The training area behind the main hall was mostly empty.
It wasn't abandoned, because Stellaris didn't have abandoned spaces, but it was quieter than the front halls where first-years liked to show off and second-years liked to posture.
The stone here was older, scuffed deeper, marked by years of footwork and impacts that had worn grooves into the floor.
Even the atmosphere carried less noise, as if the building itself expected fewer spectators and more honest work.
Amelia stepped inside and rolled her shoulders once, loosening the tightness in her neck.
Her tail lifted slightly behind her, not wagging, more a balancing counterweight, and her ears tracked the small sounds around her automatically: distant voices muffled by walls, the scrape of someone's boots on a far walkway, the faint hum of mana from somewhere deeper in the facility.
Then she began moving.
There was no formal stance, no ritual, no slow warm-up done for appearance.
The basics lived in her bones, and she didn't need to ask permission to use them.
A step forward.
A straight punch.
A hook.
A knee.
Each strike cut through empty air as if she were fighting an invisible opponent who refused to give her answers.
Her body fell into rhythm quickly, aggressive and efficient, power coming from her hips and shoulders without wasted motion.
She moved again, faster, letting instinct do what it always did when her mind was too crowded.
A feint.
A grab motion.
A twist like she was throwing someone over her shoulder.
Her foot hit the stone too hard, the impact echoing through the hall, and she paused for half a beat.
Her chest tightened again.
Not from exertion.
From memory.
Soren's face when she had said no.
His eyes hadn't looked angry.
They hadn't looked hurt in an obvious way.
They had looked careful, like he had already decided not to pressure her, like he was stepping back before she could even ask, and Amelia hated that she noticed things like that now.
She hated that she could read him so easily and still not understand herself.
Her fist snapped out again, harder, as if she could punch the thought out of her skull.
"Oi."
The voice came from behind her, rough and crude, without a single hint of politeness to be found.
Amelia stopped mid-motion and turned her head.
A tall tiger beastkin stood at the edge of the stone, arms crossed, watching her like she was assessing a fight before deciding whether it was worth stepping into.
She was big.
Not just tall, but built heavy, muscular through the shoulders and arms, with a body that looked like it had never learned how to be delicate.
Scars ran across her forearms, and along one side of her ribs where her shirt sat looser, pale lines layered over older ones like a history written in claw marks and teeth.
Her striped tail flicked behind her, slow and confident.
Her eyes were sharp, older than most students.
Not ancient, but seasoned in a way that didn't come from training drills alone.
Everything about her language and posture screamed commoner, and yet there was a thin thread of restraint in the way she held herself, like she knew exactly how far she could go before someone tried to punish her for it.
Amelia recognised her.
A tournament ring back in Einhardt.
She had been fifteen, hungry for victories, still chasing that feral joy of proving herself, still crushing anyone who stood in front of her because it was the only thing she knew.
A tiger beastkin had fought her then, strong and brutal, a grappler who smiled even while taking hits.
Amelia had won.
But she remembered the grip.
The claws.
The way the beastkin had laughed even while losing, like pain was just another kind of weather.
Amelia's ears lifted slightly.
"…Brynja," she said.
The tiger beastkin's grin widened, pleased, like Amelia remembering was entertaining on its own.
"Yeah. That's me."
She stepped into the area without asking, boots heavy on stone.
"Didn't think you'd remember, Princess," Brynja said, tone amused.
Amelia's tail stiffened at the title.
Brynja noticed and shrugged.
"Habit. Don't bite me."
Amelia stared at her.
"I don't bite," she said flatly.
Brynja's eyes flicked to Amelia's teeth, then to her claws, unimpressed.
"…Sure."
Amelia didn't bother correcting further.
It didn't matter.
Brynja rolled her neck once, then nodded toward Amelia's stance, or the lack of one.
"You're trainin' alone?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Amelia blinked once.
"…Because I want to."
Brynja's grin sharpened.
"That's not th' real reason is it?"
Amelia's ears twitched.
"It is."
Brynja laughed, loud and unbothered, then stepped closer like she owned the space.
"Alright then. Let's see if you still hit like you used to."
Amelia stared.
"Aren't you working?"
Brynja waved a hand.
"Mock duels are done. Half the academy's sleepin' off their ego. Nobody gives a shit what we do back here."
