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"What does that even mean?"

Nyra answers from our table. "It means preparedness is a lifelong practice."

Cassian looks at her. "That was disturbingly optimistic."

"I translated."

The morning schedule answers the question anyway.

Training does not slow. At all. Mixed-Wing combat assessments begin at seven. Not sparring. Assessment. Apparently there is a difference. The instructors insist on it. Assessment means someone stands nearby writing down everything you do wrong.

Wonderful.

The central combat hall has been divided into eight rings. Students line the perimeter. Chiefs stand with professors. Weapons racks cover one wall. No dragons today. No manifestations for the first round.

Then controlled manifestation for the second. Full adaptation in the third. Professor Vayne stands in the center. "Your opponent will not share your manifestation." He looks around. "Your opponent will not necessarily share your year." Several first-years exchange glances. Oh. "You will adapt."

Someone raises a hand. "What if the difference in experience makes the match unfair?"

Vayne looks at him. "Combat is famous for fairness." The hand lowers. Names appear on the board. Pairs. I scan. First column. Second. Third. Then— Oh. No.

No, actually. Yes. EIREA VAELITH — DAX THORNE

I smile. Slowly. Someone stops beside me. Large. Warm. Annoyingly smug. Dax reads the board. Then looks down at me. I look up. His eyebrows rise. "Well."

"Hello."

"Try not to lose your mind this time."

I smile wider. "Try not to need it." Dax's grin appears immediately. There. Good. Across the hall, Rhyven looks up from the assessment sheets. His gaze moves from Dax. To me. Back to the board. Nothing. No reaction. Good. This isn't his fight. Dax rolls his shoulders. "Been waiting for this."

"Have you?"

"Little bit."

"That's embarrassing."

"Probably."

Our first fight feels like another life. Dominion. His pressure. My anger. Blood Echo answering before I understood how to hold it. The terrifying realization that something inside me was stronger than the control I'd spent my entire life building. I remember Rhyven's voice. Remember the aftermath. Remember being afraid of myself. I don't feel afraid now. That's new. "Ring Four." Professor Vayne calls. We move.

Round One. No manifestations. Practice blades. Dax takes a sword. I choose two daggers. He looks at them. "Still compensating."

"For what?"

"Height."

"Still ugly."

"That wasn't good."

"I've been busy."

The bell sounds. Dax moves. Fast. Faster than Caelen.

Different. Caelen fights like precision. Dax fights like impact. He doesn't enter space. He takes it. His sword comes down. I cross both daggers. Block. Bad choice. The force drives through my shoulders. I move immediately. Don't match strength. Angle. Rhyven.

Dax swings again. I slip right. Too predictable. He catches my shoulder with his forearm. I stumble. Recover. "Come on, Vaelith." I attack. Left dagger high. Right low. Dax blocks high. Moves his leg. I change. He laughs. "Better."