Chapter Eight #2
“The Rift?” she whispered, eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and terror. “I heard a second-year broke her arm in there last term. The illusion beasts might not be real, but the walls definitely are.”
“Good,” Cassara replied, her mind already calculating how to fit those twelve hours into her schedule, and how to ensure she’d be among the top ten. “Real walls make for real training.”
Liri gave her a look that suggested Cassara might be slightly unhinged. “You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?”
Cassara didn’t answer, but the corner of her mouth lifted in a small, determined smile.
“Let’s get changed,” she said at last, not waiting to see if Liri followed.
The training field had cleared by the time Cassara returned, boots clean of dust, hair damp from a quick rinse, and the sharp lines of her uniform restored. Her muscles still thrummed with exertion, the pulse of the match with Verena echoing in her limbs.
She was nearly to the stone archway when Nareen’s voice stopped her.
“Allencourt.”
She turned to see Instructor Nareen standing at the edge of the corridor, still dressed in her instructor gear, her braids wind-tossed but tight.
“Walk with me.”
Cassara obeyed without argument. They moved in silence down a side corridor, the stone beneath their boots smooth from years of wear.
Overhead, the sigils flickered faintly, pulsing with the soft breath of active magic.
A sharp gust of wind hissed through the slats as they climbed a set of narrow stairs and stepped onto one of the upper balconies, the air high and thin but the space secluded.
Nareen didn’t speak until they reached the far end, where the balcony overlooked the training fields below. The sprawl of stone and sand and glyph covered dummies shimmered in the afternoon light.
Unlike the upper field they’d just left, the main training grounds weren’t empty. A group of second-years had assembled in tight formation, weapons drawn, their movements synchronized with practiced precision. At their center, unmistakable even from this distance, stood Auren.
His coat was gone, replaced by a close-fitting training uniform that revealed the lean muscle beneath. He moved between the students with predatory grace, occasionally correcting a stance or demonstrating a technique with such speed that Cassara could barely follow the motion.
She tried not to let her gaze linger too long, but found herself studying his form despite herself.
This wasn’t the frantic combat from the airship attack, this was controlled, deliberate, each movement a lesson in efficiency.
Even from here, she could see why the students watched him with such intensity.
There was nothing wasted in how he moved. Nothing for show.
One of the second-years attempted a complex maneuver and faltered. Auren stepped in, repositioned the student’s arm with a quick, precise adjustment, and stepped back. When the student tried again, the movement flowed perfectly.
Cassara pulled her attention away, conscious that she’d been watching longer than necessary. She noticed Nareen observing her wordlessly.
“Did you need something, instructor?” Cassara asked at last, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind her back.
Nareen glanced down at the fields, then sideways at Cassara. “Your mother used to stand here after drills. Same fire in her posture. Same refusal to rest after a win.”
Cassara fought a frown. “You knew her?”
“She came through Vallemont the same year I did. Always two strides ahead of the rest of us. Gods, she was driven. Would’ve crossed her own shadow if it meant outpacing it.
” Nareen leaned her hands on the railing.
“But it wasn’t the strength that made her exceptional.
Everyone here’s strong. It was the way she carried people with her. The way she made them want to keep up.”
Cassara stayed quiet, watching the wind stir dust across the abandoned rings below.
Nareen didn’t look at her. “You’ve got her fire. I saw it today.”
“I’m not trying to be her.”
“No. You’re trying to be better,” Nareen replied, finally looking at her again, one brow raised. The instructor’s gaze held hers for a moment, thoughtful but not unkind. “Just remember, even the best can fall behind if they’re running a race no one else is in.”
Cassara didn’t answer.
Nareen gave her a nod, not quite approval, not dismissal either. “You’ve got the edge, Cassara. Learn when to cut with it. And when to sheathe it.”
With that, she gave Cassara a light pat on the shoulder and walked way.
For a long while Cassara just stood there, the wind catching loose strands of hair around her face. The echo of her mother’s words pressing in on her.
You win everything. And still, you are alone.
She shook it off.
She didn’t come here to be warned. She came to win.
And she wasn’t about to apologize for the fire in her blood.
By the time Cassara stepped into the Great Hall, the scent of roasted meat, garlic potatoes, savory gravy, and warm bread already filled the air.
The long tables stretching the length of the room were already filled with first-years.
At the far end, platters refilled themselves in slow, graceful loops of magic, roasted fowl carving clean off the bone, berries tumbling into bowls, steam curling from silver pitchers of honeyed tea.
Evie spotted her and lifted a hand, waving Cassara toward a half-filled bench near the center of one of the lower tables. Sonia sat beside her, already halfway through a plate of grilled squash and smoked fish, chewing delicately while pretending not to watch Cassara approach.
“I saved you a spot,” Evie said with a small smile, scooting over to make room. “Before the upper-tier vultures swoop in and claim it for clout.”
Cassara sat, grateful for the buffer. “How thoughtful,” she murmured, reaching for a plate as a platter drifted into range, offering carved lamb with a drizzle of golden glaze.
“Just doing our part for the underdog legacy,” Sonia said lightly, not looking up. Her tone was sweet, her expression practiced. “Though I suppose you’re more of a dark horse at this point.”
