Chapter 7.
The lecture hall was already three-quarters full when Aeliana slipped in, heading for a spot near the back, away from the center of attention. Her collar was high. Her sleeves tight to her wrists. Her fingers absently curled the edges of her notebook as she sat.
It was quieter than usual.
The buzz of first-years was there, but she didn't hear it. She heard the pressure. The remembered strain. The airlessness of a knee across her throat.
It's done. It's done. You're here. You're safe.
She repeated it like a mantra in her head.
The seat beside her scraped, and she instinctively tensed — only for a familiar voice to murmur, "Hey... is this seat taken?"
She looked up.
Ridoc Gamlyn.
Of course.
She glanced to the row ahead, where half the seats were empty. "You have better options."
"Yeah," he said, sitting anyway. "But none of them come with a chance to apologize."
Her spine stiffened.
He didn't push further. Just sat, quiet, hands loosely resting on the edge of the table in front of him.
"I just—" he paused, scratching the back of his neck. "I wanted to say I didn't know."
She didn't look over. "I know."
"I wouldn't have gone for the hold like that if I'd known," he added, voice low. "I wasn't trying to—" He hesitated. "I just didn't know."
"I know," she said again, this time turning toward him. Her voice was calm, even. "You were sparring. It was clean. I tapped out, and you let go. That's more than I can say for most people."
He blinked, caught off guard. "You're... not mad?"
"I've been mad before," she said. "At people who deserved it." A brief pause. "You're not one of them."
Ridoc exhaled, slumping slightly in relief. "Still. I'm sorry."
Aeliana gave the smallest nod, then flicked her gaze back toward the front of the room where the professor was preparing a projection orb.
Ridoc sat forward in his seat, flipping open his notebook — then paused again.
"For what it's worth," he said, glancing sideways, "you're solid. I meant it when I said you were quick."
Aeliana's lip quirked just barely. "So are you."
He grinned, finally — lopsided and a little sheepish. "Guess I'll have to stay sharp, then."
"I'd recommend it," she murmured.
The room quieted as class began, but Ridoc stayed where he was, a little straighter now, a little more settled.
~
The morning was crisp, dew still clinging to the edges of the stone path that wound through the outer courtyard.
Aeliana's boots hit the ground in quiet, steady rhythm, her breath misting in the chill air.
The ache in her limbs from yesterday's training still lingered, but she welcomed it. She wore it like armor.
Each run reminded her she'd made it through another day.
She didn't hear him at first — not over the pounding of her pulse or the rhythmic slap of her soles. But the steps that joined hers were purposeful, practiced, and kept pace with an ease that annoyed her more than it should have.
"You always this motivated before sunrise, or are you trying to win something I don't know about?" a voice asked from behind.
She spun midstride, throwing a warning hook — not wide, not sloppy. Just instinct.
He ducked it with a laugh, raising his hands. "Peace, Sorynne. I come in peace."
Aeliana froze for half a breath.
"Garrick," she said, irritation flaring as her heart thundered. "What do you want?"
His eyebrows ticked up. "Oh? First name basis already?"
She cursed herself inwardly.
"I meant... what can I do for you, sir?" she corrected, face blank, voice clipped.
He fell into stride beside her. "Relax. I'm not here to bust your run."
"Then what?"
"I've seen you out here every morning. And I overheard what happened last week — you asking the second-years for help."
She said nothing.
"I also saw what happened when you got called up on the mat," he added, voice quiet now. "That wasn't training. That was someone making an example."
Still, no reply.
He continued, "I'm not here to pity you, Aeliana. I'm here because it's obvious you want to improve. You work your ass off. You're smart enough to know what you don't know. That's rare."
She looked at him finally, sharp gaze unreadable. "I already have Liam."
Garrick nodded. "You do. And you two work well together — you've already adjusted to each other's style. But Liam's still figuring things out, too. He's good. But he's still only a first-year."
