"…What do you think separates someone like Victor from the rest of us?"
Astron didn't stop walking, but his gaze shifted slightly—just enough to show he'd heard. The question hung in the air a moment longer, like he was weighing its value.
Then, softly, he replied.
"Definition."
Ethan blinked, glancing sideways. "Definition?"
Astron nodded. "Most cadets train to be stronger. Faster. Better. But that pursuit is vague. Shapeless. Even when they improve, they don't know what they're improving toward."
His hands slid into his coat pockets as they walked.
"Victor doesn't have that problem. His strength is defined. Structured. Controlled. Every movement you saw in that duel wasn't just instinct or raw power—it was a philosophy. A law he obeys. And forces others to obey too."
Ethan frowned slightly, the memory of his spear veering off course still vivid. "You're talking about that order thing he had said."
"Yes," Astron said simply.
