Morning light spilled over the academy courtyard, thin mist still curling around the grass. The storm from the night before had left the air cool and sharp, the sky washed clean to a hard blue.
I arrived at the training yard earlier than usual, hoping to practice the focus drills Master Vellan had assigned—anything to quiet the thoughts that had kept me awake since the library.
Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.
"Early bird and all that," a familiar voice called.
I turned. Seris stood at the gate, cloak thrown over one shoulder, a wooden practice staff balanced lazily across her neck. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid that caught the light, and that same half-smile tugged at her lips.
"Didn't think you were the morning type," I said.
"I'm not," she replied, stepping onto the field. "But rumor said you were up before sunrise, and I don't like rumors being wrong."
I laughed. "You came here just to prove gossip right?"
"Of course not," she said, planting the staff upright in the ground. "I came to see if the so-called prodigy of the lower rings can actually keep his balance when someone's aiming for his knees."
"Ah," I said. "So, humiliation before breakfast."
"Exactly."
She tossed me a second staff. I caught it, and she grinned as though testing me had already been worth it.
We began with simple strikes and blocks. The staffs cracked together, echoing across the yard. Seris moved fast—too fast for someone who claimed to hate mornings. Her laughter mixed with the sharp rhythm of wood on wood.
"Your grip's too high," she teased after disarming me for the third time.
"You keep saying that because you like winning."
"Is that a complaint?"
"Observation."
"Then observe this."
She feinted left, pivoted, and hooked my ankle. I hit the ground with a thud and a curse. She leaned on her staff, looking down at me, eyes alight with mischief.
"See? Balance."
I glared up at her. "You're enjoying this far too much."
"Maybe." She offered her hand to help me up, and when our palms met, a pulse of static magic leapt between us. Both of us froze, startled. The air shimmered faintly; tiny motes of light flickered and vanished.
"Guess that's what happens when two unstable mages touch," she said, voice softer now.
"Or when one of them's charged with lightning," I muttered, still feeling the tingle in my skin.
She smiled but didn't let go right away.
---
We trained for hours, trading jokes and near-misses. Each spell she cast was threaded with her personality—bold, unpredictable, a little reckless. At one point, she conjured a miniature gust that ruffled my hair and declared, "You needed that. You're too serious."
"Seris, that nearly set my sleeve on fire."
"Exactly. Loosen up!"
When we finally paused, both of us were flushed and breathing hard. She collapsed onto the grass, laughing, arms sprawled wide. I sat beside her, feeling the world slow back to a normal heartbeat.
Clouds drifted lazily overhead. The scent of wet earth mixed with the faint ozone tang of magic.
"You're better than I expected," she said after a moment.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is," she said, turning her head toward me. "But don't get comfortable. I still plan to beat you next time."
Her expression was open, sun-warmed and bright. I realized that for all her teasing, there was something steady beneath it—a confidence that drew people toward her.
"You really like pushing people, don't you?" I asked.
She nodded. "If no one pushes you, you never find your edge."
"Maybe," I said. "Or maybe you just like seeing people trip over it."
Her laugh burst out again, clear and genuine. "Both can be true."
Footsteps crunched on the gravel path. I turned and saw Lira, standing near the fence, her training uniform still damp from the morning dew. She watched us silently, unreadable, then offered a small nod.
"Didn't mean to interrupt," she said.
"You're not," I replied quickly, rising to my feet. "We were just—"
"Falling over each other," Seris supplied cheerfully. "Spectacularly."
Lira's gaze flicked between us. "Seems you've found a new sparring partner."
Something in her tone made the air feel heavier. I opened my mouth to answer, but Seris stepped forward first.
"Anyone's welcome to join," she said easily. "More chaos, more fun."
Lira hesitated, then shook her head. "Another time." She gave me a brief look—half-smile, half-something else—and turned away.
When she was gone, Seris arched an eyebrow. "Friend of yours?"
"Something like that."
"Mm-hmm." Her grin returned, knowing and light. "I'll try not to make her jealous."
"You're impossible."
"That's why you like me."
I felt my face heat, but before I could reply she twirled her staff and called, "Round two?"
The rest of the session blurred into laughter, shouts, and bursts of light. She kept finding new ways to catch me off guard—vanishing in a puff of wind, sneaking behind me, tagging my shoulder before darting away.
By the time the noon bell rang, I was covered in dust and grass stains, and she looked far too pleased with herself.
"I win," she declared.
"You cheated."
"I adapted. There's a difference."
"Right. A creative cheater."
"An artist of victory."
I shook my head, smiling despite myself. "You should write that down somewhere."
She gave a mock bow. "I would, if I could hold a pen after all this."
We walked back toward the courtyard fountain, our shadows stretching side by side across the stones. The city beyond the walls shimmered in the sunlight, rooftops gleaming from the morning rain.
Seris splashed her hands in the cool water, then flicked droplets at me.
"Hey!"
"Relax, prodigy. You're too neat for someone who trains with fire."
I retaliated, scooping water and sending it back. She squealed, laughing, and for a moment it felt like we were kids again—no spells, no expectations, just the simple joy of being alive.
When we finally stopped, soaked and breathless, she leaned against the fountain's edge, eyes sparkling.
"Admit it," she said. "You had fun."
"I might have," I replied, trying to sound unimpressed.
"Liar."
"Maybe a little."
She stepped closer, expression softening just a fraction. "You should laugh more, Arin. It suits you."
The words landed gently, almost like a touch. I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded.
The bell rang again in the distance—time for classes. Seris picked up her staff and started toward the halls, then paused and looked back.
"Same time tomorrow?"
"Depends," I said. "Will I survive it?"
"No promises." She flashed that quicksilver grin. "But I'll try not to break you completely."
I watched her go, sunlight catching in her braid, and felt that same strange warmth rise again—the mix of challenge and connection, sharp and bright.
Somewhere deep inside, I knew the path ahead would be anything but simple.
But for the first time in weeks, I didn't mind the uncertainty.