The two weeks following Asteria's collapse were a blur of aching sinews and the rhythmic whir of wooden blades. While the rest of the Academy was a beehive of gossip and political posturing, Asteria's world had shrunk to the size of a training mat.
With the Winter Solstice only ten days away, the "Outskirts Rat" had been forged into something leaner, harder, and infinitely more dangerous; or so Asteria hoped.
Every morning at 05:00, Asteria was there. The thousand-swing ritual had become a meditation. She no longer counted out loud; she felt the numbers in the burn of her deltoids and the hard callouses forming on her palms.
That was until Asteria's meditative-like state was interrupted.
"Enough basics," Nephis said, her voice cutting through her focus. "You know how to swing a sword, Asteria. Now, you need to learn how to properly use it."
Nephis stepped into the center of the mat, her wooden blade held low. "And I'm going to teach you my family's battle art." She paused, letting the words sink in.
'She's going to teach me that legendary swordsmanship for free?' Asteria's eyes widened in disbelief.
"The Immortal Flame style is not a sequence of moves. It is a philosophy of mimicry and flow. It is the art of becoming the shadow of your enemy's intent."
She moved, and for the first time, she wasn't just demonstrating; she was dancing. The blade transitioned from a parry to a thrust so fluidly it looked like a single, unbroken line of light.
"Now, I'd like you to feel it. Strike me." She says, getting into position for a spar.
Asteria didn't wait. She lunged, her movements no longer the frantic scrambles of an Outskirts brawler, but the calculated strikes of a student who had swung a blade fourteen thousand times in fourteen days.
Nephis didn't block; she flowed. Every time Asteria's wooden sword whistled toward a target, Nephis was already elsewhere, her blade sliding against Asteria's with a sickeningly smooth hiss of wood on wood. It felt like trying to catch smoke with a net.
'I can't hit her,' Asteria realized, her breath hitching. 'But I can see where she's going.'
She pushed her [Glass Eyes] to the limit, trying to find the limit of the "You cannot be unprepared" part of its description.
She began to stop watching Nephis's sword and started watching the tension in Nephis's shoulders, the shift of her weight, the very intent bleeding into the air. Instinctively, Asteria's own body began to mirror the posture. Her movements became less rigid, her parries more circular.
She wasn't performing the Immortal Flame style; she was stealing it, piece by jagged piece.
Asteria spun, catching a strike on the forte of her blade and redirecting the momentum into a lightning-fast riposte. Nephis had to actually step back to avoid the tip of the wooden sword – a genuine retreat.
They broke apart, Asteria heaving for air. Nephis looked at Asteria, her pale eyes wide with a rare, grim respect. She saw the imperfections in Asteria's form – the flaws of a beginner – but she also saw the terrifying speed of her adaptation. Asteria wasn't just a student; she might be a rival.
The silence of the dojo was heavy, broken only by their ragged breathing, until the sound of slow, rhythmic clapping shattered the moment.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Asteria spun, her wooden sword rising into a defensive guard before she even realized she was moving.
Caster stood at the entrance, leaning casually against the doorframe. Behind him, a handful of Legacy students hovered like a pack of well-dressed wolves, their eyes filled with a toxic mix of curiosity and disdain.
"Truly remarkable," Caster drawled, his green eyes tracking the sweat running down Asteria's neck. "The Outskirts girl has finally learned to walk on two legs. And Lady Nephis... I didn't realize you were offering private tutoring to the 'Commoners' now. I feel left out."
He stepped onto the mats, his boots clicking with a sharp, arrogant cadence. "I really must thank you both. That was a wonderful free show. I almost feel like I should pay for my admission."
Caster's gaze landed on Asteria, his smile sharpening into something cold. The "polite" mask was gone, replaced by the predatory edge of a Legacy who felt his status being threatened by a "rat" with a True Name.
"But tell me, Queen of Nightmare... does that pretty little style work when your opponent isn't holding back for the sake of a 'lesson'?"
Asteria felt the obsessive hunger stir in her chest – a low, vibrating gluttony. Her knuckles whitened on the wooden hilt. "Why don't you come closer and find out, Caster? Or are you only brave when you have an audience to back you up?"
Caster's smile didn't fade; it just grew more lethal. "Oh, I don't need an audience to put a stray back in its place. But since we're all here to learn... why don't we show the class what a real duel looks like?"
He didn't wait for a "yes." He reached for the practice blade at his hip, his movements a blur of refined, high-speed grace.
Caster didn't wait for a formal start, either. He didn't even drop into a traditional stance. In a blur of motion that defied Asteria's two weeks of training, he simply... was there.
CRACK.
The first strike caught Asteria on the forearm, a stinging, numbing blow that nearly sent her practice sword skittering across the floor. She scrambled back, her boots squeaking desperately on the mats.
"Two weeks with Changing Star, and you still can't even see the blade?" Caster drawled. He moved with a refined, liquid speed that made his white training uniform look like a streak of light.