He gave a small shrug. "I'm third. I've seen a little more. Survived a little more. If you want to train... I can help."
Aeliana was quiet for a few seconds, her breath puffing evenly despite the weight of the conversation.
Finally, she said, "And why offer? You don't even know me."
He smiled, just a little. "Because you're the only cadet I've ever seen walk the Parapet with her eyes closed."
She rolled her eyes. "That was wind in my eyes. And boredom."
He laughed. "So is that a yes?"
She paused at the corner of the next turn, slowing just enough to glance over her shoulder.
"You keep up. I'll think about it."
He grinned, falling in beside her again. "I'll take that as a yes."
The silence stretched between their footsteps, broken only by the measured rhythm of boots striking stone and the faint stir of wind rustling through the treetops above the courtyard wall.
Aeliana didn't glance his way, didn't break stride, even as she felt Garrick's presence settle beside her like a second heartbeat. It was a little too in sync, and that irritated her more than she wanted to admit.
"You know," he said, voice low but casual, "when I was a first-year, I could barely make it to breakfast without tripping over my own feet. Let alone run a lap before sunrise."
"Congratulations on evolving," she replied dryly, her eyes locked ahead.
He chuckled. "You're not making this easy."
"I don't recall asking for company."
"No, but you didn't punch me either." He grinned sidelong at her. "Which I'm taking as a win."
She let out a slow exhale through her nose. "You're persistent."
"I'm curious," he countered. "Big difference."
Aeliana didn't answer. Instead, she adjusted the rhythm of her breath, letting her muscles fall into a pace that eased the ache in her calves.
Garrick kept talking, quieter now. "I heard about what happened on the mats."
"You and half the quadrant," she muttered.
"No," he said, more serious now. "I don't mean the rumor about someone getting their ass handed to them. I mean what really happened."
That pulled her eyes toward him — just a flicker, but he caught it.
"I watched the tail section leader drag you onto that mat. Saw the way he grinned after you tapped." He paused. "That wasn't instruction. That was dominance. Power flex. And it pissed me off."
Aeliana's jaw flexed. "I handled it."
"I know you did." His voice stayed steady. "But I also know that kind of thing doesn't go away just because you get back on your feet."
She slowed her pace slightly, muscles tightening beneath her skin. "You don't know anything about me."
"That's true." He matched her pace. "But I know what it's like to be singled out. To be the one who wants more than what's handed out in drills."
Her eyes flicked his way again, just for a second. "You don't get it."
"Maybe not completely," he admitted. "But I remember what it was like, first year. Not knowing who to trust. Having older cadets treat you like an inconvenience until you were useful."
"That still doesn't explain why you care," she said, turning the corner of the courtyard path.
He was quiet for a beat. Then—
"You walked the Parapet with your eyes closed."
She stopped. Just like that. Mid-stride.
The words lodged in her spine like a blade.
"I told you," she said slowly, not turning to him yet. "That was because of the wind in my eyes."
"No, it wasn't," he said. "It was control. You walked like you'd already accepted death and were daring it to try."
She turned toward him now, sharply. "And that means what? You think I have a death wish?"
"No." He held her gaze. "I think you've been through shit. And you came out the other side colder, harder, and still standing. And that's exactly the kind of person who survives here."
Her lips parted — to argue, to deflect, she wasn't sure — but nothing came.
"So," he said, breaking the silence gently, "do you want the help or not?"
Aeliana looked at him. Really looked at him.
The confident posture. The effortless way he carried himself, like he knew what he was doing because he'd already bled for it.
She didn't trust easily — hadn't trusted anyone since the forest — but something about Garrick didn't read as pity. It read as offering.
And damn it, she needed that.
"Fine," she said, starting to walk again. "We'll train. But I call the shots."
His lips twitched. "So authoritative."
She shot him a look. "I'm serious."
"I believe you." He grinned. "You'd be terrifying as a wingleader."
"Don't push it."
They fell into step again, and he matched her stride like he'd always known how.
