"Run."
That was Amelia's entire greeting.
Soren stared at her for a second, letting the word hang there like it was a complete sentence because, for her, it apparently was, then he looked past her shoulder at the training field stretching out under the morning sky.
"You know, some people say 'good morning,'" he said, voice still rough with sleep.
Amelia didn't even bother answering properly.
A shoulder brushed his as she walked by, like the conversation had already been rejected and filed under irrelevant noise.
With a sigh that wasn't really annoyed, Soren set his cloak on a bench, rolled his sleeves up, and stepped onto the track after her.
The air was cold enough to bite, not painfully, but insistently, the kind that made you feel it in your nose when you inhaled.
"Same routine as always," he called, more to confirm than to ask. "Warm-up first, then spar, right?"
Amelia nodded once without looking back, already moving.
Of course.
The first lap was just movement, his body waking up reluctantly as his boots struck the track in a steady rhythm.
The second lap dragged the rest of him out of sleep, breathing deepening, shoulders loosening, the stiffness in his joints beginning to give way.
By the third, the cold air had stopped being refreshing and started feeling like it belonged inside his lungs, sharp and intrusive.
The ache in his calves settled into a steady burn, and the warmth that came with it felt earned rather than comfortable.
Beside him, Amelia ran the way she always did.
Smooth, unbothered, with her tail flicking behind her like it was bored.
Breathing calm enough to be insulting.
Soren shot her a sidelong look between breaths.
"You're not even trying."
A glance came his way, flat and offended, like he had accused her of something genuinely vile.
"I am."
"Bullshit," he muttered. "Why are you pretending to be weak?"
"Run faster."
"Grow me another pair of lungs and I'll consider it."
Nothing close to a proper smile showed on her face, but that tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth did, subtle enough that most people would miss it completely.
Soren didn't.
Lap five pulled sweat to his back, dampening the shirt beneath his cloakless layers.
Lap six made his thighs feel heavy, each stride starting to demand more than it offered back.
Even then, the old cliff-edge wasn't there anymore.
His limits still existed, and he could still feel the line approaching, but it didn't drop away beneath him the moment he touched it.
There was no sudden collapse, no panic-laced helplessness, just strain that he could manage, discomfort that didn't immediately become disaster.
When he finally slowed, hands bracing on his knees, breath scraping in and out, the urge to collapse didn't come.
Legs shook, but they held.
He stayed upright because his body let him stay upright, and that alone was enough to make his exhausted irritation soften into something steadier.
Amelia didn't stop with him.
Of course she didn't.
She kept running, and for a few seconds he watched her go, half annoyed and half impressed in that familiar, exhausted way he had come to associate with her existence.
There was no point comparing himself to Amelia.
Amelia was ridiculous as a comparison.
By the time she circled back, she looked exactly the same as when she had started.
There wasn't a hint of sweat on her body.
No flushed cheeks.
No change in breathing.
Then, suddenly, a sniff hit his shoulder.
Soren straightened slowly, blinking at her.
"Did you just smell me?"
"No," Amelia said immediately, which was an obvious lie.
"You're unbelievable."
Another sniff, like she was checking a report.
"You're fine."
"That's a weird way to say 'good job.'"
Silence answered him, the kind that wasn't dismissive so much as her just refusing to talk.
Then her shoulder pressed into his side again, close and steady, like that was all the praise he was getting, and like she had decided physical contact was more efficient than words.
He exhaled through his nose, the irritation fading on impact.
"Stretch," Amelia said, gesturing toward the grass. "Then sparring."
They moved to their usual patch, the one that had become routine without either of them ever naming it as such.
Amelia dropped into stretches with absurd flexibility, like her joints didn't know what resistance was.
Soren followed with more care than grace because skipping warm-ups was how you suffered for days, and he had learned that lesson enough times to respect it.
The handaxe came out next, familiar weight settling into his palm.
Labrys didn't feel like a weapon anymore so much as an extension of habit, and that was both reassuring and faintly unsettling in the way that meant he had actually changed.
The rules were the same as always.
Turns.
A few minutes attacking, then defending.
