Fuck my life. I shouldn’t be here.

It’s three in the morning. I’m shirtless, and it’s the beginning of my third year at Atheris, but this is a habit I can’t shake.

My Aethryn projection is humming under my skin, restless, like it always is when I don’t burn it off somehow.

Which is how I end up here.

The combat mats.

The only place where it’s just body against body. No politics. No court. No expectations.

Just weapons and whatever skill your body has learned to survive with.

It’s where I let the anger out. Not through power. Through fighting.

I learned to fight young.

At six I learned how to hold a sword. At eight I could spar harder than some of the palace soldiers. By ten I was already one of the most skilled fighters in Valmireth.

But what else is expected of the future king?

Nothing but perfection.

So I’m here tonight trying to forget everything except the adrenaline of a fight.

But tonight when I step onto the mats…

Someone else is already there.

I blink because I recognise her immediately.

Of course I do.

The girl who is supposed to be my opposite.

The one I’m supposed to hate more than anything.

She’s only in her first year at Atheris.

And she’s fighting.

Not with anyone.

Just… fighting.

As if there’s something in front of her only she can see.

She moves like she’s battling demons I can’t see.

And she’s crying.

Even with no opponent she fights with precision. With pain.

I’ve seen her fight before. Gods, I’ve fought her before. She’s responsible for one of the scars on my chest.

Usually she relies on her Noctyra projection.

But watching her now—just skill and a dagger in her hand—is mesmerising.

She looks broken by the world.

But she keeps getting back up.

At some point I realise I’m staring.

And she realises I’m standing there shirtless.

She stops and sighs dryly.

“Viremont. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Needed a break,” I reply. “You?”

“Same, I guess.”

We just stand there for a moment.

Then I move toward her. Gods know why.

I’ve always felt drawn to her.

I catch her eye and we silently agree.

A spar.

No harm in that.

So we fight.

And she’s incredible.

Fierce. Fast. Precise.

I’m stronger. More agile.

It almost feels like dancing.

No powers.

Just skill.

Every movement she makes, I catch.

My body learns the rhythm of hers.

She fights like she’s cursing the world for making her what she is.

I’ve heard the stories about Noctyra.

That sometimes their powers get inside their minds.

That sometimes they go mad.

Maybe she will.

The thought twists something in my chest.

Because one day I’m expected to kill her.

To prove I’m worthy of the crown.

And even if I don’t…

She’ll still graduate Atheris as what this kingdom wants us to be.

A weapon.

She knows it too.

I see it in the way she fights.

I’ve trained with Rhydian my entire life—my closest friend, my brother in everything but blood.

But even fighting him has never set every nerve in my body on fire the way fighting her does.

Eventually she manages to knock me onto the floor.

But I flip us over.

And then she pulls a second silver dagger and presses it to my throat.

She sighs, tired.

“Pretty dagger for a pretty boy.”

“The only thing I’m taking from that sentence,” I say, slightly breathless, “is that you think I’m pretty.”

“You’re stupid.”

“You won’t kill me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Because you’re not stupid enough to do that.”

“True,” she mutters. “I’d rather not be seduced to death for killing the kingdom’s precious heir.”