Elara woke feeling—strangely—good.
Her muscles still ached, but the stiffness had eased, and her mind felt clearer. The successful potion, the study session with Teryn, even Fig behaving (relatively) like a functional cat had all stitched together into a sense of forward momentum.
She pulled on her training clothes, tied her hair back into a high knot, and marched toward the practice grounds with a steady heartbeat and fire in her chest.
That fire was extinguished within the hour.
Her assigned drill partner—a wiry, sharp-eyed upperclassman—moved like liquid steel, and no matter how Elara adjusted, dodged, or countered, she ended up on the ground over and over again.
By the fifth fall, the taste of dirt was familiar.
By the seventh, she was struggling to breathe through it.
Kael stormed past another group and barked, "Again!"
Elara picked herself up, tried once more, and overextended on her swing. Her opponent dropped her in a heartbeat, blade flat against her shoulder before she could blink.
Kael was on her instantly.
"Wrong foot again! What did I say about bracing before you strike?"
"I was—"
"No, you weren't. You're thinking like a brawler, not a soldier. You're ignoring commands and not listening to your own instincts."
Elara's throat tightened. She clenched her fists, willing her voice to stay calm, to not crack in front of everyone.
"I'm trying."
"Try smarter. Not harder," Kael snapped. "You've got fire. But fire without control is just another blaze waiting to burn itself out."
He walked off without another glance, shouting at another group down the line.
Elara stood there, heart hammering, eyes burning. Not from pain—but from the sheer weight of disappointment.
When Kael finally called the session, she didn't wait to talk. She didn't even check if anyone noticed the redness in her eyes.
She turned, slipped through the rows of archways, and left the grounds behind.
The air was cool, the cobbled paths quiet underfoot as she made her way toward the edges of the Academy—where green trails led into old stone gardens and forgotten courtyards.
She needed a walk. She needed air. She needed—
She didn't know.
But anything was better than standing still and letting the weight of failure crush her where she stood.
Elara pressed her sleeve to her face, wiping away the stubborn tears she hadn't even realized were falling. The sharp sting of defeat still lingered, but it was more than that—fear curled tight in her chest. She had to succeed. If she failed, if she couldn't change her fate this time, she would die again. The thought was a shadow trailing every step she took.
Lost in that dark spiral, she didn't notice him until his voice cut through the silence.
"You're stronger than you think." She heard Darius say and a shiver ran down her spine.
She started, looking up to find the tall, dark-haired professor standing just a few feet away. His storm-gray eyes held a calm intensity, and for a moment, Elara forgot to be afraid.
He smiled gently. "I've seen many come through here, broken and beaten. Most give up. But you—you've got something different. Don't let today be the day you do the same."
Elara swallowed hard, feeling warmth spread through her chest like sunlight breaking through clouds.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice barely steady.
He nodded once. "Remember, control is just as important as strength. Master that, and you'll be unstoppable."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Elara standing a little taller, the weight on her shoulders feeling just a bit lighter.
The lunch hall was a roaring sea of voices, clattering dishes, and the warm scent of roasted meats and fresh bread. Long wooden tables stretched like rivers through the crowded space, filled with students eager to refuel after the morning's grueling classes. Elara spotted Kael seated near the far side, flanked by a small group of upperclassmen, his sharp gaze flicking from one plate to the next as he ate in near silence.
Summoning her courage, Elara pushed through the throng, keeping her eyes fixed on him. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, the memory of the morning's bitter training session still burning beneath her skin.
Kael noticed her approach almost immediately, his expression darkening like a storm ready to break.
"What do you want, Ashvine?" he said without looking up, his voice clipped.
Elara forced her lips into a steady line and sat down on the bench beside him.
"I want you to train me," she said simply.
The table went silent for a split second, then erupted in laughter.
One of Kael's friends, a tall, lanky student with a crooked grin, leaned in and whispered loud enough for several nearby tables to hear, "She's here to learn how to not get her ass kicked?"
Lyssandra's laughter rang out, clear and mocking, cutting through the noise like a blade.
"Good luck with that," she sneered. "Kael doesn't train failures."
Elara's jaw clenched, but she refused to back down.
Kael finally looked at her, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You want me to train you? After today? You want me to fix the mess you made of the drills?"
"Yes."
He stared at her as if she'd grown another head.
"I'm serious."
"Hell no," he said flatly.
The laughter bubbled up again around the table, but Elara held her ground, meeting Kael's gaze evenly.
"Why not?" she asked quietly.
Kael's expression flickered—annoyance, surprise, maybe something else she couldn't quite read.
"Because," he said finally, "I don't waste time on lost causes."
"I'm not a lost cause," Elara said, voice steady but firm.
Kael looked away, running a hand through his dark hair. For a moment, the room fell into an uneasy silence.
Then he pushed back his chair and stood, he walked away irritated.
Lyssandra laughed as Elara walked away humiliated.