After a long silence, he added, "So... same time tomorrow?"
She shrugged. "Unless you can't keep up."
Garrick's laugh rang soft in the quiet morning. "Challenge accepted."
~
The gym was alive with energy — shouts, the thump of bodies hitting mats, the sharp bark of instructors calling names.
It was the second week of challenges, and the space practically crackled with tension.
Mats were crowded with cadets testing their mettle — first-years proving themselves, second-years sharpening their edge, third-years watching with folded arms and calculating stares.
Aeliana rolled her shoulders back as her name was called.
She stepped forward, boots hitting the mat with a solid rhythm. Across from her stood a second-year — tall, wiry, cocky. He cracked his knuckles and tilted his head like he was already bored.
Someone barked "Begin," and the match was on.
He moved fast. Not recklessly — there was intention behind every strike. He went low, then pivoted high, forcing her to block on instinct, barely getting her forearm up in time to deflect the blow.
Aeliana didn't waste breath. She dropped low, swept his leg, but he danced out of range.
Slippery.
They circled. Her braid slapped against her shoulder as she pivoted, feinted left, and threw a sharp elbow that grazed his ribs.
He grunted — but smiled.
"You're better than you look," he said, breathless.
"Too bad I can't say the same," she snapped, twisting away from his next strike.
The crowd at the edge of the mat stirred — first-years murmuring, second-years placing bets with smug grins. A few instructors watched from a distance, arms crossed, judging silently.
Aeliana kept moving.
She took two hits to her side, her ribs singing with pain, but she didn't retreat. Her body remembered the pain of worse. This? This she could use. She channeled it into speed, into power.
He went for her again.
She ducked. Drove her palm up into his chin hard enough to snap his head back.
Down. Get him down.
She shot forward with a knee, catching him in the gut. He staggered, bent just enough for her to pivot and grab his arm, trying for a throw.
But he was heavier. Stronger. And more experienced.
With a sudden twist, he reversed the hold, slammed her onto the mat with a controlled, practiced throw. She hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.
The gym spun.
His arm pinned her shoulder.
She squirmed — hooked her foot around his calf — but he locked her tighter.
"Yield," he said, not cruel, just certain.
Her jaw clenched. Her fingers trembled from the strain. She shoved once more — desperate — but he didn't budge.
A second passed. Then two.
She tapped.
The weight lifted instantly. He offered a hand — but she pushed herself to her feet without it.
There was polite applause. A few murmurs of "Good fight," and some laughs from second-years who thought neck-and-neck was still too close for a first-year to reach.
Aeliana didn't look at any of them.
She walked to the edge of the mat, grabbed her water bottle, and started wrapping her wrist tighter. Her ribs ached. Her pride more so.
And then—she felt eyes on her.
She turned slightly and caught sight of Garrick Tavis, standing near the far wall, arms crossed, his squad jacket half-buttoned, and his hair damp from a previous match. He wasn't laughing. Wasn't jeering.
He was watching her with a kind of thoughtful intensity that made her want to both glare and retreat.
~
The sun had already dipped behind the stone spires of Basgiath by the time Aeliana stepped into the gym, the massive doors creaking slightly as they closed behind her.
The evening light filtered through the high windows in golden slats, but most of the illumination came from the hovering mage-lights spaced evenly along the walls, casting a soft glow across the mats.
Only a few cadets lingered — the second wave of training was done, most people were either cleaning up or heading to the dining hall.
She scanned the space instinctively, her eyes catching on familiar movement near the back corner mat. Garrick.
He was already there, rolling his shoulders, tightening the wraps around his knuckles, his hair slightly damp from what must have been an earlier bout of sparring. Aeliana hesitated for a breath — not from nerves, but from instinct. Letting herself settle. Center.
He spotted her the moment she stepped fully into view.
"You're right on time," he said, tossing a water bottle into the bag at the edge of the mat. "Wasn't sure if you'd show."
