The morning sun had not yet risen when Aysel stepped onto the training ground, her breath curling in the cold dawn air. Today was supposed to be different—today was supposed to be the day she finally trained with Zephyr instead of Kael. She had been restless the night before, anticipation sparking inside her chest like fireflies. Zephyr's magic was so unlike her own, bright and playful, and she couldn't deny she longed to learn something beyond the flames that had defined her training so far.
But the flicker of excitement dimmed the moment her eyes found not Zephyr's familiar grin, but a tall figure waiting in the middle of the field.
Dax Arclay.
Aysel froze, her breath catching in her throat. Of all people, it had to be him. She knew him only in fragments—once on her very first day at Astraeon Academy, when she'd stood among the five Starborne Heirs and felt small beneath the weight of their presence. A second time when he'd startled her awake in the library, his gaze cutting sharp even then. And now, the third time, here he was, staring at her as if she had committed a crime merely by existing in his path.
His twilight indigo eyes narrowed, unreadable yet brimming with disdain.
"You sure like to make others wait, huh? Typical of a newbie."
His voice dripped with sarcasm, sharp enough to slice through her lingering excitement. Aysel's lips pressed into a thin line. She had grown used to Kael's blunt remarks, even Zephyr's teasing, but this was different. Dax's words weren't just dismissive—they carried venom, as though her presence offended him on principle.
It was like she had wronged him in another life, and now he carried the grudge.
Still, instead of shrinking back, she found herself strangely… tired. Tired of proving herself. Tired of walking on eggshells around people who expected her to fail.
"Kael told me training starts at six," she said evenly, her voice calm though her heart raced. "It's only five fifty-nine."
His eyes darkened, a storm passing through the twilight depths. The weight of his glare chilled her, as though she had dared speak against a law carved in stone.
"You're bold enough to talk back to your senior?"
The accusation struck harder than she expected, though she hadn't raised her voice. She opened her mouth to clarify—"I didn't—" but he cut her off like a blade snapping through rope.
"Enough. Let's begin. I want to see what the so-called 'one in a million' mage can do."
There was no mistaking it—he wanted to see her falter. Wanted to test how far her pride would take her before it shattered.
Aysel swallowed hard but walked to the center of the training ground, her boots crunching against the frosted earth. Suddenly, something flew toward her. She barely had time to react, stumbling as her fingers closed around a wooden sword hurled in her direction.
She blinked at the weapon. "Why… a sword?"
"Because it's the basics." His tone left no room for argument. "Magic won't always save you. Strength will. You need to know how to defend yourself when your magic fails."
The words were clipped, factual, and entirely unyielding. But there was a faint weight behind them, as if spoken from experience rather than cruelty. He drew his own wooden sword with ease, the dawn wind brushing through his short black hair. He stood like a commander before his troops—unyielding, immovable.
"I don't care how the others train you," he said coldly. "With me, there is no slacking. Understand?"
Her spine stiffened under the weight of his gaze. "G-Got it."
He gave the barest nod, almost approving. "Before we start, you may ask me one thing."
Aysel hesitated. She didn't want to push her luck, but one question burned in her chest.
"Why… isn't Zeph here?" she asked carefully, almost in a whisper.
For a moment, Dax's jaw tightened. The shift was small, but it felt like thunder rumbling in the distance. She braced herself for his anger.
"He had an emergency," Dax said curtly. "He asked me to take his place. He'll cover my session another time. Your schedule will return to normal next week."
Relief mingled with disappointment. "…I understand."
"Good. Stretch first. I won't be responsible if you collapse. The Solare and Aelion heirs are already troublesome enough without you making it worse."
His face remained impassive, his tone clipped. Still, the comment struck her as telling—he didn't want to deal with the other Heirs who so clearly hovered around her.
---
By the time the sun crept higher into the sky, Aysel was drenched in sweat. Her lungs burned, each breath scraping against her throat. Her legs trembled so violently she could barely stand, but she forced herself upright, her wooden sword gripped so tightly her knuckles turned pale.
Dax had shown her no mercy. His strikes were sharp, relentless, and he hadn't held back simply because she was a girl.
"Already exhausted?" he said at last, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His expression was impassive, but his words pierced sharper than his sword. "A girl is a girl, after all."
Heat flared in her chest—not from the training, but from anger.
"No," she snapped, lifting her head. Her eyes burned with defiance. "I never said I was finished. I'm just… getting started."
She rolled her shoulders, stretching her sore muscles, determined not to collapse under his gaze.
For the briefest moment, something flickered across his face—a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, gone as quickly as it came. But she caught it. That was no cruel grin. That was recognition.
"Good. I expect nothing less from the Anomaly."
The word cut deeper than his strikes. Anomaly. The name everyone whispered when they thought she wasn't listening.
Her heart sank. "I'm not an anomaly…" she muttered under her breath, though loud enough for him to hear.
He shrugged, uncaring on the surface. "No one normal carries all the moon marks." His eyes lingered on her, sharp and assessing. "And normal is overrated."
Her throat tightened. She couldn't argue with that. Not when it was half an insult, half a truth.
"I still—"
"Enough," he interrupted once more. "Your swings are too weak. Your stamina is pitiful. This won't do." His gaze pinned her like a hawk watching prey. "From tomorrow onward, you'll run laps around this dormitory before every lesson. I'll inform the others of your new regimen."
His voice was firm, leaving no room for protest. But for the first time, she thought she heard something beneath the cold authority—expectation.
Aysel stared at him, her chest heaving, her sword still trembling in her grasp. Somewhere between exhaustion and determination, she realized this was only the beginning.
And so began the first of many grueling mornings under Dax Arclay's merciless—yet not entirely unkind—training.