The wooden sword felt weird in his hand.

Not bad-weird. Just... unfamiliar. Like wearing someone else’s shoes that were almost your size but not quite. Orion turned it over once, twice, testing the grip, feeling the weight distribution. Light. Center of balance was a bit off toward the tip but manageable.

He’d held a sword exactly zero times in his current life.

The previous Orion? Also zero. That idiot had spent his days drinking and moping. No combat training. No physical conditioning. Nothing. Just a walking disappointment with good bone structure.

Great inheritance, Orion thought dryly.

Astra was already in position across from him, her stance loose and comfortable in the way that only came from years of actual practice. She held the wooden sword with one hand, the other resting casually at her side. Like this wasn’t even worth both hands. Like she was already certain of the outcome.

Orion hated that.

"Anytime," she said.

Luna sat cross-legged at the edge of the training ground, chin resting in her palm, silver eyes tracking every movement. She looked calm. She wasn’t. Orion could feel the low-level tension bleeding off her through the contract, this quiet possessive energy that basically translated to: if she draws actual blood I’m removing her arm.

He made a mental note to wrap this up clean.

"Question," Orion said, not moving yet.

Astra raised an eyebrow.

"You always spar with wooden swords or is this a special accommodation for the family disappointment?"

Something flickered in her expression. Amusement, maybe. She hid it fast. "I use what’s appropriate for the opponent."

"So wooden swords are for beginners and idiots."

"And younger brothers who might actually be one or the other. Jury’s still out."

Orion smiled at that. Just a small one.

Then he moved.

Not fast. Not a lunge or some dramatic charge. He just... closed the distance at a measured pace, watching her reaction, watching her weight shift. Her sword came up immediately, clean and precise, and he caught the angle of it with his peripheral vision and redirected his path slightly, coming in from a different vector.

She adjusted without thinking.

Muscle memory, he noted. She’s not calculating, she’s reacting. That means patterns.

Their swords met with a solid clack and the vibration ran straight up his arm and into his shoulder. She had more power than her frame suggested. He disengaged quickly, took two steps back, circled right.

"Not bad," Astra said. She actually sounded a little surprised.

"I’m full of surprises lately."

"So I’ve heard."

She came at him this time.

And okay. Yeah. There was a significant difference between them and Orion wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. Her footwork was surgical. Every step placed with intention, no wasted movement, no telegraphing. The sword came high, then dropped low in the same motion, a feint so smooth it almost worked.

Almost.

He caught it on instinct more than skill, throwing his sword sideways to deflect and stumbling back two steps in a way that was definitely not graceful. His heel caught a crack in the stone and he had to windmill his free arm to keep from going down completely.

Luna made a sound that might have been a laugh. Might have been.

"Footwork," Astra said simply, resetting her stance.

"I noticed."

"You’re overcommitting to your upper body. Center of gravity’s too high."

Orion rolled his shoulder. "Are we sparring or are you giving a lecture."

"Both," she replied, completely unbothered. "I can multitask."

He came at her again, this time keeping her notes in mind, consciously dropping his weight, shortening his steps. It helped. Marginally. She still read him easily, still moved like she had a second ahead of his intentions, but the exchange lasted longer before she disarmed him.

His sword clattered against the stone floor.

There was a beat of silence.

"Again," Orion said.

Astra tilted her head. "You’re not going to ask about that?"

"About what."

"I just disarmed you. Cleanly. Most people make some kind of noise about that."

"Most people aren’t me." He picked the sword up. "Again."

Something in her expression shifted. Not quite respect. More like... recalibration. Like she’d had a certain picture of who he was and he kept not fitting it correctly.

Good. Let her recalibrate.

They went again.

And again.

Orion lost every single exchange. That was just the reality of it. She was faster, more technically sound, and operated on what felt like a completely different level of combat experience. There was no shame in that. She’d spent years in the academy while he’d spent years being a useless waste of noble space. The gap made complete sense.

But.

Each time he came back he was just slightly different. A little more adjusted. A little harder to read. His footwork got cleaner by the fourth round, not perfect but functional. He stopped overcommitting with his shoulders. Started using his reach more intelligently.

And on the sixth exchange, he landed a hit.

It wasn’t impressive. It caught her on the forearm, not the torso, and she’d already been mid-redirect so the angle was awkward. But it landed. Solidly. The wooden sword connected with her arm and she actually stepped back.

She looked down at her forearm.

Looked back up at him.

"...Huh."

"Told you," Orion said.

"You didn’t say anything."

"I was implying."

Luna made that almost-laugh sound again.

Astra was quiet for a second, and then she did something he didn’t expect. She smiled. Not the earlier performative smile or the mild amusement she kept cycling through. A real one. Small, but real.

"You’re left-handed," she said.

"Correct."

"You switched grip on the fifth exchange. Subtly. I almost didn’t catch it." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

"You did catch it."

"One second too late." She tossed the wooden sword up and caught it. "How much of that was instinct versus planned."

Orion considered lying. "Sixty forty. The grip was planned. The angle was instinct."

"Honest."

"Occasionally."

She lowered her sword properly, the universal signal that the spar was over, and Orion followed suit, letting the tension drain out of his shoulders. His arm ached. His wrist especially, she’d caught it hard in the third exchange and the bruise was already forming under the skin. Minor. Ignorable.

The system screen appeared in the corner of his vision, subtle, like it was trying not to interrupt.