The female dormitory lay steeped in a deep, enveloping quiet, the kind that settled only after the academy had fully surrendered to the night, as pale moonlight filtered softly through the curtains and spread across the room in muted silver hues, outlining Zarhka’s form where she sat at the edge of her bed, her posture tense despite the stillness surrounding her.

Her broad shoulders rose and fell slowly, her breath uneven in a way that did not match the calm environment, as though something restless continued to coil beneath her skin, refusing to settle no matter how much she tried to ignore it.

Her fingers pressed into the sheets beneath her, curling slightly as her gaze drifted unfocused, not truly seeing the room around her but instead turning inward, dragged back again to the memory with Damon that refused to loosen its grip.

...What in the hell was that...? Can m-mating feel dat’ good?

The thought surfaced once more, heavier this time, carrying frustration beneath its edge as her ears flicked faintly, her jaw tightening as her body remembered far more vividly than her mind wished to acknowledge.

She had known physical encounters before, had gone through them with the blunt, instinct-driven straightforwardness that came naturally to her kind, where it was nothing more than a brief exchange of heat and tension that ended as quickly as it began, leaving nothing behind.

But this—

This had been something else entirely.

Her chest rose a little deeper as she exhaled, her tongue pressing lightly against her teeth as her brows knit together, her thoughts circling around the same point again and again.

Just....w-what was dat` sensation?

The intensity of it lingered in her body like a phantom, the memory of that overwhelming pleasure—something she had never reached before—echoing faintly as though her body was trying to chase it again without understanding how.

Her hand moved before she fully realized it.

Slow at first , hesitant.

"...Tch..."

A low sound slipped from her throat as she shifted slightly, the fabric covering her womanhood came undone, her movements uncertain, as though she was attempting to recreate something she had not yet learned how to control.

With a deep breath, she lowered her hand and began to explore her body. Her fingers were rough and callused from years of hunting and fighting, and as they touched her sensitive flesh, she winced at the unfamiliar sensation. She rubbed circles around her clitoris, watching as it hardened under her touch. It felt good, but not enough. She needed more friction.

"Ahh....umm!"

Her breathing hitched faintly as she tried to follow the sensation, to mimic what she thought she understood, but the result felt... off.

So she pressed down harder, circling faster and faster until her hips bucked off the bed in response. A groan rumbled from deep within her chest as she increased the pressure, her nails digging into the skin of her thighs. She could feel herself getting closer, but still... something was missing.

Her movements lacking the rhythm, the buildup, the gradual rise that had led her there before, and instead of that spreading heat she expected, there was only a dull, uneven sensation that refused to deepen.

"...No... that ain’t it..."

She shifted onto her side, propping herself up with one arm as she used the other hand to penetrate herself. The tightness of her own folds made her gasp, and she slipped a second finger inside. Her movements became jerky and desperate now, her hips pistoning upward in time with each stroke. She bit her lip to keep from crying out too loudly, determined to make this work.

Her breathing grew sharper.

More uneven.

Her body tensed, not with rising pleasure, but with irritation as the sensation failed to build, remaining shallow, incomplete, and increasingly uncomfortable.

But no matter how she adjusted or changed her technique, she couldn’t seem to find that elusive climax. Her muscles tensed and spasmed, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but still, nothing. Frustration welled up inside her.

"Damn it... why ain’t it workin’...?"

Her words slipped out under her breath, the frustration now fully present as her movements became less controlled, more forceful, as though pushing harder would somehow bridge the gap between what she had experienced and what she was trying to reach now.

It didn’t.

Instead, the discomfort grew. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

A faint sting replaced what she had been chasing, her body rejecting the attempt rather than responding to it, and a low growl formed in her throat as she stopped abruptly, her hand tightening into a fist as she exhaled sharply.

"...This is just wrong..."

Her voice was heavier now, rougher, edged with irritation as she leaned back slightly, her shoulders still tense as she tried to steady her breathing.

Nothing matched.

Nothing came close.

That moment—what she had felt before—it hadn’t been something she could simply force into existence.

