Three days before the inauguration ceremony, Ashara sat on the stone railing of a bridge over the west canal with her legs dangling over the water.
She'd been in Lumendell for almost two weeks now. She had a job at the Broken Axe, a tiny room at the Copper Kettle, a library card she'd been using every day, and exactly one wolf girl she was probably going to sleep with again.
By most measures, she'd successfully settled in.
But the academy towers were right there, visible from the bridge, glowing faintly in the fading light, and in seventy-two hours she was going to walk through those gates and be surrounded by people who actually knew how to fight.
[I am so fucked.]
She'd spent the past week reading everything the library had on aura projection and reinforcement. Most of it was dry, technical stuff about mana pathways, but some of it clicked. The section on aura described exactly what she did on stage, pushing mana outward to affect the people around you, except every book framed it as a combat technique. A way to intimidate, to project killing intent.
Ashara could pull a crowd's attention with her presence. She could not project killing intent. These felt like very different skills.
Someone sat down next to her on the railing.
Ashara glanced over.
Short woman, maybe five-two, with tan skin a shade or two lighter than Ashara's and short brown hair that looked like she cut it herself and didn't care about the result. Oversized clothes, loose fabric, muted colors. The kind of compact, unassuming build that made it easy to overlook her entirely.
"Nice view, isn't it?" the woman asked, looking out at the towers.
"Yeah," Ashara agreed. "Terrifying, though."
The woman glanced at her. Her eyes dropped to the ID crystal hanging from Ashara's neck.
"Vanguard Academy?"
Ashara looked down at it and laughed.
"That obvious?"
"Only because I know what those crystals look like. You nervous?"
"A little." Ashara paused. "Okay, a lot. I don't really have a combat background. I'm a dancer. I performed with a traveling troupe before this. Someone told me I had potential and now here I am, sitting on a bridge, wondering if I'm about to make a fool of myself in front of a bunch of people who've been training since they could walk."
The woman was quiet for a moment, watching the towers.
Then she said:
"You probably will."
Ashara blinked twice and looked at her.
"Ouch."
The woman cackled.
"I apologize, what I mean is, it's natural."
"... I guess."
"You know," she said, scooting closer. "I've met a lot of fighters over the years. Trained ones, natural ones, ones who came from military families, ones who picked up a sword for the first time at age thirty. The ones who came in with the most training weren't always the ones who came out the strongest."
"That sounds like something people say to make beginners feel better."
The woman smiled and shrugged.
"Maybe. But it's also true. Background doesn't decide where you end up. Work does."
"And if I don't have the talent?"
"Talent's overrated. I've seen talented people wash out because they thought they didn't need to try, and I've seen people with no business being in a fight become some of the best I've ever known." She looked at Ashara. "You left your troupe and came to a strange city by yourself to learn how to fight. That already tells me more about you than any combat assessment would."
"..."
Ashara didn't know what to say to that, so she just looked back at the towers.
"I'm Ashara, by the way."
"Celeste."
[Pretty name. Wait, where have I seen that before...]
Celeste stood up and dusted herself off.
"Well, I suppose I shouldn't intrude too much. See you around, Ashara. Don't overthink it."
"I'll try."
She watched the woman walk off, this small, unassuming person in her oversized clothes, and tried to place the name. She'd seen it somewhere recently, but it didn't come to her.
Ashara turned back to the canal. The luminary crystals along the academy wall had flickered on, outlining the towers in soft white light. Three days. Seventy-two hours. Then it was real.
She hopped off the railing and started walking back to the inn.
[Alright. Let's do this.]
---
{Three Days Later}
Ashara woke up before the sun did, which was how she knew she was nervous.
[Today's the day. The official, no-going-back, you-actually-did-this-you-dumb-bitch start of my new life.]
She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and got dressed in the nicest thing she had.
A fitted black top with a low neckline (because she wasn't about to stop being herself just because she was enrolling in a combat school, she had some damn nice titties and she wanted to show 'em), dark pants that made her ass look good, and her only pair of boots that didn't have mud on them. She braided her hair back, checked herself in the room's tiny, cracked mirror.
She looked hot, and she looked like a girl who was trying. Good enough.
Her bag was already packed from the night before. That was everything she owned in this city.
She grabbed it and headed downstairs.
The innkeeper, a skinny old man who'd never once made conversation with her beyond "rent's due," looked up from behind the counter.
"Checking out?"
"Yeah." She placed the key on the counter. "Thanks for the room."
He took the key, glanced at her bag, and gave her a nod that was about as warm as a handshake from a corpse.
"Good luck."
Ashara smiled.
"I'll take it."
---
The wagon ride took twenty minutes.
Ashara sat in the back with her bag on her lap, watching the city go by. It was, by all accounts, an average morning for everyone not named Ashara Valoryn.
Then the academy came into view, and "average" went out the fucking window.
[Holy shit.]
Vanguard Academy was massive. Not "oh, that's a big building" massive. More like "that's a small city pretending to be a school" massive.