Without that rule, there would be no reason to spar, Amelia was simply too strong for him, and she understood that clearly.
"I'll go first," Soren said, rolling his wrist once.
The shift in Amelia was immediate.
The lazy look vanished, replaced by that predatory sharpness that made her seem older than she was, like the part of her built for combat snapped into place and didn't leave room for anything else.
Soren moved.
[Breeze] snapped at his heels, pushing him forward in a clean burst, and the axe came in low, then high, forcing a reaction.
Amelia blocked on her forearm with controlled reinforcement, enough to stop the edge without turning it into an immovable wall.
It let him feel impact without punishing him for trying.
He pivoted and swung again, turning the axe head into a hook at the last second, aiming for the guard instead of the body.
「Einhardt Axemanship - Crescent」
A smooth step back denied the catch, effortless in a way that made Soren's teeth itch.
He clicked his tongue.
A quick [Gaia] softened the ground near her foot, meant to steal traction.
Amelia adjusted without stumbling, weight shifting like she had seen it coming before the spell even finished, and for a heartbeat Soren felt the familiar frustration flare, that old irritation that she always seemed a step ahead.
Then [Shockwave] went out, short and sharp.
The pulse of force slapped forward to disrupt her stance.
Half-step back, absorbed cleanly.
Soren pressed harder, chaining bursts of movement with controlled swings, pushing his pace up without letting it become wild, and the difference between now and first semester was obvious in every motion.
He wasn't flailing until he ran out of breath.
His wrists moved cleaner.
The axe returned to guard without lagging behind his thoughts.
He attacked like he expected his body to obey him, and it did.
Even so, Amelia kept meeting him.
Block.
Redirect.
Slip away.
She wasn't fighting to win.
She was fighting to teach, in her own blunt way.
Fatigue started warming his arms, breath growing louder as the minutes stacked, and then a small opening appeared anyway, a fraction of distance, a half beat where she committed to one line.
His axe flared with familiar glow as he drove in.
「Einhardt Axemanship - Sundering Fang」
Amelia's hand tapped his chest the moment his guard opened.
A warning.
Light, precise, perfectly timed.
"You're open."
Soren stepped back with a short exhale that was more resignation than genuine annoyance.
"Switch."
Now it was her turn.
Restraint didn't make Amelia gentle.
It made her precise.
Pressure came in clean lines, heavy enough that every block demanded his whole body, not just his arms.
The axe jarred against his grip, the force travelling up his bones, and he adjusted his stance automatically because if he didn't, she would knock him off balance without needing to try.
A short burst of [Breeze] kept him from being cornered.
[Ignition] flared low once, not to burn her, but to smear the air with heat and flicker, buying half a second to reset his footing.
Amelia didn't rush him.
She didn't need to.
A dull impact hit his forearm, her knuckles checking his guard, testing his structure.
Another strike followed, and another, and the pattern wasn't chaotic.
It was methodical, like she was building pressure until something broke, and it forced him to move, forced him to think, forced him to stop relying on instinct alone.
It was exhausting.
It was also… safe, in a strange way.
Routine with the right person did that.
The world could feel sharp and dangerous everywhere else, and then here was Amelia, making him hurt for the right reasons, keeping him steady by forcing him to be.
When his arms started shaking in a way that would ruin technique, the axe lifted slightly in surrender.
"Break."
Amelia stopped immediately, like she had been waiting for the moment he needed it, then bumped her forehead lightly into his shoulder as if she needed to reassert contact now that the spar ended.
Soren blinked at the suddenness.
"What was that meant to be?"
There was no answer, just a quiet insistence, eyes half-lidded as she leaned closer, weight settling into him like she had decided he was her anchor for the morning.
His hand rose without thinking and ruffled her hair once.
Her posture softened instantly, tension draining like it had been held together purely by stubbornness.
"You're acting spoiled lately," Soren muttered, still catching his breath.
A low hum vibrated out of her throat like she approved of that accusation.
Movement at the edge of the field pulled his attention.
Someone big stood there with arms folded, watching like she was judging whether the morning was entertaining enough to be worth her time.
