The next day brought me some more time of respite. I enjoyed some of my biscuits in external silence as I waited for the fighting class. My mind, however, was not in as peaceful a state. My loosening grip on myself kept nagging at me.

  I ended up going out and beating the dummy, feeling that the walls of the tower were like a new golden cage I made for myself. I went through the motions, punching and blocking. I jumped back and looked at the spinning arms of the dummy.

  They slowly came to a stop. I went at it again, but this time, instead of blocking the incoming hits, I struck the arms near the base, stopping and reversing the spin. I kept going at this new exercise. I missed one of the arms and it collided with my face with a thud, shaking my brain.

  I felt a dull ache in the side of my head seeping inside the skull and spreading. I sat down waiting for the pain to pass. My knuckles were hurting from the repeated hits, yet they were also a confirmation. My new tactic could work—I'd just need a bit more practice with it.

  As the pulsing eased, I got up to my feet again and started anew. Later, already feeling battered, I went to the combat class. The faint aches in my body kept my mind off complicated thoughts as I completed the last needed lap.

  Our team gathered up. Cassia, Kael, Lucian and I waited in the tribunes. We had gone several classes without a challenger, and the professor was most likely going to set us up for a fight today. I waited calmly.

  "Hagen's team versus Cato's team."

  A palpable pressure seemed to have covered our group. I saw the shoulders of the others change. Lucian's slumped, Kael's rose filled with tension, while Cassia leaned back, as if to answer a sudden need for support.

  "Is there anything I'm missing here? You seem distraught."

  "Hagen's a bit… of a maniac. He's very good at breaking teams. He's reckless and lucky and makes full use of the need for split-second decisions to disrupt others." Lucian sighed the words out. "Even if you know about it, he somehow succeeds in his plan. If we had the same number of teammates, we could have a chance, but like this…"

  "No need to mope now. Wait for our asses to get kicked, if they will. Now focus on avoiding that moment."

  I rose to my feet and started walking towards the arena. Lucian stayed right behind me as Cassia and Kael charged forward, with me following after them. We kept a tight formation with at most half a meter between us.

  In our situation on an open field, this was the best course of action. We kept the ranger behind, and I was capable of judging and following up with support fast, being in the center. Until now, we'd dealt with people using similar tactics.

  This time, however, we faced a new kind of opponent. The third-stage caster-type mage on the opposing team charged forth using wind to speed himself up. His teammates followed him closely. His rush brought him to attack Cassia.

  I met his earthen-clad fist with my aether-reinforced one. The clash created shrapnel that flew out around us, pushing Kael and Cassia away. Hagen broke our formation in the first clash. It was either me blocking him, or Cassia being taken out by a charge too fast for her to dodge.

  He retreated fast and I tried to catch him. His vest slipped right out of my grasp as he propelled himself backward with a burst of wind. He was focusing on wind and stone until now—probably his main elements.

  I gave chase. Just one more step and I'd have him, yet he quickly separated, sending a weak gale as a taunt. I reinforced my legs to the maximum and pushed off after him. I exploded forward as if shot from a bow, my hand reaching for his floating leg.

  My fingers clenched on his toes. I brought my legs forward and dug my heels in the ground, stopping his momentum and making him fall. Cassia's shout cut through my focus. I let go of Hagen by mistake as I turned around to see what was happening.

  Two of Hagen's teammates were pushing Cassia further from the others. Before I managed to react, Lucian was knocked out, overwhelmed by an aggressive, reckless assault. Kael was holding his own against one of the other teammates, but he wasn't going to be able to resist after the one who defeated Lucian joined.

  I wanted to head back, reach and help them. A piercing pain shredded through my side. A bloody rock bullet left a deep gash on my right side, continuing its flight after passing through. I could still fight, but by the rules of the training I was out.

  I brought my hand to my hurt waist, feeling the torn fabric and warm blood bubbling out. I used aether to block the bleeding. The fight was practically over, and we lost. Hagen made the ground under Kael and Cassia sink, putting them at an absolute disadvantage as the ground closed on their waists.

