Aysu stepped forward before the noise had time to settle.
She moved with an easy confidence, bare feet touching the stone as if she had walked this arena a hundred times before. There was pride in her posture, not loud or showy, but rooted deep—something unyielding in the way her shoulders were set, in how she carried her name without needing to speak it aloud.
"It's me who you'll face now."
Her voice carried clearly across the ring.
Ivar was still kneeling when she stopped a few paces away. Water lingered around him as healers worked quickly, sealing torn skin, drawing the worst of the fatigue from his muscles. His breathing steadied, but the fight with Elaine still clung to him—blood drying at his collar, the faint tremor in his spear hand betraying how hard he had pushed himself.
Aysu watched the healing in silence.
After a moment, she tilted her head slightly. "Finish properly," she said, almost idly. "I don't want to hear later that you weren't ready."
One of the healers glanced up, startled, then nodded and pressed their palm harder to Ivar's shoulder. The water brightened, then receded.
Ivar rose slowly, rolling his neck once, spear settling into his grip. His eyes stayed on Aysu the entire time.
"You're giving me time," he said. Not accusing. Observing.
Aysu smiled faintly. "I don't need the advantage."
That did it. A ripple of reaction spread through both orders—some amused, some irritated, some quietly impressed.
Elaine felt her chest tighten as she watched.
This wasn't bravado. Aysu truly believed it.
The signal was given.
The world cooled.
Moonlight spilled into the arena, not as a beam from above but as a presence, thin and pervasive, like frost creeping across glass. The stone beneath their feet gleamed pale silver, water answering instinctively, pooling in shallow reflections that distorted the sky.
Ivar moved first.
Water surged forward in a sweeping arc, not wild but controlled, shaped by long practice. It split into two streams mid-flight, one snapping low toward Aysu's legs, the other rising sharp and fast toward her throat.
Aysu didn't retreat.
Moonlight hardened around her like a veil drawn tight. The lower wave struck and dispersed, its momentum bleeding away as if the ground itself had refused it. The upper stream slowed, thinned, and vanished inches from her skin.
She stepped forward through the fading mist.
Her counter was simple—a crescent of moonlight, thin as a blade, cutting toward Ivar's shoulder.
He twisted aside, spear sweeping up to catch the edge of it. The impact rang out, not loud but deep, vibrating through the shaft and into his arms. He grunted, boots skidding back half a step.
She was strong.
Stronger than Elaine had expected—and Elaine had expected a lot.
Ivar didn't pause. War flared beneath his skin, crimson veins lighting along his forearms as he closed the distance with sudden speed. His spear struck in rapid succession, each thrust backed by enhanced strength, water reinforcing the tip, adjusting its angle mid-motion to slip past defenses.
Aysu retreated this time—but only just.
She moved like water herself, steps light, precise, moonlight flashing to deflect one strike and redirect another. A spearhead grazed her sleeve, tearing fabric but not flesh. For the first time, her smile widened.
"Good," she said. "At least you're trying."
She lifted one hand.
Moonlight collapsed inward, condensing to a single point before exploding outward—not violently, but irresistibly. The force slammed into Ivar's guard, driving him back, boots carving shallow lines into the stone as he struggled to hold his ground.
Water surged around him in response, forming a spinning barrier that absorbed part of the pressure. The stone beneath cracked faintly.
For a moment, they held there—moonlight pressing, water resisting, neither yielding.
Then Aysu stepped in again.
She didn't overwhelm him all at once. Instead, she began to dismantle him.
Moonlight erased the water reinforcing his footing. A sharp arc knocked his spear aside. Another strike forced him to drop to one knee. Ivar snarled and surged up again, blood-aspected strength flaring as he swung the spear in a wide, desperate arc meant to force space.
It almost worked.
Almost.
Aysu slipped inside the arc, water snapping around her wrist as she caught the shaft of the spear. Moonlight followed, crawling along the weapon like pale fire.
The metal screamed.
