The weekend bled into its final afternoon with a softness Freya had almost forgotten existed.
The academy was quieter than usual. Many students were still filtering back from brief trips home, their luggage rattling across stone walkways. The usual hum of training had thinned into a distant murmur. Sunlight pooled in the courtyards like liquid gold, warming the pale stone.
Freya had every intention of spending the afternoon in the training yard.
Sera ruined that plan within five minutes.
"No," Sera said, planting herself squarely in Freya's doorway. "Absolutely not."
Freya blinked at her. "I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to. You have that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you pretend you're going for a walk and somehow end up sparring for three hours."
Freya opened her mouth to protest. Closed it. Sera's grin sharpened in triumph.
"Come on," Sera said, grabbing her wrist. "We're leaving the academy. You need sunlight that isn't attached to a training schedule."
Inky slipped past them into the hallway, tail flicking as if to say he had already decided this outing was inevitable.
The streets beyond the academy walls buzzed with weekend life. Vendors lined the avenue in a riot of color. Fabric awnings fluttered overhead, casting shifting shadows on the cobblestones. The air smelled of spices, sugar, and warm bread.
Freya felt something in her chest loosen as they stepped into the crowd.
Sera navigated the market with the confidence of someone who had memorized every stall. She stopped abruptly at a stand piled high with skewers of caramelized fruit.
"Mandatory," she declared, thrusting one into Freya's hand.
The glaze cracked softly under Freya's teeth. Sweetness bloomed on her tongue, bright and immediate. She let out a quiet hum of surprise.
"See?" Sera beamed. "Life is better outside the training yard."
They wandered without urgency. Sera tried on a ridiculous wide-brimmed hat adorned with feathers and struck an exaggerated pose. Freya snorted, nearly choking on her fruit.
"You're buying that," Freya said.
"I absolutely am not."
"You absolutely are."
The vendor laughed and knocked a few coins off the price. Sera pretended to agonize over the decision before dramatically placing the hat back. They left the stall still laughing.
Inky padded at their heels, weaving effortlessly through the crowd. Children pointed at him, whispering excitedly. He ignored them with regal indifference.
They paused at a street performer conjuring small illusions of light. Shapes bloomed in his hands. Birds that dissolved into sparks. Flowers that burst into harmless flame. A ring of children watched with rapt attention.
Freya found herself smiling softly. The simple wonder on their faces tugged at something warm and fragile inside her.
"You used to look like that," Sera said quietly.
"Like what?"
"Like the world was a magic trick waiting to happen."
Freya's smile faded into something gentler. "I still think it is," she said. "I just… see the wires now."
Sera bumped her shoulder. "Doesn't make it less impressive."
They drifted toward a quieter stretch of the district where a small café spilled tables onto the street. They claimed a corner spot beneath a canvas umbrella. The city moved around them in a steady rhythm. Conversations layered into a pleasant hum.
Freya wrapped her hands around a cup of steaming tea. Heat seeped into her palms. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. The silence was easy.
"You've been pushing yourself hard," Sera said eventually.
Freya traced the rim of her cup with her thumb. "I have to."
"You don't always have to be in motion," Sera replied gently. "You're allowed to breathe."
Freya looked up at her. Concern softened Sera's features. It wasn't pity. It was the quiet worry of someone who cared.
"I'm scared to stop," Freya admitted.
The words slipped out before she could dress them up. They hung between them, raw and honest.
"If I slow down," she continued, voice low, "I start thinking. And when I start thinking, I remember… everything."
Sera reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "You're not running from it," she said. "You're building something on top of it."
Freya swallowed. Emotion pressed against her ribs, sharp and unexpected.
"I don't want to be the girl who froze," she whispered.
"You're not," Sera said firmly. "You're the girl who stood back up. People forget that part because it's quieter. But it matters more."
Freya held her gaze. The certainty there was a lifeline. She squeezed Sera's hand back, gratitude swelling warm in her chest.
"Thank you," she said simply.
They finished their drinks and wandered again, aimless and unhurried. The afternoon stretched wide and generous. They ducked into a small bookstore tucked between taller buildings. Dust motes floated lazily in shafts of light.
Sera disappeared into the shelves with a delighted gasp. Freya trailed her fingers along worn spines, breathing in the scent of paper and ink. A thin sketchbook caught her eye. The cover was a deep, muted blue.
She opened it. The pages were thick and inviting. Possibility hummed in the blank space.
"You're getting that," Sera said, appearing at her elbow with an armful of novels.
Freya smiled. "I am."