He lunged. Asteria tried to parry using the 'flow' Nephis had taught her, but Caster's blade changed direction mid-air, snapping upward to catch her sharply on the shoulder.
"Too slow," he mocked, his voice calm, as if he were bored. "The Outskirts really didn't teach you anything except how to bleed, did they?"
CRACK. THUD.
Asteria was fumbling. Every time she tried to plant her feet, Caster was already behind her guard. A strike to her ribs made her gasp, the air leaving her lungs in a painful wheeze. She swung wildly, a desperate horizontal slash that Caster avoided by simply leaning back, his expression one of pure, condescending amusement.
"Look at you," he hissed, his green eyes flashing. "A 'Queen' that stumbles like a blind beggar. You have a True Name you didn't earn, and power you don't understand. You're a fluke, Asteria. A mistake of the Spell."
The Legacy students at the door began to laugh. The sound was worse than the bruises. It was the sound of her life in the Outskirts: The sound of being told she was nothing.
Asteria's vision blurred with sweat and frustration. Her muscles were screaming, and for a moment, the weight of the sword felt like a mountain. She looked at Nephis, expecting to see disappointment.
Instead, Nephis was stone-still, her gaze fixed not on the fight, but on Asteria's chest. 'Wait for it,' Nephis's expression seemed to say.
'He's too fast,' Asteria thought, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. 'I can't see the wood. I can't see the man...'
Then stop looking at the man.
A voice that sounded like her own echoed in the silent violet corners of her mind. Asteria stopped. She didn't stop moving, but she stopped trying. She let her eyelids droop, abandoning the frantic search for Caster's physical form.
She reached out with that dormant, terrifying sense – the one that had recognized the [Messenger] in the dark.
She reached for the Spell.
Aspect: [Blessed of Nightmare]
Aspect Description: [...Where others see the end of all things, you see the intricate clockwork of a masterpiece.]
That sense she always felt tingling the back of her mind around other people, the sensation when a memory was summoned.
'I can use the Spell to my advantage.'
Suddenly, the mocking laughter faded. The sting of her bruises became a distant, unimportant hum.
The dojo faded into a grey wash, and Caster was no longer a boy in a suit. He was a pulsing, vibrant node of golden threads and burning essence.
Her blood surged with hunger, filling her veins with a cold, predatory heat.
As she leaned into the sense, the frantic speed of Caster's movements began to reveal its pattern.
She didn't just see where he was; she felt the ripple in the essence of the world before he even moved. She sensed the intent in his attack. She felt the surge of power in his calves, the tightening of the threads around his wrist.
Caster lunged for a finishing blow to her neck, a strike meant to end the duel and her pride in one go.
Asteria didn't flinch. She didn't even look.
She simply pivoted. Her wooden blade caught his in a violent, grinding parry that sounded like a thunderclap. For the first time, Caster's momentum was halted. He stumbled, his eyes widening in genuine shock as he found himself staring into Asteria's eyes.
They weren't grey anymore. They were glowing with a faint, iridescent spectrum of colour.
"My turn," she whispered.
The shift was total. Caster accelerated, his movements becoming a more desperate blur, but it didn't matter. No matter how fast he moved, Asteria was already there, waiting in the gaps of his speed. She moved with a horrific, mirrored grace, her blade snapping out like a viper.
Crack. Thud. Crack.
Nephis, standing by the wall, let her stoic mask fall completely. A sharp, fierce grin spread across her face – a look of absolute, terrifying pride. She saw it.
The Queen was finally claiming her throne.
Asteria wasn't just hitting him; she was reclaiming the space he thought he owned. Every strike was heavy, fueled by the cold hunger rising from her soul sea.
She took a hit to her ribs – hard enough to crack wood – just to secure the opening she wanted. She slammed her shoulder into his chest, disrupting his center of gravity, and brought her practice sword down in a punishing arc.
Caster hit the floor with a heavy, final thud, the air driven from his lungs in a ragged gasp.
The dojo went silent. The laughter from the doorway died instantly.
Asteria stood over him, her chest heaving, her hair matted with sweat. Her legs were shaking, and blood was trickling from a split lip, but her hand remained steady. She pointed the jagged, broken end of her wooden blade directly at Caster's throat.
The myriad of colours in her eyes flickered, reflecting in the terrified pupils of the boy below her.
"Did I win?" she rasped, her voice a low, dangerous growl.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The sound of slow, deliberate applause broke the tension.
"Well done, Your Majesty," Nephis said, walking over with a confident stride. She didn't even look at the other Legacies; her focus was entirely on the two central figures. She stopped beside Asteria and looked down at Caster with a gaze that was as cold as it was dismissive. "An arrogant man with only speed to his name."
Nephis then looked back up at Asteria. The stoic, unreachable mask of Changing Star was gone, replaced by a genuine, proud grin that made her look more human – and more dangerous – than ever.
"You did well."
Nephis reached out and patted her on the back, the simple gesture feeling more significant than any title the Spell could bestow.