By the time Draven's class rolled around, the students already looked half-dead. They had just endured hours of testing with Professors Shard and Malloran.
When they stumbled onto the training field, the sun high and merciless, most were praying for archery lessons. Maybe some sparring. Something easy. Something safe.
But no. Not today.
Professor Draven stood at the front of the field, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Good afternoon, I trust you all enjoyed your morning exams?"
Muffled grumbling answered him.
"I'm glad," Draven said dryly. "We wouldn't want this to be too easy."
He began his usual announcements — schedules, grading notes, the sort of thing no one really listened to.
Then, mid-sentence, his eyes flicked toward one corner of the field.
"Mr. Pelan," he said evenly.
A boy froze halfway through a stretch. "Sir?"
"If you're going to stare at the clouds, at least pretend you're strategizing. Otherwise, I'll start assigning names to them for you."
Laughter erupted across the field. The boy's face went bright red.
Draven's voice carried easily through the open-air arena, firm but steady. "There will be one target and three aggressors," he said, pacing in front of the semicircle of students. "You'll play it through completely, regardless of what side you're on. If you're hit, if you're trapped, you stay down. Just because you have teammates doesn't mean you're safe."
A faint murmur rippled through the students, all of them suddenly alert and curious to see what Draven had planned.
Draven smiled, fully aware he now had their attention.
"Today, we fight with live blades. Rope. And one shift allowed."
As the weight of that settled in, three figures entered the stands above, slipping in quietly enough to avoid notice.
Captain Silas Cormaire led the group. A newer captain, he oversaw training for scouts and junior officers and was rarely involved with warriors or cadets, let alone students.
Beside him sat First Lieutenant Malric Denholm and Second Lieutenant Torren Valeris, both silent, assessing the field below. Their task was to identify potential recruits for advancement.
Last year's batch had been acceptable, but unremarkable. No standouts.
Captain Cormaire leaned forward, watching the students below with mild amusement. His attention settled on one student in particular, a potential candidate for advancement. He'd seen her before, at speakeasies and in the shared dining hall for warriors and omegas. She was beautiful, undeniably so. But he had never heard her speak. She seemed quiet.
He'd also heard very different things about her. The warriors closest to Princess Meredith spoke of her with open disdain, while others were less certain. Conflicting reports. For someone they were considering scouting, that inconsistency mattered. They needed to be sure.
What could not be dismissed were the results. She had won sparring matches against an undefeated opponent, Helga Emberhide, and, most impressively, Captain Ryker.
"Tell me," Draven said from down in the arena, "in an off-soil invasion, how long would it take for backup to arrive? Let's say you've sent a successful mindlink. Best case scenario — allies nearby, clear weather, no obstacles. Enemy territory, plenty of scents, but no attackers. How long before help reaches you?"
He scanned the rows. "Kylan."
Kylan hesitated. "Ninety seconds?"
Draven laughed once — short, humorless. "Three minutes, if you're lucky."
The laughter that followed was uneasy.
"That means," he said, "the target must survive three minutes without being pinned longer than ten seconds. In theory, that's how long it would take backup to arrive."
He paused, letting the words settle.
He stopped pacing. "Or," he said, the word hanging like a spark in dry grass, "the target could take down all three opponents—fast enough that they're all down at once for ten seconds. That would buy enough time to run."
Every student went still.
"The target won't know who carries the knife, who holds the rope, or who will shift. That's for the aggressors to decide. Strategize. Adapt. Survive."
From the stands, Captain Cormaire grinned down at Nova. He didn't say a word, but the look said enough.
A few students shifted uneasily. He glanced over their faces—nervous, alert, whispering.
Draven scanned his list and called out a group of four. "Vexlyn, Emberfang, Rourke, and Whitlow. You're up."
The four students moved to the center of the arena. The target — Brantley Whitlow — was already grinning, rolling his shoulders like this was his personal stage.
"Oh, come on," he said, spreading his arms. "Three against one? What's the lesson here — humility? Because I'm gonna disappoint you."
The class erupted in laughter.
Draven just sighed.
The three attackers huddled off to the side, muttering strategies. Whitlow stretched lazily. "Take your time," he called over his shoulder. "I'll try not to get bored waiting for my victory speech."