Cassara’s fork paused mid-stab and Evie shot Sonia a look over her mug of tea, but said nothing.
Before Cassara could craft a reply, Liri arrived, tray wobbling precariously in her hands. She slid into the open seat beside Sonia, who greeted her with a too-sweet smile.
“Did you have to bring half the buffet?”
Liri flushed. “I-I wasn’t sure what I’d want.”
Cassara's eyes narrowed but before she could snap back, a loud, trilling laugh rang out from a table near the center aisle.
Verena.
She sat surrounded by a small cluster of first-years, mostly boys, hanging on her every word. She tossed her hair over one shoulder, leaned in, and pointed directly toward their table.
Another laugh accompanied by a ripple of snickers. Someone looked over and then quickly away when Cassara met their gaze.
“What do you think she said?” Evie muttered, her fork stabbing a slice of apple.
“Something petty and insecure, probably,” Liri offered. “That’s usually the flavor.”
Cassara didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed locked on Verena for one second too long. She hadn’t said a word, but the laughter echoed all the same.
She turned back to her food and forced herself to remain calm as she cut the lamb into clean bites and let the warmth of the tea soothe the tightness in her chest.
“Don’t,” Evie said softly, nudging her elbow. “She wants the reaction. Don’t give it to her.”
Cassara gave the faintest nod. But the air still felt charged.
“Do you mind if I join you ladies?” Julian’s voice drifted over them laced with the smooth confidence of someone already knowing the answer.
“Plenty of room,” Sonia said, already shifting her tray to make space.
Julian circled the table and dropped into the open seat beside Cassara, his coat slung loose over one shoulder, hair still tousled from combat drills. He looked maddeningly relaxed, the faint gleam of exertion still clinging to his skin like a crown.
“Miss me?” he asked, voice pitched low for her alone.
“Not even a little,” Cassara replied without looking at him. Of course that did little to hide the warmth coloring her cheeks when he spoke like that.
He poured himself a drink, casually letting his leg brush against hers beneath the table. “Liar.”
Evie cleared her throat, cheeks a little pink as she focused very intently on her soup.
“You should eat more,” Julian added, tone breezy but pointed. “You’ll need the energy. I heard Nareen’s taking first-years into the agility courses tomorrow.”
Liri perked up. “Wait, I thought we weren’t starting those until next week?”
“You’re not,” Julian said without turning. “But Cassara’s not exactly on the standard track, is she?”
Cassara, still not looking at him, reached for the bread instead of giving into the temptation to twist her fork into someone’s thigh. “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”
“Wouldn’t be nearly as fun,” he said, and leaned back just enough for her to feel the weight of his gaze.
Liri looked like she wanted to say more, but settled on stabbing a strawberry instead.
Across the hall, another ripple of laughter broke out from Verena’s table. She was still surrounded by half a dozen first-years, basking in attention like it was light and she was the only one who deserved to glow in it.
Julian’s voice dropped again, almost conspiratorial. “Ignore her.”
Cassara glanced at him and immediately wished she hadn't. His smile was warm and disarming, the kind that made forgetting why she was annoyed with him dangerously easy. He leaned in closer. "She's all theater. You're the one people actually watch."
Sonia leaned her elbow against the table, chin in hand. “You were impressive out there, yourself, Julian. Sharp. Focused. Very… compelling.”
Cassara’s knife paused halfway through her fruit. The blade hovered just above the rind. Julian’s smile curved, faint, indulgent, but his eyes didn’t leave Cassara. “I try to deliver a show.”
“Gideon didn’t make it easy,” Sonia added, her voice a touch too bright. “But you handled him. Maybe you can show me a few blocks when you have some time?”
Cassara didn’t look up. She resumed slicing, the next piece of fruit sliding clean off the blade and onto Julian’s plate. “Your favorite.”
Julian’s brow arched. Then he grinned, the kind of grin that carried weight, history, and a thousand memories. He picked up the fruit without looking away from her, his fingers brushing hers for the briefest moment, intentional, lazy, and unmistakably possessive.
It wasn’t about the fruit, it was never about the fruit.
Cassara was making a declaration, reminding Sonia of her place in the grand scheme of things. A warning.
Sonia’s smile faltered and Cassara set another piece on his plate. “Thought you might be low on sugar. Wouldn’t want your focus to slip next time.”
“Worried about me, Cass?” Julian held the fruit between his fingers.
She tilted her head, a faint smirk playing at her lips. “Only that you’ll embarrass yourself.”
He bit into the fruit before chewing thoughtfully. “I’m flattered.”
“Are you planning to walk me to afternoon classes?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Only if you ask nicely,” he murmured, causing Evie’s already pink cheeks to darken further.
Sonia blinked, her smile faltering just slightly as she glanced between them. Cassara finally met her gaze, satisfied the point had been made.
The bell chimed low and final above the Great Hall, signaling the end of the midday reprieve. Around her, benches scraped, laughter waned, and students began gathering their things, some with sluggish reluctance, others with sharp-eyed urgency.
Cassara rose last.
Afternoon lessons waited, and Fenric’s name alone had turned half the first-years pale. She gathered her Aether Codex and didn’t pull away when Julian’s hand came to rest against her hip.
Sonia was still watching after all.