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"Correct. Why did you wait forty seconds to do it?"

I stare. Because I wanted to save it. Because giving ground felt like failing. Because—

"I didn't want to lose it."

Vayne nods. "That's how you lose more." There. I store it.

Dax closes his clipboard. "Again?"

I stare. He laughs. "No." I hate him.

Seventh Fighting Injured I thought we already did that. Apparently not enough. New band. Blue. Left leg. Wonderful. Opponent? Dax. Of course. "No."

He enters the ring. "Scared, Vaelith?"

I smile. "Constantly." Somewhere beyond the ring, someone makes a sound. I don't look. I know exactly who stole that word from whom.

Bell. Dax attacks. I cannot put full weight on my left leg. So I don't. I shift stance. Shorter. Defensive. He notices. Changes angle. Of course.

He drives me backward. I block. Pain marker buzzes when I use the leg incorrectly. Annoying. Useful. I adapt. Stop retreating. Close distance. If I can't move quickly, neither can he if I'm attached to him. We collide. He laughs. "Better."

"Shut up."

He catches my dominant wrist. I drop the weapon intentionally. His eyes flick toward it. Mistake. Mine. Because I look too. He sweeps me. I hit the ground. Hard. Blade at throat. "Dead." Fuck. Dax steps back. "Again." Good.

Second round. No dominant weapon. Injured leg. I take the smaller dagger in my left hand. Feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. That's the point.

Bell. I don't wait. Attack first. Dax wasn't expecting it. Good. Left. Low. Close. Don't fight like myself.

Fight like the body I have right now. He blocks. I pivot on right. Elbow. He catches. I release dagger. Again. But this time I don't look. I drive shoulder into him. He loses balance. Half second. I hook his knee with my good leg. We fall. I land badly. Don't care. His wrist. Twist. Dagger on ground. Too far. No weapon. I use his. Pull it free. Place it against his ribs. Silence. Dax looks down. Then at me. "Well."

I breathe hard. "Now I win."

His mouth twists. "Get off me."

I smile. "Gladly." When I stand, my leg nearly gives.

Dax catches my elbow automatically. Then releases.

The final bell rings at twelve thirty-seven. Four hours and thirty-seven minutes. Liars.

We wait another hour for scores. Worst hour of my life. Cassian lies flat on the grass. Nyra sits beside him. I eat an entire apple in six bites. Nobody speaks much. Too tired.

Rhyven appears near the far end of the field. He's with Professor Kaelis. Not evaluating. Not holding a clipboard. Just talking. His own assessment must be done. He doesn't come over. Good. Rules. Neutrality.

Whatever.

At thirteen forty-nine, results are posted. Not grades.

Readiness classifications. RED — insufficient. AMBER — conditional. GREEN — operational readiness. Then scores beneath. I find Nyra first. Green. Eighty-eight. I grab her arm. She sees. Exhales. Cassian. Green. Eighty-five. He looks genuinely shocked. "Heroism."

"Shut up."

Mine. I scan. Can't find it. Then— VAELITH, EIREA — GREEN Score: 94. I stare. No. Read again. Ninety-four. Nyra makes a sound beside me. "Eirea."

"I see it."

"That's—"