Amelia's tail flicked once.
"I'm not sparring."
Brynja leaned forward slightly.
"Why not?"
Amelia opened her mouth, then paused, because the truth was that she wanted to.
She always wanted to fight.
Fighting was simple.
Fighting didn't make her chest hurt for reasons she couldn't explain.
But the moment she pictured Soren again, the ache threatened to climb up her ribs, and she hated that it followed her even here.
Amelia narrowed her eyes.
"I don't want to."
Brynja stared at her for a second, then straightened, lips pursed like she was tasting something bitter.
"Bullshit."
Amelia's ears flattened.
Brynja lifted her hands in mock surrender.
"Fine. Don't spar."
Then she tilted her head, eyes bright.
"At least tell me why you're movin' like that."
Amelia frowned.
"Like what?"
Brynja gestured at Amelia's feet.
"Like you're tryin' to win a fight against air. You're fast, but it's tight."
Two fingers tapped her own chest.
"Your rhythm's off."
Amelia stared at her.
It was infuriating how accurate it felt.
Amelia's jaw tightened.
"I'm fine."
Brynja's gaze slid over her again, not judging, just assessing.
"Sure you are."
Amelia didn't respond, and Brynja seemed to take that silence as permission to keep doing whatever she wanted.
The tiger beastkin took a step back and dropped into a stance so natural it looked like she had never needed to think about it.
It wasn't the poised elegance of a noble swordsman.
It was grounded, predatory, efficient, the kind of posture that promised contact and control rather than flashy strikes. Her claws flexed slightly as she lifted her hands.
"Hit me," Brynja said.
Amelia stared.
"No."
Brynja grinned.
"Princess, I'm not askin' nicely."
Amelia's tail rose, bristling.
"You don't tell me what to do."
Brynja shrugged.
"Then don't do it."
Her chin lifted, eyes bright with challenge.
"But if you're gonna stand there actin' like you ain't bothered, at least don't waste the space. You're annoyin' me."
Amelia's ears twitched.
She took a slow breath, the air filling her lungs in a controlled pull, then stepped forward.
One step.
Balanced.
Deliberate.
Brynja's grin widened like she had won something.
Amelia struck.
A straight punch aimed for Brynja's face, without a trace of mana to be found, fast enough that most students wouldn't even have seen it properly, just felt it.
Brynja didn't back away.
She caught Amelia's wrist.
Not perfectly.
Amelia's speed still forced her to adjust, still drove momentum into the catch, but Brynja's fingers closed like iron and held.
Amelia's eyes narrowed sharply.
Brynja laughed under her breath.
"There we go."
Amelia twisted her arm, trying to break the grip, and Brynja used the twist instead of fighting it.
She stepped in, hooked Amelia's elbow, and yanked her balance forward with a smooth, ugly efficiency.
Amelia's foot slid across stone.
Her tail flared instinctively to correct her centre.
Her free hand snapped up, elbow driving toward Brynja's ribs.
Brynja shifted just enough for it to graze, then shoved Amelia back with her shoulder.
The impact wasn't brutal.
It was controlled and professional, the push of someone who knew exactly how much force was needed to reset distance without wasting energy.
Amelia stumbled one step, then planted her foot.
Her chest still hurt.
But this was a different tightness, the kind that came from being met properly, the kind that made her blood run hotter because something finally pushed back instead of simply existing as an ache.
Amelia lunged again.
Brynja met her again.
They exchanged strikes, blocks, grabs, and footwork in quick, dense bursts, the sound of impacts and shifting boots filling the quiet hall.
Amelia's style was instinctual and aggressive, built on overwhelming people with speed, power, and relentless pressure.
Brynja's style was sticky.
She didn't try to win by hitting harder, she tried to win by holding, by turning every moment of contact into control.
Every time Amelia overcommitted, Brynja's hands were there.
Every time Amelia tried to disengage, Brynja's claws hooked fabric, wrist, forearm, dragging her back into contact like a refusal.
It was irritating.
But it was effective.
Amelia clenched her teeth and drove her shoulder forward, trying to slam Brynja back.
Brynja's arms wrapped around her waist.
A grappler's embrace.
Amelia felt the leverage and the intent, and she reacted without thinking.
She dropped her weight, braced, and twisted the throw into a spin that forced Brynja to release.