A few more laughs followed — the kind that made Draven rub his temple and mutter something under his breath about overconfident pups.
Meanwhile, on the far side of the arena, Cael slipped into the upper rows — half-hidden in the shadows. He wasn't technically supposed to be here, but curiosity had won out. Elle had mentioned their class was doing two-on-ones last week, which meant three-on-ones was coming. The thought made his stomach twist.
He told himself he was just checking in. Just making sure she was alright. Still… he wondered if Jax knew about this.
Elle had also warned him that her class was "a total disaster." From what he'd seen so far, that seemed generous.
A minute later, Fin appeared and dropped into the seat beside him.
"Didn't think I'd find you skulking up here." Cael said.
Fin didn't look away from the field. "Just observing."
"Uh-huh." Cael leaned forward on his knees. "Elle told me this group's a nightmare."
"She said it was a shit show actually," He added.
Fin chuckled.
They watched in silence for a moment as Draven paced the arena, explaining the rules. Then Fin's gaze drifted to the opposite stands — and froze.
"Oh gods," he muttered.
Cael followed his line of sight. "Captain Cormaire?"
Fin nodded, exhaling through his nose. "He's an okay captain, but such a cocky bastard. Moderate intelligence and the tactical awareness of a particularly shiny rock."
Cael smirked. "You trained him, didn't you?"
"Yes," Fin said. "Then I prayed for the border patrol to adopt him. They refused."
Draven gave the first four a sharp nod. "Positions. You have ten seconds."
The students moved to the center of the field, nerves buzzing. Dust caught the sunlight between them.
Draven raised the whistle to his lips and blew.
Silence. No one moved.
At first, everyone assumed it was strategy — a moment of suspense, someone waiting for the first strike. But five seconds turned into thirty. Then a full minute.
The stands were dead quiet.
Finally, Draven barked, "Anytime now!"
Whitlow twitched. One of the attackers blinked. No one else so much as breathed.
Draven threw his hands up. "Saints above, what are we doing here—meditating?"
From the shadows of the upper stands, Fin groaned. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Cael didn't even look away from the field. "Nope. This is what peak performance looks like. Behold—the future defenders of the realm."
Down on the field, movement finally broke the awkward silence.
Millie Vexlyn — the largest girl in the class, but still the smallest on the field, charged forward with the rope. Beside her, Kylan Emberfang scrambled to keep up, clutching his knife like it might bite him. The third student shifted into a brown wolf mid-stride, fur bristling, still blinking away the daze of transformation.
Fin exhaled. "Thank the gods. Something's actually happening. I was starting to think they'd fossilized."
Cael tilted his head amused. "Give it a minute."
And sure enough—chaos.
Millie whipped the rope like she was trying to take down a thunderstorm. It sailed wide, looped around the wolf's tail, and yanked him off his feet. Kylan sprinted the wrong way entirely, realized it, spun back, and immediately tripped over Millie's discarded rope.
Draven's patience detonated.
"VEXLYN! THAT'S A ROPE, NOT A FLAIL!"
"EMBERFANG—LEFT! NO—YOUR OTHER LEFT!"
Kylan froze, looked at both hands like they'd betrayed him, and panicked.
Cael had a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking. "Is this interpretive combat?"
Fin's grin spread.
Then, as Draven turned to yell at the target — who was still cracking jokes and bowing dramatically to the crowd — Kylan made a last-ditch effort to prove himself.
He threw the knife. It sliced through the air with impressive speed. But, it was completely in the wrong direction, straight towards Draven's face. Gasps rang out.
Draven snatched it from the air an inch from his right eye.
Silence.
"KYLAN EMBERFANG! DID YOU JUST TRY TO ASSASSINATE ME?!"
Kylan's voice cracked. "No, sir!"
"THEN WHY IS MY FACE IN YOUR TRAJECTORY?!"
Cael was doubled over laughing. "He's dead. That's a closed-casket situation."
Fin wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. Down on the field, Draven was still roaring about "BASIC SPATIAL AWARENESS" while Millie tried to help Kylan up and accidentally dragged the wolf with her.
Finally, Millie managed to trap the target. After a chaotic blur of rope swings and near misses, she got the line around his arms and hauled him backward. He stumbled, twisted—then he suddenly leaned in and kissed her.
