The stars were out, and they weren't saying much.
They just… hung there. Quiet. Flickering like they'd seen it all before. Like they knew how this would end.
The path ahead was mostly empty. Cobblestones cracked from time and weather, a few weeds slipping through the gaps. Moonlight washed everything in silver, soft shadows stretching long and thin.
Sand walked in front. Hands tucked behind his back, coat brushing against his boots with every step. Every now and then, he glanced up at the sky—once, maybe twice. Like he was expecting it to speak. Or maybe just checking if it still remembered him.
Then he looked ahead again. Calm. Purposeful.
Caden followed.
He clutched a wooden sword a little too tightly, knuckles pale. His heart wasn't pounding, not exactly, but it wasn't still either. Just… alert. A little nervous. He wasn't sure if it was the walk, or who he was walking with, or what was coming.
He'd changed into training robes—a full white set, loose but well-fitted. Sleeves snug at the wrists, the cloth light and breathable, with a faint gray trim lining the collar and belt. It looked cleaner than he felt. The kind of outfit that belonged to someone who knew what they were doing.
He didn't feel like that someone.
They didn't talk. Just kept walking.
Behind them, the academy faded into the dark. Ahead, the field waited—open, empty, a quiet stretch that sat right on the edge of the hills outside Noxthistle. After a while, they reached a rise in the ground. Not a mountain or anything dramatic—just a small hill, high enough to see a little more of the stars.
Sand stopped.
"We've arrived," he said, voice quiet.
Caden gave a small nod.
Didn't say anything. Didn't really need to. His throat was a little dry anyway.
Sand raised a hand.
No flash. No sudden wind. No chant or burst of power. Just stillness—and then the sword was there, like it had always been, like the night had been holding onto it until he asked.
It was black. The kind of black that didn't reflect light, like it absorbed it instead. A clean, narrow blade. No unnecessary flourishes. Just a white handguard that curved gently at the ends, almost like wings folding inward.
Sand stepped forward. Shifted his weight. Shoulders turned, foot angled. Everything subtle. Everything sharp.
He wasn't just standing anymore.
"Let's see what you've got," he said.
Caden swallowed.
He stepped up, raised his sword—both hands, just like they'd taught. Too stiff. Too tense. He didn't realize it until after.
He moved. Quick step forward. Blade coming down from the right.
And then—
It was gone.
Not the fight. The sword. His sword. One second it was in his grip, the next, it was clattering across the stone behind him.
He blinked.
Didn't see what happened. There wasn't even a clash. Just a blur, a quiet shift, and his hands were suddenly empty.
The wooden blade spun, rolled, and stopped in the grass a few feet away.
Sand stood the same as before. Sword lowered. Like he hadn't even moved.
The wind stirred the grass a little. Somewhere, an owl called.
Caden stared at his hands.
That wasn't a strike. That was a lesson.
He didn't say anything. Just felt his pride stinging somewhere behind his ribs.
Sand looked at him—not with judgment, not with pity. Just… patience.
"You're not here to win," he said. "You're here to learn."
Caden didn't argue. He couldn't. He just stood there, shoulders low, fingers curled, still looking at the empty air where his sword used to be.
He finally walked over, picked it up. The wood felt heavier than before. Not physically. Just… heavier.
"I thought I saw an opening," he muttered.
Sand tilted his head slightly. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes, but not unkind.
"You did," he said. "But seeing and understanding aren't the same thing."
Caden stepped back into place. Slower this time. Adjusted his feet. Loosened his shoulders. Tried to remember what Sand had looked like—how he'd moved. Tried not to grip the sword like it would save him.
Sand didn't say anything.
He just waited.
The night stretched around them, still and wide. Grass brushing in the breeze. The rest of the world asleep. The stars—still watching.
Caden breathed out. Moved again.
No rush. Not like before. A cleaner swing—lower, more balanced.
Sand barely shifted. A sidestep, a light parry. No clash, no force. Just a redirection, like Caden's strike had never mattered.
He stumbled a bit. Caught himself.
"Better," Sand said.
That was it.
No applause. No grin. Just… better.
And weirdly, that was enough.
Caden met his gaze, and for the first time that night, there was no shame behind his eyes.
There was something else.
The next three days were rough.
He kept coming back to the field—every night, without fail. When the academy lights dimmed and the dorms went quiet, he picked up his sword and walked the same path. The first night, he was alone. By the second, Sand started showing up again. Just watching. Saying little.
He swung until his arms ached. Until his grip blistered. Until his legs felt like wood and his breath came sharp.
Mistakes didn't disappear. But he started noticing them. Started fixing them. One at a time.
His footing got steadier. His shoulders stopped locking up. His sword—still wood, still imperfect—started to feel like a part of him, not something he was holding onto out of fear.
No big moment. No sudden leap in skill.
Just grit. Repetition. A little more fire in his chest each time he failed and stood back up.
By the third night, he didn't flinch anymore. Didn't rush his swings.
And when he finally stood at the edge of the field, sweat dripping down his neck, his blade resting against his shoulder—
The moon was full.
The stars still watching.
And his heart?
It wasn't scared anymore.
It was ready to win the Duel.