Days later

The training yard had changed.

It wasn’t the equipment—the mats were the same, the dummies still cracked, the pendulum weights still swinging. What had changed was the rhythm. The way they moved. The way they breathed. The way they trusted each other without looking.

It had been two weeks since Lucian took command.

Two weeks of six AM starts and eight PM finishes. Two weeks of Dr. Blackwood’s dry critiques and Cora’s competitive fire and Derek’s shaky but growing confidence. Two weeks of Mason’s flames burning steadier and Sera’s blood sense reaching further.

They weren’t the same team that had stumbled through Greyhollow.

They were becoming something else.

This morning, the yard was humid, the air thick with the promise of rain. Cora was running drills with Mason—him throwing heat bursts, her phasing through them at the last second, her short sword finding the gaps in his defense. They moved like dancers, predators, partners.

"Too slow," Cora said, her blade stopping an inch from Mason’s throat.

"You’re phasing too early," Mason replied.

"You’re telegraphing."

"I’m not."

"Your left shoulder drops before you release. Fix it."

Mason’s jaw tightened, but he nodded.

Across the yard, Sera sat cross-legged on the floor, her eyes closed, her fingers pressed to a bloodstained rag from a training dummy. The blood was a week old. She’d been tracking it for three days, following a trail that had gone cold to anyone else.

"The scent splits near the east wall," she said. "Two directions. One leads to the kitchens. The other to the armory."

"Which one is stronger?" Lucian asked from the sidelines.

"The armory. Fresher residue."

"Good. Now find the third trail."

"There’s a third?"

"Always assume there’s a third."

Sera’s brow furrowed. She pressed harder, her blood sense stretching thin.

Derek was in the corner, two ghosts orbiting him like moons. Not Dr. Blackwood this time—two new spirits he’d summoned on his own, thin and faint but obedient. He held his staff in one hand, the other raised, fingers tracing patterns in the air.

"Left," he said. The ghost on his left drifted forward. "Right." The ghost on his right followed. "Together."

They moved in unison, circling him, their cold presence pressing against his skin. He didn’t flinch.

"Good," Dr. Blackwood said, materializing nearby. "But you’re still thinking. Stop thinking. Feel."

"I am feeling."

"You’re feeling your fear. Feel their will instead."

Derek closed his eyes.

The ghosts stopped circling. They hovered, waiting.

"Attack," Derek whispered.

They lunged at a training dummy, their forms solidifying just long enough to leave frost on its surface.

Dr. Blackwood’s thin lips curled into something like a smile. "Better."

Lucian watched it all from the center of the yard, his arms crossed, his blades sheathed. He didn’t need to correct them anymore. They were correcting themselves. His job now was just to push.

"Again," he said.

They went again.

---

The rain held off until mid-morning.

They were sparring in the open when the gates to the training yard swung open. A group of hunters entered—five of them, wearing the silver-and-blue uniforms of the Silver Falcons. Their leader walked at the front, his posture loose, his smile sharp.

Dorian.

He was tall, handsome in the way that rich kids were handsome—clean features, expensive haircut, teeth that had been straightened by someone who charged by the hour. His uniform was immaculate, not a crease out of place. Behind him, his team fanned out, their eyes scanning the yard with casual disdain.

Cora stopped mid-strike. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

Dorian’s smile widened. "Ashen Dawn. I’d heard you were training hard." His gaze swept over them—Cora’s sweat-soaked hair, Mason’s scorched gauntlets, Derek’s pale face, Sera’s crossbow. "Doesn’t look like it’s helping."

Mason’s fists clenched.

Cora took a step forward. "Say that again."

Dorian raised his hands, mock-innocent. "No offense meant. I’m sure you’re doing your best." He looked at Derek, who was still surrounded by his ghosts. "Interesting trick. Does it work in actual combat, or just against training dummies?"

Derek’s face flushed. The ghosts flickered.

Dorian’s team laughed.

Cora’s sword was half-drawn before Lucian stepped between them.

His movement was casual, unhurried. He walked past Cora, past Mason, past Derek, and stopped a few feet from Dorian. His face was calm. His hands were empty.

"We’ll see you in the tournament," Lucian said. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "That’s it? No threats? No posturing?"

"That’s it."

Dorian laughed. It was a good laugh—warm, genuine, and somehow more insulting than any taunt. "You’re interesting, Vale. Most rookies try to prove something. You just... stand there."

"I don’t need to prove anything."

"No?" Dorian’s eyes glittered. "Then why are you training so hard?"

Lucian didn’t answer.

Dorian’s smile faded, replaced by something colder. "The tournament is two months away. The Silver Falcons have won the inter-academy championship three years running. We don’t intend to lose to a team of first-years who got lucky on one mission."

"Luck had nothing to do with it."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Dorian turned to leave, then paused. "I’ll be watching you, Vale. Don’t disappoint me."

He walked out. His team followed, their boots echoing on the stone.

The gates swung shut.

Cora sheathed her sword with a sharp click. "I hate him."

Mason’s voice was flat. "He’s arrogant."

"He’s dangerous," Sera said. "I’ve seen him fight. He’s fast. Precise. His team works like a machine."

Derek’s ghosts had vanished. He stood alone, his staff trembling. "We can beat them."

Everyone looked at him.

Derek swallowed. "We can. We’ve trained harder than they have. We’ve fought things they’ve only read about. We’re not the same team we were a month ago."

Cora’s lips curved into a smile. "Look at you. Growing a spine."

"Shut up."

"I’m proud of you."

"Shut up."

Lucian looked at each of them—Cora’s simmering anger, Mason’s cold focus, Sera’s quiet intensity, Derek’s trembling but steady resolve.

"We’ll see them in the tournament," he said. "And when we do, we’ll show them what rookies can do."

Sera whispered to Derek, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I want to beat them so badly."

"You’re not the only one," Mason said.

Cora cracked her knuckles. "Then let’s get back to work."

The rain started, soft at first, then heavier. It didn’t matter. They stayed in the yard, running drills until their arms ached and their lungs burned.

The Silver Falcons had thrown down a challenge.

Ashen Dawn intended to answer.