Chapter Eight
Verena moved first, aiming high with a clean strike meant to intimidate. Cassara blocked with her forearm, the impact jarring, but she didn't give ground. She twisted, pivoted low, and came up with a counter-strike.
Their arms clashed with a dull thud of flesh against flesh.
Verena grinned. "Come on, Allencourt. I thought you were supposed to be a prodigy."
Cassara didn't answer, instead she let her feet do the talking.
Verena overcommitted on a sweep. Cassara slipped inside her guard, shoulder slamming into Verena's ribs with controlled force. As she staggered back, Cassara struck across her side with a clean, resounding blow.
"Point Allencourt," Nareen called.
Verena's smile vanished.
They reset. Verena's eyes had gone cold now, dangerous in a way that should have concerned Cassara more than it did.
Her gaze flicked briefly to Cassara's right arm, the same arm that had been scraped raw during the airship attack.
The bandage was visible just below her sleeve, a hint of white against her skin.
"Still sore from your little adventure?" Verena asked, voice low enough that only Cassara could hear. "Must be hard fighting when you're already damaged."
Cassara kept her expression neutral, but inwardly she tensed.
Verena circled this time, slower. Then she struck, hard and low. Cassara deflected, but not fast enough. Verena's kick clipped her thigh with bruising precision.
"Point Montero."
One to one.
They squared off again. This time, Verena shifted her stance, angling herself to force Cassara to defend with her injured arm. It was subtle, calculated, the kind of tactic that wasn't explicitly against the rules but walked the line of fair play.
Cassara felt a flare of pain as she raised her arm to block Verena's next strike, the impact sending a shock through her shoulder. She didn't flinch, didn't falter, but Verena's smile told her the discomfort had shown in her eyes.
"What's wrong?" Verena murmured. "Need Instructor Veth to catch you again?"
The words hit harder than the strike. Cassara tried not to think of Auren watching from the edge of the field.
Watching her struggle. Watching Verena land hits on her injured arm.
The instructor who already thought she was reckless, now watching her prove she couldn't even handle a first-year sparring match without showing weakness.
They clashed again, and this time it was more than sparring. The tempo changed. Neither of them held back. There was pride in every strike, defiance in every dodge. Each movement was sharper, faster. Students on the sidelines murmured, drawn to the tension that crackled in the air.
Verena drove another strike toward Cassara's injured side. This time, Cassara was ready. She twisted away from the blow, letting it pass harmlessly by her ribs, and in the same fluid motion, brought her elbow around in a controlled arc that caught Verena's shoulder, clean and square.
"Point Allencourt," Nareen announced, her sharp eyes missing nothing.
Two to one.
Verena's next attack was faster and sloppier, fueled by spite. Her composure cracking under the pressure of potential defeat.
She faked high, then aimed for Cassara's ribs, but Cassara was already moving. Despite the throbbing in her injured arm, she spun, planted her heel, and drove her fist into Verena's stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of her.
Verena staggered. The match was over.
"Point Allencourt. Match concluded," Nareen called, stepping between them.
Cassara lowered her guard, breathing hard but controlled. Her injured arm burned with exertion, but the pain felt almost satisfying now. She'd won not despite her injury, but with a sharper focus because of it.
Verena straightened, her expression a careful mask once more. "Lucky strikes," she said, but the words lacked conviction.
Cassara met her gaze evenly. "Wasn't luck," she replied, voice low. "And it wasn't a show, either."
As she turned to leave the ring, her eyes swept toward the observation platform. Auren was halfway down the steps, his back to the field as he walked away. He didn't look back. Didn't acknowledge the match he'd just watched. Just left, as casually as he'd arrived.
She caught Gideon watching from the sidelines. His expression was neutral, as usual, but there was reassessment in his eyes. She looked away first, not wanting to acknowledge the small flicker of satisfaction that came from his attention.
Nareen stepped forward before either of them could say another word.
"You disobeyed a direct order," she said flatly. "Impressive footwork, both of you, but this isn't your personal grudge ring. Pull that again and you'll be eating lunch with the medics."
Cassara held back a smirk.
Verena didn't.
They turned without a word, walking opposite directions.
Liri met Cassara with wide eyes and a grin that she was clearly trying to suppress.
"Did you see Instructor Veth?" Liri whispered, leaning close. "He watched your entire match. Didn't look away once."
