The morning wind drifted over the Training Grounds of Dawn, stirring the sand within the sparring circle as I stepped forward. The warmth of the sun pressed on my shoulders, but I barely felt it.
All I could hear was the soft creak of my grip tightening around the wooden lance replica—crafted to mimic the weight and length of my real one, though dulled and splintered from years of use by other students.
I inhaled slowly.
Today was just another exercise.
But I felt the weight of unseen eyes.
Nobles leaned along the rails above. Instructors stood with arms crossed and silent judgments. Even the other students—not just my peers—watched with a curiosity reserved for stories about girls from temples and glowing spirits.
"Luna Gadriel," the instructor's voice rang out. "You'll be sparring with Rowel Thorne of House Thorne."
From the opposite side of the ring, my opponent stepped into view.
Taller. Stronger. A third-year. He carried his wooden glaive with a practiced ease, giving me a brief nod. His arms, inked with dormant runes, flexed slightly as he spun the replica weapon into position.
"Try not to hold back," he said with a small grin. "I've heard stories."
I didn't answer.
"Ready."
"Begin!"
His first strike was swift—a sideways sweep meant to knock me off rhythm. I stepped in, letting the staff of my wooden lance intercept the blow with a solid crack. The vibration traveled through my palms, but I held steady.
He didn't slow. A vertical strike came next. Then a twist into a reverse pull meant to bait me in.
I stayed low, footing grounded like Raksha taught me—every movement drawn from balance, not panic. I ducked beneath the overhead arc and shoved forward, using the butt of my lance to jab toward his thigh. He blocked just in time.
"You've got some technique," he muttered, adjusting.
We circled.
One strike. A feint. Another block. Then he overcommitted—barely.
I twisted, parried wide, then brought my replica's crescent tip to his exposed collarbone and froze.
One inch. Just one inch shy.
"Match point!" the instructor shouted. "Luna Gadriel wins!"
The crowd murmured, a ripple of whispers passing behind me. Some clapped. Some just stared. I backed away and offered Rowel a polite nod. He returned it, panting and rubbing his forearm.
"Didn't expect you to move like that," he said. "You fight cleaner than most nobles."
"Thank you," I replied, steadying my breath.
Above, I caught sight of Perephone leaning near the railing—her arms folded. Her grin wasn't wide, but it was there, carved in the corner of her lips.
She didn't cheer. She never did.
But her smile said everything.
And for now, that was enough.
As I stepped off the sparring ring, letting the weight of the wooden lance rest against my shoulder, a voice called out behind me.
"Impressive," Elowynn said, gliding through the parted crowd with her usual elegance. Her silver-blond hair shimmered like frost against her navy blue uniform, her arms folded as she gave me an appraising look. "You finished that faster than I expected."
I raised an eyebrow at her. "Expected me to lose?"
"No. I expected you to play it safe. But that was clean, sharp, and undeniably beautiful."Her tone wasn't mocking. She meant every word. "The others won't say it, but they saw it too."
Before I could respond, the air shifted again as someone far more theatrical approached.
"Fast and graceful," Calian added, stepping in beside Elowynn with his usual half-smirk. "That final pivot of yours? Like watching a storm dance."He tapped his chest dramatically. "You've officially raised the bar, Lady Luna."
I let out a quiet breath and gave a half-smile. "I wasn't performing."
"Even more dangerous, then," he grinned. "Beautiful and unintentional. That always leaves the deepest mark."
"Enough," Elowynn said with a tired sigh, nudging Calian with her elbow. "She doesn't need your poetry right now."
"Fine, fine," he chuckled, backing off a pace. "But admit it—if we weren't sparring separately, I'd have been tempted to challenge her just for the honor."
I gave him a sidelong glance. "Tempted, but not confident?"
"Never said I'd win," he said with a wink.
Elowynn rolled her eyes and turned to me again. "Regardless of what this fool says, you were exceptional out there, Luna. Your form was refined. That was years of work, wasn't it?"
I nodded. "More than I can count."
"I believe you," she said softly. "And they're starting to believe, too."
