She stood slowly, every muscle tight with pride and fury. “Maybe you’re just afraid someone like me might shatter your high sanctimonious ego.”
Thorne blinked once, then his expression shifted, just a flicker.
They reset. Thaelyn pulled herself upright, brushing grit from her palms, jaw clenched.
“Again,” Thorne said, tone calm as ever, almost bored. “And this time, try leading with more than your ego.”
She launched herself at him. Low, fast, and aimed for his side. He sidestepped cleanly, not even winded, and nudged her momentum forward with a light shove between the shoulder blades.
She sprawled flat on the mat, again. A few cadets chuckled. Her ears burned.
Thorne offered no hand of help, and no apology. He stepped back and waited to see if she would respond.
“Get up,” he said. “You’re telegraphing your movement. You’re strong, but too easy to read.”
She rose and swept her hair from her face, gritting her teeth. “Or maybe you’ve practiced being insufferable.”
He arched a brow of amusement. “Relentlessly, I’m quite good at it.”
She exhaled sharply and charged. This time, she faked left, he took the bait, but her follow-through faltered. His forearm locked hers, twisted, and she lost balance. Again.
He brought her down with a controlled pivot, guiding her to the mat with infuriating precision. Not a bruise. Not a mark. It was complete domination of the space. He didn’t even look winded. She lay there, breath coming fast, and glaring up at the ceiling.
“You’re not using your core,” he said from above, tone low. “You’re reacting. Not anticipating.”
“I’m going to be anticipating you being knocked on your ass.”
“Creative,” he said dryly. “But ineffective.”
Thaelyn sprang to her feet, rage building, cheeks flushed from the combination of effort and indignation. A thin thread of air stirred around her ankles, unnoticed by anyone but him.
He stepped back, eyes briefly flicking to the wind now whispering against his sleeve.
Her hands curled into fists. “You think you know everything,” she snapped out of humiliation and frustration.
His eyes narrowed. “Enough to know you’ll burn out before you learn to listen.”
She rose slowly, every movement tight with fury.
A flicker passed through his expression. “I’ll see you again in training,” he said, stepping back. “Try not to embarrass yourself next time.” His cloak flared as he turned, disappearing into the crowd.
Thaelyn stood alone on the mat, breath shaking, heart pounding with more than just anger. She didn’t just want to beat him. She wanted tobecomesomeone he couldn’t ignore.
The gym was empty now, but Thaelyn’s pulse still pounded like war drums in her ears. She moved stiffly toward the edge of the room, each step a struggle against the storm raging inside her. Her shoulders stayed square, her spine straight, but her hands trembled. Who does he think he is? Thorne Dareth: perfect, precise, and infuriating. Everything about him radiated command. Cold, calculated command, like he’d been born knowing how to cut others down with just a word. But hesawher. That was the worst part. He’d looked at her like she was a broken blade. Unsharpened. Unworthy. And maybe shewas.
She hated how close to the truth his words had cut. Reckless. Undisciplined. All things she feared were true, whispered doubts she carried every time her victory slipped beyond her grasp. It wasn’t just the critique that rattled her. It was the way he looked at her. Like he wasn’t sure if she was a threat, or something he hadn’t quite figured out. She’d seen it, just for a second, beneath the mask he wore like armor. That flicker in his eyes when she’d hit him with wind. Not just a surprise.Recognition.
The clang of steel still rang in her bones long after the training ring emptied.
Thaelyn knelt where she had fallen earlier. The dirt was damp beneath her palms, the air thick with the copper scent of sweat and sunrise. The others had already headed back toward the barracks, laughing and loud. Their voices sounded miles away.
She could still see Thorne standing in the ring like a blade heldupright by will alone. The instructors praised his precision and offered him another squad to oversee. He hadn’t looked at her once. The anger still hummed under her skin. Unsettled. Waiting. Her thoughts churned, around the fight, around her failure, around that impossible urge toprovesomething. Not to the watching crowd, not even to the instructors.To him.That made her furious.
By the time she dragged herself upright, the ring had gone quiet except for the whisper of wind through the flags. Her stomach knotted with anger and shame. She’d lasted six rounds, maybe seven, before he had put her on the ground. Her bruises would bloom by evening, but it was her pride that hurt worse.
She left the field through the lower archway, boots echoing against the stone corridor that led toward the mess hall. The air smelled of coal, sweat, and wet earth, familiar and safe to everyone but her.
She was halfway to the stairs when she heard them, two second-year trainees talking at the corner.