"I said I would." She tugged off her jacket and rolled her shoulders. "I don't say things I don't mean."
"I'm starting to believe that." Garrick smirked and gestured toward the mat. "Let's warm up."
They circled each other slowly, falling into stance. Aeliana kept her body loose but ready, her eyes sharp, her balance adjusted with every movement. Garrick moved like a fighter who didn't need to prove anything — calculated, precise. No wasted energy.
She struck first — a testing jab to his left side, which he easily blocked, spinning into a low sweep she barely dodged. He didn't go for a full take-down, just enough pressure to make her move.
"You're quick," he said, already repositioning. "I can work with that."
Aeliana exhaled through her nose and adjusted her footwork, sweeping low and pivoting behind him in one fluid motion. He blocked her elbow just before it could land on his ribs and caught her wrist.
"Good angle," he noted. "But don't pause mid-transition. Follow through."
She jerked out of the hold, eyes narrowing. "I was recalibrating."
"You were second-guessing." His voice wasn't mocking. Just honest. "Fight like you mean it, or don't bother stepping onto the mat."
That stung. Not because he was wrong, but because it sounded like something her mother would've said.
Aeliana launched again, faster this time — two feints and a sweep that forced him to backpedal, just enough to make him grunt in surprise.
He grinned. "There she is."
They moved again. This time, he started pressing — pushing her back, testing her reaction speed. A jab came for her shoulder; she blocked. Another for her ribs; she twisted aside.
Then he pivoted on his heel and aimed for her leg. She dropped low, palm against the mat, flipping backward and landing on her feet.
Garrick blinked. "Damn."
"Still think I hesitate?"
He raised his hands, nodding. "Not anymore."
They reset.
Another series of strikes. They were both sweating now, breathing harder, neither of them holding back. Aeliana's braid had loosened, strands clinging to her neck as she ducked another strike. She caught him with a heel to the thigh, just enough to throw his balance.
Then—
She slipped.
Her foot caught on a damp patch of the mat — likely leftover from the cadets before them — and she hit the floor with a loud thump, her pride bruised more than anything else.
There was a heartbeat of silence.
Then Garrick started laughing. Not meanly. Not mockingly. Just loud, full-bodied laughter.
"I told you to check your footing," he wheezed, still standing above her.
"I did," Aeliana muttered, glaring up at him as she sat up, brushing her palm across the mat. "Apparently not enough."
He offered a hand down, still chuckling. "Well, you were doing great until gravity won."
She rolled her eyes but took his hand anyway, letting him haul her to her feet. "You're enjoying this far too much."
"I enjoy not getting kicked in the face. Which you came dangerously close to earlier." He gave her a mock salute. "Respect."
A reluctant laugh escaped her lips — small, but real. The first that didn't feel forced in weeks.
"Want to know why you didn't win this afternoon?" Garrick asked then, voice quieter, his brow furrowed.
Her jaw tensed. "Because I wasn't fast enough."
"No," he said. "That's not it."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You hesitated," he said simply. "For just a moment. When you had him off-balance — you flinched. Waited for confirmation when your gut already knew what to do. That's what cost you the win."
Aeliana's fingers twitched.
"I've seen you move when you're confident," he continued. "You don't miss. You don't slow. But out there? You doubted yourself."
She didn't answer at first. The truth stung — mostly because he was right.
"I didn't want to overreach," she muttered.
"You were too careful," he corrected. "And I get it. You've been trained to survive. Not to take the risky shot. But here's the thing..." He stepped closer, lowering his stance. "Sometimes the risk is the win."
Aeliana stared at him for a beat. Then nodded — barely.
"Again?" she asked, resetting her stance.
He grinned. "Gladly."
~
They cooled down in silence, the gym mostly empty now. Garrick stretched out one leg, leaning back on his hands while Aeliana sat a few feet away, rolling her shoulder with small, deliberate motions. Her hair was damp, clinging to the side of her face, but she made no move to fix it.
