked curtly.

  “No one.”

  “Then fight me.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise.”

  “Sable caught you off guard and knocked you to your ass. Are you going to let that happen next time?” There was a hint of anger in Riza’s voice, but she mainly sounded focused.

  “Of course not.”

  “How? Have you trained? Have you done anything to improve to make sure he doesn’t get the upper hand?”

  Soren took a deep breath. He had to make sure she didn’t get under his skin. “I have been meditating to gain better control of my… abilities.”

  “That’s it? Because I don’t think that’s enough. I think if he were to walk through the door right now, I’d end up dead and you’d throw another temper tantrum. Probably tear this ship in half with tears in your eyes.”

  “Jeez, I thought Aurania was the mean one.” He thought for a moment about what she said. “You think you’d end up dead?”

  Her expression shifted slightly. He’d called her out on something she may have not meant to let out.

  “So it’s not just about me getting better,” he said. “We both need to get quicker.”

  She let out a sigh, her eyes still locked on him. “Yes.”

  Soren averted his gaze from her, thinking for a while. He wasn’t sure how he felt about fighting Riza, especially with the grief so fresh. But she wasn’t just anyone… He had seen firsthand why they called her a legend.

  He sighed heavily, and finally said, “Alright—”

  Riza punched him in the throat, faster than he could react.

  Soren staggered back, coughing and grabbing his neck. “What the hell was that?” he wheezed.

  Riza just stood there. Arms relaxed, stance balanced. She moved toward him again, three quick punches flying in like lightning. He blocked them, then caught a knee to the sternum, forcing him back a couple more steps.

  He glared at her, still catching his breath. “Most people wait for a ready signal. You sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m not most people,” she said flatly. “Neither is Sable.”

  Soren wiped his mouth and squared up. He knew better than to argue now, this was happening. He raised his hands into a loose guard. “Fine.”

  Riza didn’t wait.

  She came at him low and fast, a series of strikes aimed at his ribs and shoulder. He blocked two, took one on the side, then swung a counter that caught nothing but air. She pivoted around him, kicked the back of his knee, and when he stumbled, she went for a sweep that nearly took him down.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He rolled out of range, breath sharp. She was faster than he expected, back in form.

  The next time she charged, he met her movement with his own. Block, parry, redirect. His breathing slowed. Focus deepened. The world narrowed.

  And then he felt something.

  Not just the rush of blood or the rhythm of their footwork, but her presence. Like a gravitational ripple before each move, tugging on the edge of his awareness. The air shifted a split-second before her limbs did. Her intent radiated outward, just faintly.

  But she was still driving him back, and he was almost at the edge of the observation spire. The Resolute Wind spilled out below, a small military city floating through the expanse of space. And if Soren didn’t manage to get the upper hand—

  A hoof straight into his chin knocked Soren backwards over the railing, and then he was falling. The observation spire extended upwards at a slight angle from the upper decks. As he fell, the white metal paneling came up to meet him, and after pivoting mid-air, he managed to plant his feet and begin sliding down.

  The descent was steep, and he was moving quickly, but he thought he’d be able to slow his momentum enough to avoid cratering the pavilion floor when he landed.

  Something caught the corner of his eye and he looked up.

  She fucking jumped. Riza was right next to him, falling through the air.

  He stared at her wide-eyed and caught a hoof to the top of the head for his apathy. He tumbled, rolling a couple times down the side of the spire before managing to regain control of his slide.

  She had started sliding too, her hooves gliding along the angled surface of the tower.

  A blur of black shot towards him, and her hand grazed his shoulder. Then her foot kicked off his side, trying to spin him off balance as they both continued sliding.

  “You’re insane!” he yelled at her, completely amazed.

  Her eyes were locked on him. “You’re an amateur,” Riza snapped, shifting her weight into a controlled slide beside him.

  They were gaining speed. Riza moved like someone who had done this before, like descending a collapsing structure mid-combat wasn’t new territory. She spun to face him, still sliding backward, and threw a punch. He ducked, the blow whistling past his ear, and retaliated with a glancing kick that pushed her off-line, but not enough.

  Near the bottom, she caught one of the angled structural supports jutting out of the spire and kicked off it with perfect timing. Her body twisted, momentum redirected. She landed in a crouch several meters ahead of him on the pavilion floor, hooves scraping across the tile. She skidded, stabilized, and turned just in time to meet Soren as he landed a half-second later.

  He landed like someone who had not done this before, scrunched up in a ball. He bounced, leaving a crater in the tile, and the impact knocked the wind out of him.

  He tried to land on his feet after bouncing off the ground, but found himself on one knee instead. He hadn’t even straightened up before she was on him again.

  Palm to the ribs. Elbow to the shoulder. He blocked both and tried to counter, but she caught his wrist mid-swing, turned with his momentum, and threw him into a table.

  The table collapsed. Food, trays, and silverware exploded in every direction. A crewman yelped as his drink went flying.

  “Can we not do this in the middle of lunch?” Soren barked as he rolled out of the wreckage.