Cassara's pulse kicked up, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. "He was evaluating the match."
"Maybe," Liri said, her tone suggesting she didn't believe that for a second. "But Instructor Nareen seemed surprised he showed up at all. And he didn't leave until after you won."
Cassara didn’t reply. Instead she forced herself to focus on steadying her breathing, on ignoring the lingering burn in her injured arm.
"Remind me not to spar with you," Liri added after a moment, her voice returning to its usual lightness.
Nareen paced the center of the field with her staff resting across her shoulders, watching the last few students catch their breath and rejoin the gathered ranks. Her gaze lingered on Cassara and Verena as they returned to their places, muscles still tight with adrenaline.
“Let me be clear,” Nareen said, voice crisp. “This is not a dueling pit.”
Silence fell. Even the wind pulling through the arena stilled like it was listening.
“This was an evaluation. A chance to assess what you bring to the table. Skill, instinct, control. What I saw today? Plenty of the first two.” Her eyes flicked toward Cassara, then Verena. “Not so much of the third.”
A few students shuffled uncomfortably.
Nareen stepped closer. “You may think it doesn’t matter. That raw talent will carry you through. It won’t. Out there—” she jabbed her staff toward the jagged cliffs beyond the field “—talent means nothing if you can’t follow orders. If you can’t control your emotions when it counts.”
Cassara held her ground, jaw tight. She could feel eyes on her, but she didn’t flinch.
Nareen tilted her head slightly. “That said… I’ve seen worse first days. First-year assessments are complete. Preliminary prestige standings have been logged.”
The buzz on the training field dimmed.
“Top marks, Cassara Allencourt. Form, control, response time. You earned it. Keep earning it.”
Cassara didn’t move, didn’t smile, but the heat rising beneath her skin had nothing to do with the exertion. She felt dozens of eyes flicking toward her.
“Delvanir,” Nareen continued, tone neutral, “Second. Clean execution. No wasted motion. Keep your temper out of your shoulders.”
Gideon gave no visible reaction.
“Tremaine,” she went on. “You favor power over adaptability. Don’t confuse flash for strategy. Third.”
Julian tilted his head, seemingly unbothered, but Cassara caught the faint tightening at the corner of his mouth.
“And Halvorsen. Fourth. Good instincts. Stop apologizing for them.”
Liri let out the tiniest gasp beside her, then clamped both hands over her mouth like the sound had betrayed her.
Nareen turned. “As for the rest of you, your performance is your problem. Learn from it.”
She didn’t call Verena’s name. Not once. But the silence after Halvorsen’s rank was louder than any reprimand. Verena’s shoulders were stiff, her expression dark. Someone whispered behind their hand and someone else laughed too quickly.
Cassara felt the shift happen, like a door quietly closing behind her. She hadn’t just won a match.
She’d made her mark and now, they’d all be watching.
“Adequate for a first session,” Nareen announced, addressing the entire class.
“But adequate doesn’t keep you alive in the field.
Each of you is required to log at least twelve additional training hours per week in the combat halls outside of class.
Your Codex will track your progress, and yes, I will know if you’re training or just standing around gossiping. ”
She paced the edge of the ring, gaze sweeping over the students.
“Those who demonstrate exceptional progress will earn privileges. The top ten performers by week’s end will be granted access to run the training Rift.”
A murmur rippled through the group. The Rift was notorious, a grueling obstacle course that simulated real combat conditions against illusion beasts. It was usually reserved for second-years and above.
“This isn’t about legacy names or raw talent,” Nareen continued, her eyes lingering briefly on Cassara, then Gideon. “It’s about who wants it most. Who puts in the work when no one’s watching.”
Cassara felt her pulse quicken. The Rift would be an opportunity to prove herself beyond sparring matches, a chance to show real combat readiness just weeks before the Wildes expedition.
“You’ll train in groups starting next week,” Nareen continued. “Teamwork drills. Tactical matches. Until then, expect bruises. Earn your place. And if you’ve got something to prove, prove it with discipline or don’t prove anything at all.”
With that, she stepped back, staff spinning once in her grip before coming to rest by her side.
“Dismissed.”
Cassara let out a slow breath as students began to scatter, many already discussing training schedules and the Rift opportunity. Liri bumped her shoulder lightly.