I followed her gaze. The crowd that had gathered to watch had thinned, but not before I noticed how some of the noble students lingered in their glances. Whispers traded behind fans and sleeves. Respectful or suspicious, I couldn't tell yet.
"Looks like the academy just found its newest favorite," Calian said, walking backward as he made his way toward his own class group. "I'll see you at the next match, Luna the Storm Dancer."
"Don't call me that," I muttered under my breath.
"Too late!" he called, laughing.
Elowynn exhaled and shook her head. "You'll get used to him. Or learn to ignore him completely."
I let out a small laugh of my own. "I'll try."
The academy was quiet in the afternoon, its stone corridors bathed in gold light as the sun dipped behind the mountains. The distant hum of voices and laughter from the lower courtyards faded the higher I climbed toward my room.
Once inside, I pulled the curtains back just enough to let the warm light in.
The desk near my window still held the first letter I had written.
Now, it would hold the second.
I dipped the quill in the ink and pressed the tip to parchment, the words flowing more easily this time.
Dearest Mother,
Today I fought.
It wasn't my first spar—but it was the first time I felt the eyes of so many on me, expecting something.
And I won.
I wish you could've seen it. Not because of pride, but because… it felt like the hours we spent in silence at the temple, the years of watching Perephone's relentless discipline, and the quiet days where I wondered if I could ever measure up—suddenly meant something.
I didn't falter. I didn't freeze.
I moved as I always trained to.And I remembered what you always told me:
"Grace is not born from peace, but from surviving your storms."
They called me graceful today, Mother.
I don't know if I believe them… but for the first time, I think I believe in the girl you raised me to be.
Give my love to the younger girls. Tell them I'll write again soon.
Your daughter,Luna
I sealed the letter quietly and set it aside for delivery.
Outside the window, bells tolled faintly across the capital as students began making their way back from the training fields. But in here, everything stilled.
Solviel's voice came gently beside me—warm, hushed like a whisper that had waited all day to be heard.
"You did well."
I smiled.
For once, I believed it too.
The moonlight shimmered like silver silk, weaving itself between the gently swaying branches of the lower garden. Lanterns had long since dimmed, leaving only the pale gleam of the moon and stars to light the stone paths.
Sleep refused to take me.
The scent of evening primrose and faint incense still lingered in the cool air, and I found myself walking barefoot along the marble garden walkways. The quiet was comforting—not empty, just enough to listen to the soft rustle of the leaves, the world exhaling after a long day.
And then I saw him.
There, lying flat on the grass beneath the statue of Ivelda the Seer, was the boy—the servant—Ezekiel.
He didn't move when I stepped closer. His hands were behind his head, and his eyes were open, staring into the heavens with a quiet stillness.
He looked like someone remembering something far away.
I stood for a moment, unsure whether to interrupt.
Then—
"You know," he said suddenly, not turning his head, "if you lie here long enough, the stars start to shift. Like they're breathing with you."
I blinked. "That's… poetic."
"Sorry." He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Didn't think anyone else walked around here this late."
"I couldn't sleep." I stepped a little closer, folding my arms gently over my robe. "And neither could you, I guess."
He offered a small smile, something tired but honest. "Something like that."
The silence settled again—peaceful, not awkward.
I looked up. The stars were faint through the thin clouds, but they still flickered.
"Do you miss it?" I asked.
He turned to glance at me. "Miss what?"
"I don't know," I said quietly. "Whatever place you called home before this."
He was quiet for a while.
Then he gave the smallest nod.
"Sometimes," he murmured. "But sometimes, I feel like… I never had one in the first place."
That answer felt heavier than it sounded.
I didn't press further.
Instead, I sat down beside him, keeping a polite distance. The grass was cold, but the silence was warm. It wasn't something you shared with many people—just those you knew wouldn't fill it with noise.
"You always look like you're watching the world," I said. "But never really stepping into it."
He gave a quiet laugh.
"Maybe I'm waiting for the right moment."
I looked toward him.
And in that moment, something about his smile seemed sadder than before.
"Well," I said softly, "don't take too long. The stars might not wait forever."
He looked at me again—just briefly—and nodded.