"You're quick," Garrick said, voice low, not quite a compliment — more a statement of fact. "But you fight like you don't believe you're allowed to breathe."
Aeliana didn't answer right away. She took a sip from her water bottle, eyes tracking the last of the third-years clearing out.
"I breathe just fine," she said eventually, tone dry.
He didn't push. Just shrugged lightly and leaned forward to tighten the wraps on his hands. "Could've fooled me. Every time you strike, it's like you're waiting for someone to hit back harder."
"Isn't that the point of sparring?" she asked, arching a brow.
"No," he replied, meeting her gaze. "The point is learning."
She looked away first.
"I've seen cadets who fight like you," he went on, quieter now. "They're the ones who last — if they figure out when to let their shoulders drop and actually rest."
"Rest is for after Threshing," she muttered.
His brows lifted slightly, but he said nothing.
Another beat of silence passed before she stood, brushing her palms on her thighs. "Thanks for the match."
"You're not going to ask how you lost?"
Aeliana hesitated. "Didn't seem like the kind of thing you'd gloat over."
"I'm not," he said, standing. "But you might want to know."
She crossed her arms. "Fine."
"You were focused on my footwork, not my hips. That's why you missed the feint." His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "You track the wrong cues. It's small, but at this level, it matters."
Her jaw tightened. "Noted."
He offered a crooked grin, no mockery in it. "You'll catch it next time."
Then he nodded once and turned to go, leaving her by the mat.
Aeliana watched him walk away, then exhaled — slow and steady.
Not angry. Not proud.
Just determined.
~
The morning sun hadn't even crested the top of the towers when Vessa blew the whistle. Again.
"Switch and go!" she barked across the training field, voice carrying with the authority of someone very used to being obeyed.
Aeliana's body screamed in protest as she pivoted on one heel and dropped low into a sweeping dodge, her back protesting with every movement.
Liam slid in next to her just as she braced herself for the next sequence.
"You're stiff," he muttered under his breath.
"No, I'm graceful and mysterious," she hissed back, her posture only half-convincing.
"You're hobbling like an eighty-year-old," Liam said. "Did someone roll you down the stairs or did a mattress finally lose a fight with your spine?"
Aeliana grit her teeth through a crouch and lunge. "You're about five seconds from finding out what happens when you mock an injured predator."
Liam arched an eyebrow. "Injured predator? That's a new one. Were you sparring with the wall again?"
She shot him a look that might've killed a lesser man.
"I trained with Garrick last night," she muttered, tone flat.
Liam blinked. "Ah. Say no more."
A beat.
"Did you win?" he asked.
"No."
"Did you survive?"
"Barely."
"Do you need a stretcher?"
"I need you to stop talking."
He grinned, completely unbothered. "You know, if you wanted to get your ass handed to you, I would've done it for free."
"You wouldn't last three seconds if I was fresh."
"Bold talk for someone walking like she owes every bone in her body an apology."
Aeliana chuckled despite herself, breath catching in her throat from the pain.
"Don't laugh. Laughing hurts," she groaned.
"Oh, good," Liam said. "Then I'll keep going."
They reached the next position and dropped into push-up stance. Aeliana's arms quivered on the second rep.
"You're going to break," Liam said in a singsong whisper.
"I'm going to break you," she wheezed.
"Love that," he said. "Sounds like a date."
She dropped to her knees for a moment, breathing through her nose. "You're not even a little sore?"
"I'm a picture of strength and stamina," he declared, puffing his chest out dramatically.
Aeliana punched his bicep mid-lift.
"Ow," he muttered.
"I thought you were a picture of strength," she teased.
"I am," he grumbled. "But even art can be fragile."
A sharp whistle from Vessa cut through the field again.
"Pick it up!" she yelled. "This isn't nap hour."
Aeliana groaned. "Remind me why I'm doing this."
"Because you're terrifying and full of spite?" Liam offered helpfully.
She looked over at him, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to her forehead, and gave a smirk.
"Fair."