  I stood there, hand pressed against my side, watching Hagen's team celebrate while the professor called the match. The wound throbbed with each heartbeat.

  One distraction. That's all it took. I replayed it—Cassia's shout, my head turning, Hagen slipping away. If I'd just stayed on him, kept the pressure, his team would've crumbled. Instead, I handed him the opening he needed.

  The professor dismissed us. I walked back to the tower alone, each step pulling at the gash. I stopped the bleeding, yet the damage ran deeper than skin. It would take days to heal properly, maybe a week if I didn't push it.

  Let it be. Let it remind me what happens when I lose focus.

  That night, I sat in meditation, sinking my consciousness inward. The wound pulsed at the edge of my awareness. I directed aether toward it, maintaining the seal and watched as the jing gathered at the torn edges, slowly knitting the flesh together.

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  Each layer had to seal properly before the next could form, otherwise the healing would be sloppy, leaving weak scar tissue that could tear again under strain. I'd seen it happen before—hasty healing that looked fine on the surface but failed under pressure.

  I wouldn't make that mistake.

  The process took hours. By the time I opened my eyes, the sky outside had begun to lighten. The gash had closed somewhat, but the tissue was still raw, tender. Another few nights like this and it would hold.

  I stood, testing the movement. A sharp pull reminded me to take it easy. I ignored it and went through my morning routine anyway.

  The days that followed blurred together. Classes, meditation, slow healing. The wound became a constant companion, pulling at me every time I moved too quickly or twisted wrong.

  Cassia noticed, of course.

  "You're favoring that side," she said one evening as we left combat class together.

  "It's healing."

  "Slowly."

  I shrugged. "Better slow than sloppy."

  She fell into step beside me, not pushing further. She argued less lately. I was relieved she stopped trying to push the ring thing and found her company much more agreeable now that we wouldn't get into fights because of it.

  Magnar, on the other hand, was missing more nowadays. He showed up at my tower every few evenings still, to help with whatever project I was working on or to just speak.

  "You're moving like an old man," he commented one night, watching me bend stiffly to adjust the furnace grate.

  "I'm fine."

  "You winced."

  "So?"

  He slowly shook his head, disapproving quietly of my attitude. I ignored him and focused on tightening the connection. The heating system was complete now, I just made small adjustments or minor improvements due to boredom.

  "Lyra wants to train tonight," Magnar said after a moment. "You and Cassia up for a match?"

  I glanced at him. "Your girlfriend wants to fight us?"

  "She's not—" He stopped, rubbed the back of neck. "We're just training together still. There's a long way to go."

  "But isn't she the one you like?"

  "It's not like that."

  "Sure."

  He scowled, but there was no real heat in it. "You coming or not?"

  I considered. The wound still pulled when I moved too quickly, but it was mostly healed now. Another few days and it'd be fine. "Yeah. I'll ask Cassia."

  Two days before a week passed from the fight with Hagen, the wound had mostly healed. The skin was still pink, new and tender, but it held. I could move without the constant pull, though I remained cautious. Scar tissue was tricky—it could feel fine one moment and tear the next if stressed wrong.

  That afternoon, Magnar showed up with Lyra. Cassia arrived a few minutes later, already stretching her arms.

  "Magnar said you wanted a match," she said, grinning. There was an eager glint in her eyes—the kind she got whenever a fight was mentioned. Impulsive. Direct. The complete opposite of the calculated noble's daughter she was occasionally trying to be.

  I preferred this version.

  "Two on two," Magnar confirmed. "Me and Lyra against you two."

  Lyra was already forming ice spheres, tossing them lightly between her palms. She was three years older than me, twelve, with sharp eyes and the kind of confidence that came from being good at something and knowing it.

  "Rules?" I asked.

  "First team to take both opponents down wins," Magnar said. "No serious injuries."