Tiger ears.
Thick tail.
Scarred build.
Even from a distance, the presence didn't blend in.
Amelia noticed too.
Her shoulder pressed into Soren's side more firmly, not subtle, not gentle, and her eyes narrowed in an instant.
The tiger beastkin grinned like she had been rewarded.
"So here you are, Princess. Thought you'd ditched me," she called, voice carrying easily.
"Brynja," Amelia said, and her tone sharpened into something that made the air feel tighter.
So it really was her.
Soren remembered seeing her from a distance during the opening ceremony at the beginning of the semester, but that had been too far away to be sure.
Seeing Brynja properly in person made it obvious why people listened to her.
She looked like the kind of person who could punch a wall down and then complain about the dust.
Brynja strolled closer, boots heavy on the grass, gaze sliding from Amelia to Soren, then lingering on the fact Amelia had practically glued herself to him.
The grin widened.
"Oh?" she drawled. "So this is the one."
Soren lifted an eyebrow, breathing finally settling.
"I'm sorry?"
"Don't start," Amelia snapped immediately.
Brynja ignored her completely.
"Arden, right? The Class F brat."
"That's definitely one way to start a conversation."
A laugh burst out of her, loud and unapologetic.
"Good. You've got a spine."
Amelia shifted again, subtly placing herself between them without fully blocking him, only moving enough that the intent was obvious even if the distance was small.
Brynja looked delighted.
"So you train together every weekend?" she asked, eyes bright with interest that didn't feel friendly so much as entertained.
"Just whenever we feel like it," Soren said cautiously.
"Whenever you feel like it," Brynja repeated, like the words tasted funny. "Cute."
A low sound rumbled out of Amelia, not quite a growl, but close enough that Soren's instincts twitched.
Brynja's grin turned feral.
"Oh, wow. I've never seen our little princess act like this."
"Shut up," Amelia hissed, ears flattening.
Brynja jerked her thumb toward Soren.
"Fine, fine. Anyway, you, spar with me."
"No," Soren replied automatically.
Her eyebrows rose, impressed rather than offended.
"No?"
"Why should I?"
"Aren't you here to train?" Brynja said, as if the answer should be obvious.
Soren glanced sideways, then back.
"Are you stronger than Amelia?"
"...Tch."
Brynja clicked her tongue, expression shifting into something more thoughtful, almost annoyed that she had to answer honestly.
Then she spoke anyway, casual as anything.
"Can you really learn anythin' from a monster who fights on pure instinct?"
Soren didn't respond, because he knew she was right.
Besides, wasn't it Amelia herself who had made that same point before the semester even began, back when she had warned him that her way of fighting wasn't something he could copy?
Amelia's posture tightened like she was ready to intercept Brynja's existence by force, and the reaction only made Brynja look more entertained.
Soren exhaled, already regretting everything.
"Fine. Whatever. Why not? Just take it easy, I'm a Class F mage, remember."
Brynja clicked her tongue.
"Hmm, I guess that's fair. I won't use mana enhancement or grappling then. Let's keep it simple."
She smiled and stepped into the open space like she owned it.
Soren rolled his wrist once and set his stance, feeling Labrys settle into place.
The axe felt smaller suddenly, which was annoying because it wasn't actually smaller.
Brynja was just enormous.
Behind him, Amelia hovered like a threat.
Not helpful.
Yet also… weirdly reassuring.
"Hurry up and show me what you can do," Brynja said, impatience baked into the words.
Soren moved first, because letting someone like her take initiative was a good way to end up on the floor.
[Breeze] carried him in.
The glowing axe swung high, then snapped downward, trying to force a block he could read.
「Einhardt Axemanship - Sundering Fang」
Instead of blocking like Amelia, Brynja caught the handle with her palm and twisted, redirecting the force like it was nothing.
"Oh wow," she said, delighted, "Einhardt Axemanship, eh?"
Soren's eyes widened for half a beat before he yanked back, pivoting instinctively, and sent a kick toward her knee to create distance.
She barely moved.
A short [Shockwave] burst at close range.
Brynja slid back half a step and laughed like he had poked her with a stick.
