It was a genuine, hard-earned victory. Ever since he had walked through the front doors from Daphne’s place and immediately dragged Arya out to the poolside mats, she had been ruthlessly schooling him. For the last two hours, Zaeryn had spent considerably more time kissing the floor than standing on his own two feet.

Though that wasn’t entirely her fault. When they had first started, Arya had been almost careful with him. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Measured. Her strikes came in clean but pulled, her takedowns controlled, like she was calibrating exactly how much he could absorb before she’d genuinely hurt him.

However she soon realized she had massively underestimated him as he had hit back harder than she’d expected. She’d paused, looked at him with those bright, curious eyes, and recalibrated in real time.

After that, the gloves came off. Not violently, not cruelly, but honestly. She stopped managing him and started actually fighting him, and the difference was immediate and humbling.

He might have been a higher Vitae tier than her, but there was a reason she was a warlady and he was still a student. She was still better than him at hand-to-hand combat.

That was the thing about Arya that caught him off guard. She had none of Mireille’s deliberate chill, none of Kayla’s permanent frost. She was warm in a way that felt completely unperformed, the kind of person who smiled at you like she meant it and then put you flat on your back because she respected you enough not to go easy on you. It was a strange combination. He liked it more than he expected to.

She was also, put plainly, one of the most naturally gifted fighters he had ever watched up close. Fast in a way that seemed almost lazy until you tried to track it. Every movement economical, nothing wasted. He had landed exactly one clean exchange in two hours, and he was going to enjoy it for the rest of the week.

This time, Zaeryn did not simply fake an attack. He sold the strike completely. His shoulder dipped, his weight sank, and his eyes dropped to Arya’s lead leg, inviting the obvious punishment.

Arya took the bait. She stepped in hard, already turning her hip for the counter.

Zaeryn should have retreated. Any sane fighter would have. Instead, he moved deeper. For one reckless heartbeat, he gave her his back. Arya’s eyes sharpened.

Too late. Zaeryn’s heel hooked behind her ankle as his shoulder slipped beneath the line of her arm. Then he twisted, not away from her, but through her, dragging her balance across a blind angle her body had already committed to.

Arya propped herself up on her elbows, pushing a damp strand of hair from her eyes. She didn’t look frustrated. She looked genuinely pleased, the way a good teacher looks when a student finally breaks through a ceiling they’ve been pressing against for a while.

"Nice," she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck as she sat all the way up. "I was completely defenseless against that sweep. Where did you learn it?"

Zaeryn straightened slowly, still breathing hard, but far too pleased with himself to look exhausted. Sweat slid down his jaw as he looked at Arya and smiled. "Made it up on the spot."

Arya stared at him for a moment. "You improvised that?"

"Completely."

Her eyes dropped briefly to his feet, replaying the movement. Then she gave a quiet laugh. "That is either very stupid or very talented."

"It was indeed impressive," a calm voice offered from the sidelines. "Even for an improvisation."

Mireille had been spectating the fight from the start. And she had not moved from her chair at the edge of the pool area. She sat with the serene, unbothered composure of someone watching a mildly interesting documentary rather than two people beating each other senseless in the morning heat.

She was dressed in her fitted War-Lady uniform, dark fabric clean and severe, gloves resting neatly across one knee. Her posture was flawless, her expression calm, and her gaze sharp enough to catch every mistake he made.

She had been sitting there the entire session. Watching Zaeryn take Arya by surprise, and looking like he was gonna win the spar.

But Arya turned the tables and ever since she had watched him get thrown around the poolside mats with the quiet, attentive focus of someone taking notes. Not coaching exactly. Just observing.

"You were tracking her footwork very closely in the lead-up," Mireille continued, her voice calm and unhurried. "You deliberately broke your own rhythm just before the strike. It introduced a half-second of uncertainty. Against a superior opponent, that window is often all you have."

"See? And I didn’t have to use my kinetic speed." Zaeryn looked down at Arya with a grin and offered her a hand. "Tactical genius. It’s been confirmed."

Arya took his hand and he hauled her up.

"A tactical genius who spent the first ninety minutes introducing himself to the floor," Arya said pleasantly, brushing dust from her War-Lady uniform. "But yes. That was a very good throw. Your reflexes are genuinely getting sharper."

Zaeryn walked to the nearby training bench and grabbed a towel, pressing it against his face and neck.

He felt fantastic.

He tossed the towel over his shoulder and grabbed his water bottle. The pool glittered beside them, cool and blue and deeply inviting.

He looked between Arya and Mireille with a tired, satisfied smirk. "So," he said. "Who’s next?"

Arya let out a breathless laugh, waving a hand to dismiss the idea entirely. "I think you have had enough glory for one morning. If I let you throw me twice in one day, I will have to officially resign."

She walked over to the wide, cushioned pool lounger where Zaeryn had dropped his towel and sank down right next to him.

Zaeryn collapsed back against the cushion with a heavy sigh, turning his head to look at her. "Admit it. You are just scared."

Arya chuckled, leaning back and resting her elbows on the armrests. "Terrified."

They sat there for a few minutes in comfortable silence, as the morning breeze rippled across the surface of the pool. The frantic, competitive energy slowly drained away, leaving behind a warm, heavy contentment.

"You have impressive fighting skills." Zaeryn admitted. "Do they teach to fight like that at the lyceum?"

"Thanks. And no, they don’t teach that at the Lyceum." She stretched her arms overhead, rolling her neck. "It is a family style. My great, great grandmother built it from scratch. My mother drilled it into me before I could properly hold a stance, just like her mom did and her grandmother before that, it’s a tradition at this point." A small smile. "Smaller frames, bad odds. You learn to use angles or you lose."

"You will have to teach me," Zaeryn said.

Arya looked at him sideways. "Maybe." She tilted her head, genuinely considering it. "Though honestly? With your abilities, I am not sure you need it. You already fight like you are inventing the rules mid-sentence."

"That’s because I am." He joked, then almost seriously but still joking he said, "I still spent ninety minutes kissing the dirt today. Abilities or not, I need the technique."

She laughed, quieter this time.

"Arya is right. Unlike in real fights, there are no rules and you can use your numerous abilities to overwhelm your opponent. You don’t need fancy fighting skills, just vitae mastery. My advice? you should focus on that."

"I will and I’m getting better at a fast pace, but...."

"..... you still want to learn how to move fancily. Fine, I’ll teach you." Arya said.

Zaeryn nodded, satisfied by her answer.

The silence that settled after was different from the one before. The competitive energy had completely gone. The morning had warmed up around them, the pool surface catching the light in slow, shifting strips.

Arya turned to look at him. He turned at the same moment.

She kissed him. Easy, unhurried. Not a decision exactly, more like the obvious next thing to do now that she was this close to him.

Zaeryn was taken aback, but not entirely, because not long ago him and Arya had shared a kiss like this, so she was definitely interested in him and he didn’t have an issue with that.

His hand reached for her cheek, caressing as he pulled back slightly before pulling her to lock his lips with hers.