On the lips.
Just a quick peck. A blink-and-you-miss-it sort of kiss.
But it landed squarely on her mouth.
Millie froze like she'd been struck by lightning. Her eyes went wide, rope still clutched in both fists, mid-knot. For a full three seconds, no one moved. No one even breathed.
Then the arena erupted in the kind of laughter that shook entire bodies. Students hunched over, faces burning as they tried, and failed, to stay quiet.
Up in the stands, Fin turned slowly toward Cael, both of them staring in disbelief.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" he muttered.
Draven's roar cut through the laughter. "WHAT—IN THE MOON'S HOLY NAME—WAS THAT?!"
Millie was still frozen, staring at the boy like he'd just committed a war crime.
Whitlow, still half-wrapped in rope, grinned. "You said make it realistic!"
Draven looked one exhale away from combusting. "THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!"
Down below, Nova and Elle were visibly trembling, their faces buried in their hands, trying to keep it together.
"WIPE THOSE SMIRKS OFF YOUR FACES!" Draven barked, spinning toward them.
Up in the stands, Cael groaned. "I can feel her trying not to laugh," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "Gods… what is this training?"
Fin was no better. He felt Nova… and he had to turn away, shoulders shaking. "She's done for," he whispered, barely breathing through his laughter.
Draven finally turned back to Whitlow, who still looked far too proud of himself. "Detention," he snapped.
The boy only grinned wider. "Worth it."
That was it. Everyone lost it completely.
Draven was still sputtering when he finally rounded on Millie. "VEXLYN! What would you do in real combat if that happened?"
Millie blinked, still looking dazed. "Uh… honestly? Probably kiss him back?"
Draven pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly restraining himself. Then he exploded. "ALL FOUR OF YOU—OFF THE FIELD! NOW!"
He didn't stop yelling for a solid thirty seconds. By the time they trudged back to their group, none of them looked even remotely ashamed—just out of breath and still grinning like idiots.
Up in the stands, Fin exhaled through a laugh. "Gods, Draven's pissed."
Cael smirked faintly. "Maybe. But look at them."
Fin followed his gaze.
The four students had regrouped, still laughing quietly among themselves. Millie nudged Kylan's shoulder; he pretended to dodge another imaginary knife.
"They're a disaster," Cael said, tone softening, "but they've got something solid. They've got each other's backs. You can't teach that—it's the one good thing that comes out of all their chaos."
Fin nodded slowly. "You're right. They're loyal."
Down on the field, Nova was being pulled into it. Millie clapped her on the shoulder, murmuring something that made her grin despite herself. Kylan leaned over to add a joke.
Draven's patience hadn't quite recovered when he barked, "Milo, Ash, Rael—on the field."
The three students straightened immediately.
Then Draven turned, his gaze landing squarely on the sidelines. "Varrin or Moonveil. One of you."
Nova and Elle exchanged a look. For a heartbeat, neither moved.
At the exact same time, they both said, "I think she wants to go."
Draven's expression cracked for half a second before he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again.
"Moonveil," he said finally. "You're up first. Varrin, you're next."
Elle grinned, whispering something that made Nova roll her eyes before stepping forward.
"Moonveil is the target, obviously," Draven said dryly.
Nova shot him a glare over her shoulder.
"Oh come off it. It wouldn't be fair to have you paired up with two others." He said.
The boys huddled off to the side, whispering and gesturing like they were plotting a war. Nova pulled her hair back, sighing under her breath. Gods, she was dreading this.
They took forever to plan — so long that Elle and Millie finally waved her over. One of them leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Nova muttered a reply just low enough for only them to hear. Both girls burst out laughing, trying to smother it behind their hands.
Across the field, the boys kept sneaking glances at Nova like she was a ticking bomb.
Draven caught it immediately. "Moonveil," he barked, "you might want to focus on the part where you don't get flattened."
She straightened a little, but her grin didn't fade.
Finally, Draven clapped his hands once, sharp. "Enough scheming. All of you — center field. Now."
She went to the center circle to start.
Across from her stood Ash, Rael, and Milo — all three trying their best to look serious and dangerous.
She took one long look at them.
Elle, standing off to the side, caught Nova's eye. The glance they shared said everything.