Her gaze hardened slightly, her tongue clicking faintly in annoyance.

"...Tch... damn it all..."

With a sharp exhale, she pulled her hand away completely, letting herself fall back onto the bed as she stared up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling as the lingering tension slowly began to fade, leaving behind only that frustrating absence.

And that—

That was what bothered her the most.

The fact that she had felt it once...

And now—

She couldn’t reach it again.

Her fingers curled slightly at her side as she shut her eyes, her expression still tight with lingering frustration.

"...Forget it..."

***

The training grounds were already alive with movement under the clear morning sky, the early sunlight casting long shadows across the wide expanse of reinforced stone and marked sparring zones as groups of students spread out across the area, engaging in drills and combat practice.

The air carried a constant rhythm of motion—footsteps scraping, fists cutting through space, the sharp clash of strikes meeting blocks—while instructors observed from a distance, their presence felt more than seen as the structured chaos unfolded.

At the center of one of the sparring zones—

"Aaah!"

The sound broke out as Zarhka lunged forward, her movement fast and aggressive, her muscular frame driving into the attack with raw force as her fist cut through the air toward Damon’s torso.

Damon shifted.

Smooth and controlled.

He pivoted on his heel, his body turning just enough for the strike to pass by him as his hand came up in a short, precise motion, redirecting her momentum before stepping in close, his elbow snapping forward in a compact Muay Thai strike aimed toward her midsection.

Zarhka twisted sharply, bringing her forearm down to absorb the blow, the impact echoing faintly as she stepped back and immediately pushed forward again, her leg sweeping low in an attempt to disrupt his balance.

Damon reacted instantly, lifting his foot just enough to avoid the sweep before stepping down into a stable stance, his body shifting into a fluid transition as his hands moved—boxing guard, then opening—striking forward with a quick combination, a jab to test distance followed by a sharper cross aimed with precision.

Zarhka blocked—

But her timing was off just slightly.

And Damon noticed.

His movements didn’t pause as he followed through, shifting into a different rhythm, his stance lowering as he stepped inside her range, his shoulder driving forward into her center before transitioning into a wrestling maneuver, attempting to off-balance her.

She resisted strongly.

But—Unsteady as her breath hitched.

For a brief moment—when his arm brushed against her side—

Her body reacted, a faint shiver ran through her.

Damon’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He pulled back just enough to reassess, his foot sliding across the ground as he created space, only to move again, this time switching styles mid-motion as his leg snapped upward in a controlled kick, stopping just short of impact before retracting, flowing seamlessly into a follow-up strike drawn from a different discipline entirely.

...I’m getting more and more of a hang of the unpredictableness of fight ... he thought, his movements growing sharper, more refined as each transition between techniques became smoother, more instinctive, blending Muay Thai, boxing, and unfamiliar forms into something cohesive.

But...

Zarhka stepped in again.

But her focus wasn’t fully there.

Each time Damon closed the distance—

Each time his movements brushed past her—

There was a delay.

A reaction that didn’t belong in a fight.

Her ears flicked sharply, her jaw tightening as though trying to suppress it, but her body betrayed her again when his leg grazed against hers during a pivot, another faint tremor passing through her as her stance faltered for just a fraction of a second.

From the sidelines, three figures watched.

Mira stood with her hands clasped lightly, her eyes following the exchange with quiet concern, while Eric leaned slightly forward, his expression caught somewhere between interest and confusion as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Beside them, Vaelith’s sharp gaze remained fixed on the sparring pair, his brows slowly drawing together as something about the fight failed to align with his expectations.

"Something is... weird," he muttered under his breath.

Mira and Eric both turned toward him.

"What do you mean?" Eric asked.

Vaelith didn’t look at them.

"That goatwoman..." he said quietly, his tone thoughtful yet edged with suspicion, "has she gotten weaker or what..."

Back in the ring, Damon stepped back, creating distance between them as his posture straightened slightly, his gaze settling fully on Zarhka now, no longer just fighting—but observing.

His brows furrowed.

"Is there any problem?" he asked, his tone calm but direct, "you seem... unfocused in the fight."