White walls, white stone buildings, crystal fixtures, training yards, an honest-to-god arena she could see rising over the rooftops, and rows of dormitories on the far side. The Adventurer's Guild crest was stamped on every gate.
Her wagon pulled in next to a row of others. Some were fancier, polished wood with enchanted wheels and family crests on the doors. Others were beat-up and rented, just like hers.
She hopped off, grabbed her bag, and thanked the driver.
"Good luck in there," he said.
... She was starting to wonder if she looked that terrified.
She followed the stream of students toward the main building, a wide structure with double doors big enough to fit a horse through. Her ID crystal bounced against her chest with every step.
Fifty students, the enrollment packet had said. Looking around, Ashara figured that sounded right. Humans, elves, beastkin, dwarves, a couple of faeries buzzing around near the back. All of them grouped up in clusters near the entrance, all of them sizing each other up.
Ashara saw swords, staves, bows, a lance, and at least three people who looked like they could kill her without breaking a sweat.
[... This is fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine.]
She adjusted her bag and followed the crowd inside.
The assembly hall was big, rows of wooden benches facing a raised platform at the front. Ashara picked a seat near the middle, set her bag between her feet, and waited.
The chatter died when a man walked onto the platform.
Older, maybe sixties. Dark coat, close-cropped grey beard, and the build of someone who'd spent decades fighting and only recently stopped. He stopped at the center of the platform. The room went quiet without him asking.
"Welcome to Vanguard Academy. I'm Headmaster Brannick. Former A-rank adventurer, thirty-two years of service. I've killed more monsters than most of you have had hot meals."
Nobody reacted.
[Is that... supposed to be funny? Or scary? I genuinely can't tell.]
"This academy exists because the world is getting more dangerous. Monster raids are increasing. Mana instability is spreading, which means more monsters are being made. The Guild needs capable adventurers, and it needs them faster. That's where you come in." He swept his gaze across the room. "Over the next year, you'll be trained by some of the best fighters and scholars this city has to offer. Whether you survive the training is up to you."
[VERY comforting. Thank you, sir.]
"Now. Your instructors."
They filed onto the platform one by one.
A grizzled dwarf with one eye and three fingers stepped up first.
Griff Stonehewn, Survival and Monster Ecology. He looked like he'd been chewed up and spit out by something large, and he waved at the students with his mangled hand like it was the most normal thing in the world.
[I have so many questions about that hand, and I'm afraid of every single answer.]
Next, an elf woman, tall and elegant, with a posture that made Ashara's back hurt just looking at it. Lirien Duskwhisper, Aura Control and Mana Management. She gave the crowd a small nod. Said nothing.
[She scares me and I don't know why.]
Haytham Wells, Magic Theory and Tactical Spellcasting. Tall, lean, dark skin, neatly trimmed goatee. He walked up with his hands in his pockets and a half-smile on his face.
[Oh, I've seen this guy before. He was with Rain at the festival.]
Kael Riversong came next, Weapons Mastery and Enchantment Basics. Male beastkin, fox ears, and a lethal grin. He winked at the crowd. Somewhere behind Ashara, a faerie giggled.
[He's cute. Very cute.]
And then came someone she recognized.
"Rain Torreth. Combat Instructor. Melee Fundamentals. B-rank adventurer."
Ashara's brows shot up.
Rain looked different.
Not bad different, just... clean. Instructor's clothes, a fitted dark jacket over a grey shirt. Her short brown hair was actually combed. She still had the scars, still had those steel-grey eyes, still had arms that looked like they could snap someone in half.
But she wasn't covered in road dust or post-fight grime or, well, post-sex sweat.
[Fuck, she cleans up nice.]
Rain's eyes moved across the crowd. They landed on Ashara for maybe half a second.
Ashara gave her a little wave. Barely a wiggle of her fingers.
Rain's expression didn't change. Her eyes moved on.
[Okay. So that's how we're playing it. Fair enough.]
She bit back a smirk. She got it. Teacher-student thing. Couldn't exactly wave back at the girl you recruited after sleeping with her. Not in front of fifty students and the entire faculty.
Then Brannick called the last name.
"Celeste Armitage. Advanced Combat Instructor. Hand-to-hand specialist. A-rank adventurer."
Ashara's brain short-circuited.
Short... Tan skin... And short brown hair.
The oversized clothes were gone, traded for a fitted instructor's jacket that actually showed her frame, compact and athletic. She walked with her hands loose at her sides, relaxed, like she'd just gotten out of bed.
The woman from the bridge.
The one who'd sat next to her three days ago, asked about her crystal, and told her that her background didn't matter as long as she put in the work. The one Ashara had rambled to about her insecurities at sunset.
A-rank. She was A-rank.
[YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.]
Celeste's gaze drifted across the students. It found Ashara.
The corner of her mouth twitched.
She winked.
Ashara stared back, mouth open.
Brannick clapped his hands once.
"Right. Now that you've met your instructors, it's time for a tour of the grounds. On your feet."