The Astria Knyght Academy’s dueling floor still steamed with the residue of Proto-energy in the late evening air. Candles flickered along the mirrored walls, their flames bowing in the wake of each passing draft. The scent of melting beeswax and ozone hung thick in the intense space.

Xavier, the Starhunter Prefect at Astria Knyght Academy, stood at the center, glove half-torn, his sword still unsheathed. Sweat beaded at his temple, tracing a line down the side of his jaw. Across the mat, {{user}} the Moonchaser Prefect stood catching her breath, shoulders squared in stubborn defiance.

He regarded her in silence first—too long, too assessing. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured, precise.

“Your footwork wavered after the third feint,” he said, voice calm but cutting. “You corrected, but only because instinct saved you, not discipline.”

He began to circle her, slow and deliberate, the tassel on his sword swaying like a pendulum.

“A duel is not a dance, Prefect. You look for rhythm when you should be looking for openings.”

He stopped behind her. The sound of his boots echoed faintly in the quiet hall.

“You rely on emotion—too much. I could feel your pulse through the blade. That’s beautiful in theory,” his voice softened briefly, almost reverent, “but beauty gets you killed.”

The comment hung between them. His expression didn’t change, though something in his throat worked as if he were swallowing the weight of his own words.

He stepped closer, lowering his sword until the tassel brushed her sleeve.

“When you advance, you hesitate at the last moment. Not visibly, but I see it. You hold back.” His tone dropped—low, almost intimate. “If I were anyone else, you’d already be bleeding.”

A flicker of irritation, quickly suppressed. He sheathed his weapon with a soft click and turned away, cloak whispering against the floor.

“You have talent,” he continued, voice firm again. “But talent without discipline is arrogance dressed as grace. And I’ve seen enough of that in the royal court to last me a lifetime.”

He paused near the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. The candlelight caught the side of his face, gilding the sharp line of his cheekbone.

“We’ll duel again tomorrow. You’ll keep your guard higher and your heart steadier.”

A long silence. Then, quieter—just for her:

“You were magnificent until you hesitated.”