  "Obviously," Cassia muttered, rolling her shoulders. "Let's go."

  We spread out across the courtyard. Cassia took the front position, her stance low and ready. I stayed a few steps behind, close enough to support but with room to move.

  Lyra launched the first sphere.

  It came fast—faster than I expected. Cassia dodged left, closing the distance toward Magnar. He met her charge with a reinforced block, their clash sending up dust.

  Another ice sphere came at me. I sidestepped, watching it shatter against the tower wall. Lyra's rhythm was consistent—one sphere every few seconds, each one forcing me to react, keeping me from supporting Cassia.

  Smart.

  Magnar and Cassia traded blows, neither giving ground. He was stronger in raw power, but she was faster, using short bursts of aether to slip his strikes and counter. They were evenly matched.

  I ducked another sphere, then another. Lyra was walking forward slowly, maintaining pressure. Each sphere forced me back, keeping me from closing the distance.

  The next one came at my chest. I sidestepped but kept my hand in its path. It collided with my open palm, jerking my arm back. To avoid dropping it, I spun around and threw it back at Lyra, pulling the motion from my core, just in time to avoid another of her projectiles.

  Her eyes widened. She twisted aside, barely avoiding it.

  "That was luck."

  "Sure it was…" she shot back, but there was a competitive edge in her voice now.

  Magnar and Cassia broke apart, both breathing hard. Cassia had a scrape on her cheek, while Magnar was favoring his left side slightly.

  "You're making it too predictable," I called out to Lyra.

  She raised an eyebrow, not taking her eyes off me. "What?"

  "Same timing, same speed. If you want to actually hit someone, make it harder to track."

  "And how would I do that?"

  I thought for a moment. "Launch them separately, but merge them mid-flight. Two smaller spheres becoming one larger mass. More weight, harder to deflect or dodge."

  Lyra tilted her head, considering.

  Magnar groaned. "Don't give her ideas."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I'm the one she practices on," he said, wincing as he rubbed his shoulder.

  Lyra ignored him, already forming two small spheres. She launched them—not at me, but at the space between me and Cassia. They wobbled slightly, then merged mid-air into a larger, uneven mass.

  It hit the ground between us with a heavy thud, scattering ice fragments.

  "Needs work," she muttered, but she looked pleased.

  Cassia shot me a look. "You just made this harder for us."

  "Probably."

  "Great."

  Magnar laughed, then immediately regretted it as Cassia charged him again.

  We kept going for another ten minutes, trading blows and dodges until everyone was breathing hard and sporting new bruises. Eventually, Magnar called it.

  "Draw?" he offered.

  Cassia scowled, clearly wanting to keep going, but nodded reluctantly. "Fine. Draw."

  Lyra was already practicing the merged spheres again, trying to smooth out the wobble. Magnar wandered over to watch her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. I turned back to the tower, testing the pull in my side. No tearing, no fresh pain, no inconvenience when twisting or stretching the area.

  A week after the fight with Hagen, I was adjusting the furnace before heading to the team fights, when Magnar arrived at my door.

  "Letter for you," he said, holding out a plain envelope.

  I frowned, wiping my hands on a rag before taking it. The envelope was unmarked except for my name, written in careful, angular script. No seal. No academy markings.

  "Who delivered it?"

  "Garrick. Didn't say anything, just handed it over and left."

  "Garrick? That reminds me, shouldn't he be an instructor? How come we never see him? He's your uncle, no?" I turned the envelope over in my hands. The paper was good quality, but plain—nothing fancy, nothing that indicated its origin. Just my name on the front.

  "He's an instructor for younger classes of nobles. More of a babysitter rather than an instructor."

  Something about it felt heavy. I slid my thumb under the flap and broke the seal. Inside was a single sheet, folded once. I unfolded it slowly. The neat handwriting was familiar, with precise strokes. It was my father's writing.

  My chest tightened with a weight I can't describe. I scanned the first few lines, and my breath caught.