The motion was sharp and practiced, the kind Amelia had learned the hard way against opponents who thought holding her meant winning.
They separated, both breathing harder now, sweat beginning to cling under collars and along skin.
Brynja looked pleased.
Meanwhile Amelia looked annoyed.
"You got stronger," Brynja said, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her wrist.
Amelia's ears flicked.
"I'm supposed to."
Brynja snorted.
"Yeah, yeah."
Then her eyes sharpened again.
"But you're still off."
Amelia's tail stilled.
"I'm not."
Brynja stared at her like she had said something stupid.
"Princess," she said, tone rougher now, "you move like you're tryin' to outrun your own shadow."
Amelia's chest tightened.
That wasn't mockery, not really.
It hit too close to something she didn't have words for, and her gaze shifted away for half a second before she could stop it.
Brynja noticed immediately.
Her grin faded slightly, not into concern, exactly, but into something more serious, more direct.
"Alright," Brynja said, voice lower. "I'm not here to play noble games. I'm here to fight demons and get stronger. I don't have patience for weird mood shit."
Amelia stared at her, ears twitching.
Brynja jerked her chin toward Amelia.
"So I'm gonna say this once," she continued, blunt. "Something's crawlin' under your skin. Either you tell me what it is, or you keep punchin' air until it eats you alive."
Amelia's throat tightened.
She didn't like how accurate that sounded.
She didn't like that she didn't have words, because what was she supposed to say?
'When he's near, I want him nearer.'
'When he walks away, it feels wrong.'
'When other people stand too close to him, my chest gets tighter.'
They weren't sentences Amelia wanted to admit out loud.
They sounded stupid, weak, like the kind of thing people turned into leverage, and Amelia refused to hand anyone a weapon.
She couldn't have a weakness.
She wouldn't let that happen.
Her tail flicked once, sharp.
"I'm fine," she repeated, but the words came out flatter than before, the lie lacking the bite she usually gave it.
Brynja watched her for a moment, then sighed, dramatic and loud, like she had expected exactly this.
"Sure."
She stepped back, stretched her arms overhead, and yawned as if she hadn't just traded blows with a princess known for tearing people apart.
"Whatever. You don't wanna talk, then don't. I'm not your therapist."
Amelia's ears twitched at the unfamiliar word.
Brynja glanced at her and grinned again, clearly reading the confusion.
"Means I'm not gonna sit here and stroke your hair and ask about your feelings."
Amelia's expression didn't change, but her tail twitched once in irritation anyway, because the image was absurd and because she didn't like being read.
Brynja laughed.
"Still," she added, rolling her shoulders, "you're fun. Better than most of the academy's prissy little nobles who only care 'bout flashiness."
Amelia's eyes narrowed.
"They're strong."
Brynja waved a hand.
"Sure, some are, but most aren't. They just talk like they are."
Her gaze slid back to Amelia.
"You, though? You're the real deal."
Amelia didn't know what to do with that.
Brynja stepped toward the edge of the hall.
"I'm gonna be around. If you wanna spar again, show up."
Amelia's ears flicked.
"When?"
Brynja looked back over her shoulder.
"Tomorrow morning. Same time."
Amelia hesitated.
Not because she didn't want to.
The thought of fighting again, of being met properly again, had already lodged into her muscles like an answer she could chase.
She hesitated because agreeing felt like admitting she needed something, and Amelia didn't like needing.
Brynja's grin returned, sharp and knowing.
"You can pretend it's just training, I don't care what lie you tell yourself."
Amelia's tail bristled.
"I'm not lying."
Brynja laughed, then jumped down the stairs and started walking away, waving one hand lazily.
"Sure, Princess," she called over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow."
Amelia stood still in the ring, breathing slowly, watching Brynja leave until the sound of her boots faded into the corridor.
Her chest still hurt.
But the pain felt… slightly different now.
Less like a wound she couldn't touch.
More like a problem she could actually start chewing on, even if she didn't know what it was yet.
Amelia stared at her hands for a moment, flexing her fingers as if checking they were still hers, then exhaled.
"…Tomorrow," she muttered, as if the word itself was something she could test.
Her tail twitched once.
And for the first time in a while, the thought of the next day didn't feel heavy.
It felt like something she could step into.
————「❤︎」————