Draven's voice cut through the tension. "You'll last three minutes or you won't."
Nova looked at all their faces again and fought the urge to laugh harder. Her face was already turning red. She swallowed hard, exhaling slowly through her nose, trying to stay composed.
Draven blew the whistle.
For a moment, no one moved. Then one of the boys cracked, his voice breaking through the silence. "Oh gods—quit, Nova, you're going to make me laugh!"
The class lost it.
Draven's voice boomed. "ENOUGH!" He blew the whistle again, sharp and angry. "Next one who breaks character joins lover boy in detention!"
The knife and rope lay on the ground in the center of the arena, gleaming under the sun.
Ash, Rael, and Milo spread out, circling her like they were trying to look tactical. It was painfully obvious they'd come up with some kind of plan — switch roles, fake her out, keep her guessing about who would grab what.
It might've fooled someone else.
But Ash kept rolling his shoulders like he was already itching to shift. Rael's eyes kept darting to the rope — couldn't help himself. And Milo's stance screamed "knife," down to the way his fingers twitched every time the light hit the blade.
Nova clocked all of it within seconds.
She exhaled quietly, pretending not to notice, debating whether to let them get a few hits in. She didn't want to humiliate them.
Up in the stands, Fin felt her restraint through the matebond. What are you doing, Nova?
Then Elle's voice slid through the mindlink — light and teasing. Up in the stands, Fin and Cael exchanged a look. They'd both could hear every word in this "private" mindlink.
Elle: You are such a bad liar.
Nova's reply came fast.
Nova: I'm unarmed, untrained, and statistically the first to die in every story.
Elle snorted.
Down below, Ash froze mid-step. "Professor, you and I both know she's going to kick all of our asses."
Rael stopped too, lowering the rope with a groan. "Gods… can we go against Varrin instead? Anyone. Helga! We'll go against her."
At the name Helga, the class erupted in laughter again.
Even the three soldiers up in the stands — Captain Cormaire and his two lieutenants — tried and failed to keep straight faces, shoulders shaking as they ducked behind their clipboards.
Draven turned his head slightly, pretending to adjust his stance, refusing to acknowledge the chaos. But the faint twitch in his shoulders gave him away.
Milo threw up his hands. "Stop, Nova!" he said, giving her a shove that had all the force of a five-year-old throwing a tantrum.
Nova blinked, deadpan. "I'm just standing here," she said, exasperated.
Rael, apparently inspired, reached over and ruffled her hair.
She swatted his hand away, glaring. "Seriously?"
The class was half-doubled over at this point, laughter barely contained.
Draven finally snapped himself back into command mode. His voice boomed across the arena. "ENOUGH! If three almost grown men can't take down one female—unshifted, unarmed—that is an embarrassment! Shame to your families!"
The three boys shuffled awkwardly, exchanging looks, trying to decide whether to risk another attempt.
Then, from somewhere in the back, a student called out, "Professor… that's been three minutes."
All three boys immediately looked up, faces bright with relief, like the gods themselves had intervened.
"No, it doesn't count. Timer starts when someone actually makes a move." Draven responded sharply.
None of the boys moved. All three froze, wide-eyed and silent.
Nova waited.
"Ladies first," Ash said finally, grinning.
Nova sighed.
And then she moved. Rael didn't even register the rope leaving his fingers before his wrists were tied together like an overgrown toddler.
She snagged Milo by the arm, ripped the knife right out of his hand, and walked him to the wall as if escorting a drunk goat. She pinned his sleeves to the stone with the knife, leaving him stuck there, arms trapped and utterly ridiculous.
Ash shifted — fur bursting into a dark grey as his wolf hit the ground hard. He glanced between his two teammates, tied and pinned, then back at her. He lunged.
Nova didn't move until the very last second. Gasps rippled through the arena as it looked like she was about to take the hit at full speed. At the last instant, she ducked and sent him clean over her shoulder.
Before anyone could process it, she darted forward, grabbed Rael by the arm, and in one smooth motion dragged him into Ash's path. A flick of the rope later — Rael's wrists and Ash's front paws were tied together. It was so fast it barely looked real.
She exhaled and muttered, "Sorry," low enough it should've been private — but everyone heard it.
Ash groaned from the ground. He mindlinked, so everyone could hear.