Ivar released it just in time as the spear cracked down the center, the sigils along its surface flickering before going dark. The broken halves clattered to the ground.
Silence fell.
Ivar stared at his empty hands for half a heartbeat—then laughed, breathless and raw.
"Alright," he said. "That's… fair."
He raised his fists, water coiling around them instinctively as he lunged anyway, refusing to stop simply because he'd lost his weapon.
Aysu's expression sharpened—not cruel, but decisive.
She struck once.
Moonlight flared from her palm, driving into Ivar's chest with enough force to lift him cleanly off the ground. He hit the stone hard, skidding several feet before coming to a stop.
Water rushed to him again, reflexive, but Aysu lifted her hand and it froze in place, held by nothing visible.
She stood over him, breathing steady, eyes bright.
"Yield," she said—not as a command, but a certainty.
Ivar lay there for a moment, chest heaving, then nodded. He lifted one hand.
"I yield."
The pressure vanished instantly. Water collapsed harmlessly across the stone. Moonlight faded back into the air.
Aysu stepped away without another word.
The arena erupted—not in cheers, but in a low, rolling sound of voices, awe and relief mixing together. Elaine realized she'd been holding her breath and let it out slowly.
Elaine looked up and caught sight of someone standing farther along the terrace.
Senior Seren.
His pale hair stirred in the wind, silver catching the light in a way that almost made it seem unreal. He wasn't watching the fights anymore—his attention was on the freshmen, on the mingling, the laughter, the tentative beginnings of trust.
Their eyes met.
He smiled—not wide. Just enough.
Then the wind shifted.
Seren dissolved into silver dust, scattering into the air as though he had never been there at all.
Elaine stared for a moment longer than necessary.
"Did you see that?" she asked.
Nora squinted. "See what?"
Elaine shook her head. "Nothing."
She smiled to herself and leaned back, letting the sounds of conversation wash over her.
She watched Aysu return to her order, chin lifted, pride carried openly now. That was what strength looked like at its peak—not frenzy, not cruelty, but absolute confidence.
Elaine wanted that.
Not the domination. Not the fear she inspired.
The certainty.
⸻
The days that followed were… strange.
In the best way.
What had begun as formal exchange quickly softened into something else. The instructors allowed joint training sessions to continue, first within the controlled environment of the Veil, then beyond it, into the real world—open fields, ruined courtyards, half-flooded valleys where ghosts sometimes lingered at the edges of perception.
For a week, Moon and Water trained side by side.
They sparred, argued, laughed.
Elaine learned how the Tidal Conclave shaped their water—not just as force, but as rhythm. How they listened to it, let it guide timing and breath. In return, she showed a girl named Maris how the Moon's illusions could be layered, not stacked, and watched her eyes light up as she tried it for herself using water as a replacement.
Nora got into a shouting match over footwork that somehow ended with both sides laughing and starting over. Naeem spent hours exchanging techniques with a quiet water disciple, the two of them barely speaking, communicating almost entirely through movement.
At night, they shared meals.
Stories followed.
They spoke about the past of their world. About how the orders had once fought openly, clashing over territory, doctrine, pride. How gods had encouraged it once, when the world was quieter, when monsters were fewer and ghosts weaker.
But the world had changed.
The horrors had grown bolder. Stronger. More numerous.
And at some point, the fighting between orders had stopped making sense.
There was still rivalry—always would be. Testing each other sharpened the blade. But hatred had no place left to root itself.
Not when the real enemy waited in the dark.
Elaine sat beside a silver fire one night, listening to a water disciple talk about losing a village to ghosts, and realized how similar it sounded to stories she'd heard from her own order.
Different gods.
Same losses.
On the final evening, as laughter drifted across the temple and moonlight reflected softly off nearby water, Elaine felt something settle inside her.
This was what they were building toward.
Not unity without difference—but harmony despite it.
She looked up at the sky, vast and unbroken.
Still the same sky.
Still guiding them all forward.
And for the first time, she felt certain she was walking the right path.