After his duel, he stood with the others who have finished theirs and waited while watching the rest of the students duel their partners.
The duels began in predictable rhythm. The nobles moved like dancers, all polish and precision, but lacking fire. The merchant-born fought with lean efficiency, chasing freedom from what they were born into. The few from the lower classes fought like it was the only thing they knew, raw, desperate, real.
Then Maya Thornfield stepped forward.
She moved with a predator's grace, not elegant but coiled. Her opponent, Marcus Valdris, who was also a merchant's son, stood opposite her with the air of someone who thought his paid lessons would carry him.
He was wrong.
"Begin!"
Maya was on him in an instant, the air snapping with her sudden motion. Her blunted blade cut towards him, fast, fluid, final. Marcus barely got his weapon up. The blow rattled through him, buckling his stance.
But something was wrong. Her eyes. They'd gone flat, like the light behind them had blinked out. Her precise strikes morphed into a barrage of sword attacks, faster, harder, unrelenting.
The curse.
The realization slammed into him, dredging up memories he'd buried. The Thornfield bloodline carried a hidden sickness something of a berserker state, a legacy of darkness that took over and didn't discriminate between friend and threat.
Her opponent tried to rally, to find space, but Maya read him too well. Her sword became a blur. It wasn't just instinct, it was like she saw his moves before he did.
Then the shadows responded.
They gathered, at first subtle, then bold. The edges of the arena darkened, shadows thickening like spilled ink. Maya's body blurred, a breath too fast to follow. Darkness clung to her blade, wrapped her arms, made her a ghost and a storm in one.
Marcus fell back, pale and confused. Around them, silence tightened. Even Mistress Denna stepped forward, hand drifting to the other supervisors present, ready at any time to stop the duel.
Maya didn't let up. Her strikes came smooth and sure, the shadows around her swelling into a sphere of flickering dark.
One last blow with the flat of the blunted sword sent Marcus flying, her instinct correcting at her at the most needed moment. He hit the floor and didn't get up.
Maya stood over him, practice blade raised, shadows pulsing with her heart. Her golden eyes were black. She was hunting.
Ethan jumped the barrier.
As his boots struck the stone, her gaze snapped to him. The shadows writhed. Cold tendrils crept toward him, but he had seen this before, in another life, another death, and he wasn't afraid.
"Maya," Ethan said, low and steady. "You're not there anymore. You're here. You're safe."
She tilted her head, curious. The blade stayed high. The shadows twisted hungrily.
He had no magic. Not yet. But he had something else, he had a will. Hardened in fires she couldn't see. Ethan rooted himself in that weight and let it radiate out. No spells. No tricks. Just the feeling of someone who had already died once and come back unafraid.
"Find the center," he said. "The shadows serve you. Not the other way around."
Her face twitched. The fog behind her eyes shifted. The tendrils faltered.
Then she blinked. The darkness unraveled, retreating into the arena's edges. Her eyes were golden again and widened as she looked from her opponent to him.
"I didn't mean to …" Her voice broke.
"You were magnificent," Ethan said. "Terrifying, but magnificent."
The arena exhaled. Whispers spread like wildfire. Maya's power was undeniable. My lack of magic, and what he'd done had also raised questions no one knew how to ask.
**************
It was a few minutes before the other matches started again as everyone was conscious of what just happened.
Ethan found shade beneath the eastern oaks. It was quiet there.
Maya found him.
"Thank you," she said as she sat.
He nodded.
She studied the garden paths, silent. Then: "The way you stopped me. That wasn't magic. But it worked."
She wasn't accusing. Just observing. Sharp as ever.
"Sometimes people surprise themselves," Ethan said. "Under pressure, we find strength we didn't know we had."
"Sometimes," she murmured. "But not like that. Not with that calm."
She stood. Brushed her dress clean. Looked at him like she was seeing something dangerous and worth watching.
"Whatever game you're playing, Ethan Cole," she said, "I hope you're on the right side of it."
She left.
And glanced back.
The girl with golden eyes had always been the key. And now, finally, he had her attention very early. Whether that was a gift or a curse, he didn't yet know.