They paid and stepped back into the sunlight. The sky had begun to tilt toward evening, colors deepening at the horizon.
Their wandering eventually carried them to a grassy rise overlooking the city. Students lounged in scattered clusters, savoring the last hours of freedom before classes resumed. The skyline glittered in the distance, towers etched in amber light.
Freya sank into the grass with a soft sigh. Sera flopped down beside her. Inky curled between them, a warm weight against Freya's thigh.
For a while, they simply watched the clouds drift.
"I wish we could freeze days like this," Sera murmured.
Freya considered the thought. The breeze whispered through the grass. Laughter floated faintly from somewhere down the hill.
"We don't have to freeze them," she said. "We just have to remember them."
Sera turned her head, studying her. "You're always changing. Evolving into something better each day."
Freya let the words settle. The girl she had been before the academy felt distant. Softer. Less certain. But sitting here, wrapped in sunlight and easy companionship, she felt a thread connecting past and present.
"I think I'm… becoming someone new," she said slowly. "But I'm not losing who I was. I'm carrying her with me."
Sera's smile was bright and proud. "Good. She's worth carrying."
Warmth bloomed in Freya's chest. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sun soak into her skin. The world felt wide and open. Manageable.
Inky's steady presence anchored her. She could feel the faint echo of the sword at her side, dormant and patient. For once, it did not demand her attention.
This afternoon belonged to quiet things. To laughter and shared silence. To the fragile peace of borrowed hours.
Freya breathed it in and held it close.
Tomorrow would bring training and expectations and the relentless forward march of the academy. But today, she allowed herself to exist in this pocket of sunlight.
And for a little while, that was enough.
The shout tore through the quiet like ripped fabric.
Freya's eyes snapped open. Around them, conversations faltered. Heads turned toward the stone path cutting along the base of the hill. The sound came again. Louder this time. Sharper.
Anger.
Sera pushed herself upright. "That's not good."
They were already moving before the thought fully formed. Grass bent under their boots as they jogged downhill. A small crowd had begun to gather in a loose ring, drawn by the gravity of conflict. Students hovered at its edge, voices low and uncertain.
Freya slipped through an opening and the scene crystallized.
A Verdant boy stood backed against a waist-high wall, shoulders curled inward like he was trying to fold himself smaller. His uniform was rumpled, a smear of dirt streaking one sleeve. A small avian contract flickered at his side, wings twitching in agitated bursts of light.
Three Pyros students boxed him in.
Their contracts burned hot and visible. A serpent of living flame coiled lazily around one boy's arm. Another's hands glowed with ember-red heat. The third leaned casually against the wall, smile sharp with amusement.
"Say it again," the serpent-bearer sneered. "I dare you."
The Verdant boy swallowed. His voice trembled. "I didn't mean it like that. I just said the match was close."
"Close?" the leaning boy laughed. "You call losing close?"
A shove punctuated the words. The Verdant boy stumbled. His contract shrieked, a thin, frightened sound.
Something cold and steady settled in Freya's chest.
Sera stepped forward instinctively, anger flashing across her face. Freya caught her wrist, not to stop her, but to move with her. They entered the circle together.
"That's enough," Freya said.
Her voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
The Pyros students turned. Recognition sparked in their eyes almost instantly. Whispers rippled through the onlookers.
The serpent-bearer's smile widened. "Well now, look what wandered in."
Freya's gaze flicked briefly to the Verdant boy. His eyes were wide with humiliation and relief. Dirt smudged his cheek. He couldn't have been more than a fellow first-year.
"This doesn't concern you," the leaning Pyros student said.
"It concerns my house," Freya replied evenly.
The words landed with quiet weight. Around them, Verdant students straightened almost unconsciously. House colors suddenly felt sharper in the late afternoon light.
The serpent-bearer scoffed. "What are you going to do? Lecture us?"
Freya met his eyes. The memory of the maze stirred faintly at the edges of her mind. The echo of freezing. Of failing.
It did not take her.
"Duel me," she said.
The air tightened.
"One on one," she continued. "If you win, we walk away and say nothing. If I win, you apologize and leave him alone."
Silence fell heavy and expectant.
The Pyros boy's pride flared visibly. His friends exchanged glances, excitement sharpening their expressions. A duel was spectacle. A chance to reclaim face in front of an audience.
"You're on," he said.
The crowd widened instinctively, forming a rough circle. Students leaned forward, anticipation buzzing through the air. Sera moved to the edge, her jaw tight with worry but her eyes fierce with support.
Freya stepped into the center.
The world narrowed.