"You're not holding back enough," Soren muttered.
"You're just weak," Brynja said cheerfully.
"Thanks."
Another rush.
Another chain of spells and axe techniques.
A hook toward her wrist…
Then her hand shot out before Soren could even react.
Amelia moved.
Fast enough that Soren barely tracked it.
A sharp slap knocked Brynja's wrist aside, and the growl finally slipped out properly, low and territorial.
Brynja froze for a heartbeat, then burst into laughter.
"There it is!" she crowed. "That look!"
"Touch him and I'll rip your arm off," Amelia said, voice deadly calm.
Soren stepped in immediately, cutting the air between them before Amelia decided to prove she wasn't joking, pulse thudding in his ears for reasons that had nothing to do with exertion.
"I'll take it you're satisfied?" he said, forcing his tone dry. "Though I didn't really learn anything."
Brynja lifted both hands in mock surrender, grin still bright.
"Relax. I wasn't gonna break your toy, Princess."
Amelia's expression sharpened.
Soren's eyelid twitched.
"Toy?" he echoed, slower.
"You heard me," Brynja said with a smile, then flicked her gaze to Amelia. "I didn't expect her to have it this bad."
"Shut up."
Brynja's grin softened just a fraction, turning less predatory and more grounded.
"Anyway. Interesting, Arden. You adjust fast."
"Thanks," Soren said flatly. "Now go away, please. I can't guarantee your safety if you don't."
She laughed again, completely unbothered.
"Later, then. Training tomorrow too?"
Amelia's gaze flicked to Soren for half a second, quick and instinctive, before she flipped Brynja off without hesitation.
"Whenever we feel like it."
Brynja simply grinned at the gesture, like she found entertainment in the princess's action rather than insult.
"Well, whatever," she said, tail flicking. "I'll come by tomorrow. If you show up, I'll teach you how to stop looking like you're about to bite someone every time they breathe near your toy."
Amelia didn't bother to deny it; she just stared until Brynja finally turned away.
Brynja left with a lazy wave, boots heavy as she walked off across the path, tail swinging behind her like a banner.
Once the tension faded by a fraction, Soren exhaled and rubbed his forehead, trying to shake off the lingering edge.
"She's a lot."
"She's annoying," Amelia corrected immediately.
"That's what I meant."
"Then just say it."
"I was… trying to be nice."
"That's new."
"She's your friend, isn't she? I didn't want to be the type of person to badmouth someone you were close to."
"...We aren't close."
Even through their banter, Amelia's gaze stayed fixed on where Brynja had been, posture tight.
The defensiveness hadn't vanished.
It sat in her like a held breath.
Soren watched her for a moment, then asked quietly.
"What's up?"
"She touched you," Amelia said, tone low.
"Barely."
"Still."
For a second, Soren just stared at her, then his hand rose again, fingers brushing through her hair in a familiar motion that had become easier than words.
"I'm fine," he said. "You're being a weirdo today. I've fought plenty of people. What's the big deal all of a sudden?"
Amelia didn't reply.
Instead, she leaned into the touch, forehead brushing his shoulder like she couldn't help herself, like the contact mattered more than whatever she was trying not to say.
"You're ridiculous," Soren muttered.
Silence answered him.
That was as close as she ever got to agreement.
A crunch of footsteps drew his attention briefly.
Across the path at the field's edge, a tall elf passed without slowing, platinum-blonde hair braided, posture straight, expression unreadable.
There was no pause in her steps.
No words spoken.
Not even a proper look in their direction.
For a moment, Soren's smile broke, but it was momentarily.
That door was still closed for now, and there was nothing he could do about it.
And that was fine.
There was no rush.
She disappeared down the path a few seconds later.
Soren forced his focus back where it belonged, then gestured toward the grass.
"Let's finish up. Cooldown stretches, then breakfast, okay?"
Amelia's ears perked at the mention of breakfast.
The morning continued the way it usually did after that, aching muscles, steady breathing, and Amelia sitting close enough that her presence felt like a weight against his side.
It wasn't subtle.
It was just her.
————「❤︎」————