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His mouth opens, but no response emerges. “I—that’s not?—”

“That hesitation?” I let my smile turn sharp. “That’s your answer.”

A few students shift uncomfortably. Others lean forward with new interest.

“I’ll need a volunteer,” I announce. “Someone confident in their combat abilities.”

Several hands rise immediately. I select a muscular student with bark-like skin who practically vibrates with eagerness to humiliate the human instructor.

“Name and court affiliation?” I ask as he approaches.

“Briar Thornfist, Wild Court combat specialist,” he replies with a predatory smile that reveals teeth slightly too sharp to be human. “Third-year advanced weapons training.”

“Perfect. Choose your weapon, Briar.”

He selects a practice sword nearly as long as I am tall, blade glimmering with blue-black energy. I choose a simple wooden staff. The wood warms against my palm, grain shifting like muscle beneath skin.

“The objective,” I explain to the class, “is to disarm your opponent by recognizing patterns and adapting to them. Strength means nothing if you can predict movement.”

Briar takes position, his stance textbook perfect—balanced, powerful, and entirely predictable to anyone who’s studied their techniques.

“Begin whenever you’re ready,” I tell him.

Briar lunges forward, sword arcing in a high-to-low diagonal slash. I recognize it immediately—Unseelie Form Three, documented in Graves’ briefing materials.

Instead of raising my staff to block, I step inside the arc of his swing, pivoting so the blade passes harmlessly behind me. The move puts me inches from his exposed side, close enough to smell the sap-like substance that serves as his sweat. It’s sweet and earthy, triggering a flash of recognition so profound my vision blurs for a microsecond.

I tap my staff lightly against his ribs. “Point noted. Again.”

Anger flickers across his face, bark-plates darkening like wood soaked in water. His next attack is a complex sequence—feint high, strike low, followed by a rapid thrust toward my midsection.

I recognize the general pattern from the briefing materials, but something else happens as I watch him move—a deeper recognition that bypasses conscious thought, as if my muscles remember something my mind doesn’t.

I don’t think.I act.

My body moves with feral certainty, instinct older than thought.

“You’re telegraphing your intentions,” I tell him, focusing on tactical analysis to quiet the questions rising in my mind. “Your right shoulder tenses before overhead strikes. Your weight shifts to your left foot before thrusting attacks. Again.”

His bark-like skin darkens with frustration. He launches into a more aggressive sequence—a whirlwind attack that combines elements of multiple forms. The blade blurs with speed that would overwhelm an ordinary human opponent.

This sequence wasn’t in my briefings. I shouldn’t know how to counter it. Yet as his blade arcs toward me, my body moveswith a certainty that feels ancient, responding to patterns I’ve somehow always known.

“Enough playing,” he growls, eyes darkening to solid black. The temperature around him drops several degrees as he channels magic into his blade. The practice sword now trails a green substance that hisses through the air like angry snakes.

I don’t comment on this clear violation of sparring rules. Instead, I watch his form, noting how the magic alters his balance. When he attacks again—a horizontal slash empowered with wild-magic—I duck beneath it and pivot inside his guard.

The end of my staff connects with his wrist at precisely the pressure point that triggers involuntary muscle release.

His fingers open reflexively.

The practice sword spins from his grasp.

I complete my movement, staff coming to rest lightly against his throat.

“Pattern recognition,” I say calmly, stepping back and lowering my weapon. “Briar executed his techniques perfectly. The forms themselves were the vulnerability—too established, too recognizable to someone who’s studied them.”

A girl with silver hair and Seelie-bright eyes raises her hand. Her glow flares bright enough to hurt my eyes. “That’s Wild Court royalty technique. Pre-division era. Impossible for humans to know.” She pauses, the glow around her intensifying with excitement. “That was a modified Wild Court form from the pre-division era.”