Her opponent rolled his shoulders. Flame bloomed along his arms, heat distorting the air around him. His serpent hissed, embers scattering like sparks.
At her side, darkness gathered and folded in on itself, coalescing into the sleek silhouette of a blade as the katana materialized in her grasp.
Freya's fingers closed around the hilt of her katana.
She drew.
The blade slid free with a whisper that seemed to drink the sound around it. Light bent subtly along its edge. Thin lines of dark luminescence traced up her arm, cool and precise.
Her newfound ability, Sovereign Witness, flickered awake.
The world sharpened.
Sound dampened to essentials. The Pyros boy's stance unfolded into a web of intention. She saw the tension in his muscles, the arc his strike would take before he moved. Heat mapped itself across her awareness in clean gradients.
He lunged.
Time did not slow. She accelerated.
Freya stepped inside the swing of his flaming arm. The katana carved a clean line through the air, intercepting the strike with surgical precision. Steel met fire with a sound like cracking glass. Shock traveled up her arm, controlled and distant.
She pivoted. The blade turned with her, guided by certainty rather than force. It came to rest at the hollow of his throat.
The duel ended in a single breath.
Her opponent froze. The serpent's flames guttered, shrinking to a nervous flicker. Sweat beaded at his temple. He stared at the black edge inches from his skin, pride warring with the cold clarity of defeat.
The crowd was silent.
Freya held his gaze. Sovereign Witness hummed steady in her veins. She felt the branching possibilities of the moment. The ways this could escalate. The ways it could end cleanly.
She chose.
The blade withdrew.
The pressure in the air eased as the affinity receded. Sound rushed back in a soft wave. The once-slight tremor in her fingers sharpened into a violent shudder. Pain lanced behind her eyes, sudden and white. For a heartbeat the courtyard doubled, edges smearing as her balance tilted sideways. She locked her knees on instinct, forcing her grip steady while her pulse stumbled out of rhythm.
The Pyros boy swallowed. His eyes flicked to the watching crowd. To his friends. To the Verdant students standing taller at the circle's edge.
He turned stiffly to the boy against the wall.
"…Sorry," he muttered.
It was grudging. It was real.
The Verdant boy blinked, stunned. His shoulders uncurled by a fraction.
The Pyros trio retreated without another word, their bravado dimmed but intact enough to save face. As they disappeared into the thinning crowd, sound returned in a rush of murmurs.
Freya sheathed the katana. The blade slid home with a soft click that felt final.
The moment the blade sealed, the strength drained out of her limbs. Her hands went numb, then burning hot. A tremor rolled through her arms and settled deep in her chest. Breath hitched halfway in, refusing to come cleanly.
The world lurched. Noise from the crowd stretched thin and distant, like it was traveling through water. Nausea curled low in her stomach. She swallowed it down, jaw tight, and focused on the simple act of standing.
Whatever presence had guided her strike was gone. In its absence, her body felt abruptly small and fragile, every nerve ringing from the borrowed power.
The Verdant boy approached her hesitantly. Up close, she could see familiar tremors still running through his hands.
"Thank you," he said. His voice was small but steady. "I… I didn't know what to do."
Freya studied him for a moment. She saw the lingering embarrassment. The fragile thread of pride he was trying to gather back together.
"Stand taller next time," she said gently. "You wear Verdant. That means something."
He straightened instinctively, chin lifting. A shy, grateful smile flickered across his face before he retreated to the safety of his housemates.
Sera appeared at Freya's side, relief softening her features. "That was terrifying," she whispered. "And amazing."
Freya exhaled slowly. The world felt a shade too bright at the edges. The whisper of a headache pressed faintly behind her eyes.
"I'd like to think it was necessary," she said.
They climbed back up the hill as the crowd dispersed. The sun hovered low on the horizon, painting the city in molten gold. Conversations buzzed in their wake, Freya's name threading through them like a current.
She felt the weight of the sword at her side and the echo of Sovereign Witness humming in her bones. The duel had been small in the grand scale of the academy. A brief flare of conflict in an endless cycle of rivalries.
But as she glanced back and saw the Verdant boy laughing shakily with his friends, shoulders no longer hunched, warmth spread quietly through her chest.
Today, she had stepped forward.
Not for glory. Not for reputation.
For someone who needed help.
And as the evening settled gently around them, Freya carried that knowledge like a steady flame, lighting the path back to the academy.
Though Inky had given her the sword, it did not seem to change much about their typical relationship. He was forever disinterested in her affairs and never spoke a sliver of another word to Freya since the time at her mother's grave.