  She was coming right at him. “What if Sable attacks during lunch?” She threw a ketchup bottle past his head like a dagger.

  More heads turned. Boots scuffed across tile. Someone dropped their bowl. He could not seem to turn the tide as she drove him back and back and back.

  A blur of purple robes, silver hair, and skin caught his attention. Veolo vaulted over a railing like a cat with no impulse control and landed in a crouch beside Riza.

  “Oh, come on—” Soren said.

  An instant later he blocked Veolo’s spin kick with his forearm.

  He stepped back, shaking the vibration out of his hand.

  Riza came in from the left, Veolo from the right. It wasn’t a coordinated attack, not at first, but it didn’t need to be. They were both quick, both aggressive, and Soren suddenly found himself juggling two opponents with zero prep.

  He blocked one strike, then twisted under another. A plate ricocheted off the wall beside him. Someone in the mess hall was screaming. Someone else was filming.

  He gritted his teeth, trying to keep up. Every dodge felt half a second too slow, every block an inch too wide. Riza clipped his shoulder again, Veolo landed a low kick to his shin, and it was getting harder to not tap into the Aether Dust for more power.

  Focus.

  Soren forced himself to breathe, steady and deep, like he had back in the spire. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Let it stretch. He let his sight blur.

  The noise of the mess hall faded. It didn’t disappear, but it drifted to the background, like static. An unimportant sound he wasn’t tracking anymore.

  He was tracking intention.

  Riza moved first. Her weight shifted before her foot did. A spike of something— Will? Momentum? — rippled toward him a fraction of a second before she struck. He dipped low and let her elbow skim harmlessly overhead.

  Veolo moved in next, a blur of violet and motion. Soren turned with her, spun to match her arc, and used her momentum to redirect her kick into a table leg.

  It broke and someone applauded.

  Soren moved smoother now. His body felt bruised and worn already, but the rhythm started clicking. Riza jabbed high, he didn’t see it, but he felt the ripple and tilted his head just far enough to avoid it. Veolo swept low, he lifted his leg before her hoof even moved.

  He didn’t have to think. Just feel.

  The pavilion had a decent sized pond to give the space a slight garden aesthetic. Soren caught Riza’s kick and used her momentum against her to launch her into the water.

  Then he spun to face Veolo just in time to catch her fist with his palm. He held it and she punched with the other hand. He caught that one too, pulled her arms in an X across her chest, then shoved her backwards, sending her sprawling onto her ass. She stayed there for a moment.

  He kept his eyes on her as he began to turn his head, then finally looked away to scan for Riza. “You’re not gonna try fucking me this time, are you?” He casually asked Veolo.

  “Eh, probably not,” she replied in an amused tone, then bounced back up off the ground.

  Soren grinned and looked back at her, she was clearly enjoying the sparring match—

  A metal tray spun through the air like a frisbee and cracked Soren right between the eyes.

  He staggered back, grasping his nose. “God, what the fuck?”

  Then the wind was knocked out of him as Veolo’s hoof planted in his abdomen.

  He looked up, regaining his balance, and they both were there. Veolo, bouncing back and forth, Riza sopping wet and focused.

  Soren exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.

  There was a pause, then they came at him together.

  Soren flowed.

  He caught Riza’s punch mid-air, twisted, ducked under Veolo’s hook, then rolled sideways and swept Riza’s legs. She backflipped, landed badly, and had to skip backward to avoid his follow-up kick.

  He could sense the pressure of their movements now, pockets of air displacement, flickers of presence. His skin buzzed. Every footfall vibrated through the floor and fed into something in his chest.

  He countered, stepped in, and for the first time since the fight started, they backed up.

  “Okay,” Veolo said, panting. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Riza narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been holding back.”

  Soren opened his eyes, chest rising slowly with his breath. “No,” he said. “You’re teaching me how to beat him.”

  Then his gaze lingered on Riza a moment longer. His brow furrowed slightly.

  There was… something. Something new and subtle.

  Soren thought he sensed Elias again for a moment.

  Veolo took his pause as an opening and jumped at him. He grabbed her leg just like he had done to Riza and flung Veolo into the water.

  Then he stood and slowly advanced toward Riza, eyeing her carefully.

  “What?” she said, recoiling slightly.

  Soren tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out what he was sensing.

  Riza threw a flurry of punches at him and he dodged most, blocking the others. He sensed it as she moved.

  She swung again, she wasn’t going to stop on her own. He caught her fist, twisted her around then put her in a headlock.

  She tried moving but he held steady.

  “Stop,” Soren said, concern in his voice.

  Riza wiggled a bit more, but then slowly calmed down.

  Very carefully, Soren reached around her, gently placing a hand on her mid-section.

  Her body tensed. “What the fuck are you doing?” she sounded pissed.

  Soren released her, spinning her away gently so when she stopped, she was facing him. His face broke into a huge smile.

  She still glared at him with confusion.

  His heart was racing, and he let out a short laugh of disbelief. “Riza,” he said, barely able to contain himself. “Riza, you’re pregnant.”

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