Ash:Gods, Nova… at least buy me dinner first.
Elle snorted. Fin and Cael both raised eyebrows in unison, but neither said a word.
"If she gets the three of you down for ten seconds," he called, "then she goes against Captain Cormaire, Second Lieutenant Valeis, and First Lieutenant Denholm."
Nova froze.
Then she saw them.
She recognized Torren and Malric as the lieutenants, always with Hunter Ryker and the third was one that had approached her a number of times at speakeasies. She hadn't realized he was a Captain. They all wore identical smug expressions.
Up above, Fin leaned toward Cael. "Wait… we assigned him to training halls and drills of scouts and junior officers. What is he doing here?"
"He falls under Jax. Who I guarantee isn't aware." Cael said darkly.
Down below, Nova's voice slipped into the mindlink — again, not private.
Nova: Someone come tackle me. I promise I won't fight back.
Ash:I'm tied, Nova.
Rael:Can he be any more obsessed?
Nova:Milo. Rip your training suit. I'll get you a new one.
Milo tore his sleeve open, threads snapping. The look on his face said it all — why didn't I think of that first?
Nova:Grab the knife. Tuck it into your pant.
He did, looking unexpectedly fierce now, as if he'd planned it all along.
Nova nodded subtly, lowering her stance. Then she let him attack, falling on the dirt.
Ash and Milo scrambled free of their bindings, lunging forward as the fight began again.
Ash: Fight us back a little. Kick Rael.
Nova kicked Rael — gently, by her standards. He went flying backward. Not nearly as far as he would've if she'd actually tried, but enough to sell it.
Up in the stands, Cael sighed and opened a mindlink to Jax, leaving Fin connected.
Cael:How's my favorite Gamma doing today?
Jax:Hey, buddy.
Cael:Captain Cormaire… you aware he's in the training arena right now?
Jax:No. Which training arena?
Cael:The one you are thinking of. Draven just announced Nova's going up against him if these three can't beat her, and right now they're putting on the most entertaining disaster I've ever seen.
Brantley Whitlow mindlinked the entire class, again not making it private.
Whitlow:Alright, this is painful. Nova move a little faster, it looks fake.
Kylan:Ash, scratch her or something.
Elle:Not the face, idiot — leg or rib.
Ash hesitated, then swiped just enough to tear the fabric along Nova's thigh. She glanced down, then back at him trying not to grin.
Nova:That was good. Do it again. Rael — when I wince, come in and tie my wrists.
Ash scratched again, and Nova gave a perfect wince and Rael lunged, looping the rope around her wrists, looking way too pleased with himself.
Nova: Good. Now the pressure point — under my arm.
Rael: I don't want to hurt you.
Nova: You won't. It won't look realistic if you don't hit a pressure point. Pick one.
Rael hesitated.
Kylan:Stop being a baby. Hit one.
He followed, clumsy but committed, hitting a pressure point under her arm.
Nova: Milo — knife to my throat.
Milo: What?!
Whitlow: Just do it. Draven is buying it.
Milo obeyed, pressing the dull blade lightly to her neck, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Up in the stands, Fin and Cael just stared at each other as the chaotic flood of voices echoed through their minds.
Cael groaned. "Is it just me or does this look better than the first one?"
Fin looked back at the field. "What … what am I watching?"
Draven blew the whistle so hard it echoed through the entire arena.
"For the love of the Moon Goddess," he barked, "that was the worst acting I've ever seen. Moonveil, Briant, Greyborne, and Kaelith — all of you, laps after class. You should be ashamed!"
The class fell silent. Ash, Rael, and Milo all looked like children caught stealing snacks, while Nova just stared at the ground a little frustrated.
Draven turned his gaze toward the stands.
Captain Cormaire, Torren, and Malric were already grinning — that predator before the fight kind of grin.
Without waiting for permission, the three of them vaulted the railing and hit the field in a blur, their boots pounding against the dirt.
The crowd of students erupted in whispers, half excited, half terrified.
Ash:Your admirer wants a fight.
Whitlow:If you kick him in the balls like you did with Hunter Ryker, mindlink us. I want front-row seats this time.
Elle:Could you two be any more crass?
Whitlow:Oh, absolutely. Give us five minutes.