Cel shifted his weight forward, Silent Moon rising in a basic guard position. Across from him, Silas stood with his spear held loosely - too loosely, the weapon's dark shaft resting against his palm like he'd forgotten it was there. Behind them, Zara made herself comfortable on the couch with the casual indifference of someone settling in to watch paint dry.
Cel moved first.
He closed the distance in three quick steps, Silent Moon cutting toward Silas's shoulder in a controlled arc. The strike was measured and careful, exactly as he'd practiced in the Academy.
Silas's spear intercepted with minimal movement. The dark shaft caught Silent Moon's edge and redirected it past his body in one smooth motion.
Cel adjusted, bringing his blade back for a thrust aimed at center mass.
The spear's heel struck his wrist - not hard, just enough to knock his aim off. The thrust went wide by a hand's width.
Cel stepped back, resetting his stance. Tried a different approach. A feint high, then cutting low toward Silas's legs.
The spear moved like water. Down, across, deflecting the strike before it could land. Silas hadn't even shifted his feet.
Another exchange. Then another. Each time Cel attacked with controlled force, Silas's defense turned it aside with the kind of economy that came from years of practice. The spear never moved more than necessary. Never wasted motion.
Five exchanges. Ten. Cel's breathing remained steady, his body barely taxed by the effort.
But he wasn't landing anything.
Not even close.
Frustration built in his chest. He could feel the raw energy thrumming just beneath his skin - an unrelenting force that surged through his body. Strength that could crush boulders. Speed that could bridge gaps before foes even sensed his approach.
And he was using maybe a quarter of it.
The realization struck with uncomfortable clarity.
There was no need to hold back.
This wasn't the Academy. Wasn't Instructor Calder's careful supervision or other students who might actually get hurt if he put real force behind his strikes.
This was someone strong enough to hunt down other Chosen as part of the Reckoning. Someone Esrin had assigned to train him specifically.
Someone who could handle it.
Cel's next strike came with everything he had.
Silent Moon blurred forward, the blade cutting through air with a sound like tearing fabric. The full weight of his divinely enhanced strength drove the attack, no restraint, no careful measurement.
Silas's eyes widened.
The spear came up fast - faster than before, the casual looseness replaced by actual urgency. Steel met wood with a crack that echoed across the stone.
The impact drove Silas back two steps.
His boots scraped against stone as he caught his balance, green eyes sharp with sudden focus. The surprise on his face lasted maybe half a second before shifting into something else.
Interest.
Cel pressed forward. He didn't give Silas time to reset, didn't let the distance rebuild. Silent Moon moved in continuous arcs, each strike powered by strength that exceeded human limits.
High slash. Low cut. Thrust. Each attack flowed into the next without pause, building momentum and pressure.
Silas's spear wove defensive patterns that blurred at the edges. He was moving now - really moving, feet shifting across stone in quick steps that maintained distance and created angles. The casual ease had burned away completely.
But he was still defending.
Still just deflecting.
Still in complete control.
Cel's blade came down in an overhead strike meant to split stone. Silas caught it on his spear's shaft, the impact sending a visible tremor through his arms.
Then he twisted.
The movement was sudden, precise. The spear rotated beneath Silent Moon's edge, redirecting the blade's momentum while simultaneously creating space. Silas stepped inside Cel's guard in the same motion, the spear's heel driving toward his gut.
Cel's instincts moved him sideways before conscious thought caught up. The strike missed by inches.
He recovered fast, Silent Moon rising for a counter - but Silas was already out of range, the spear resetting to neutral guard.
They circled each other. Cel's breathing had picked up now, adrenaline sharpening his focus. Silas looked composed despite the sudden escalation, though a slight sheen of sweat had appeared on his forehead.
The exchanges continued. Faster now. Harder.
Cel threw everything at him - raw aggression backed by impossible strength, each strike meant to overwhelm through sheer force.
And Silas just... handled it.
The skill gap was obvious now. Undeniable. Every strike Cel made, Silas had an answer for. Every opening Cel tried to exploit closed before he could capitalize. The spear moved with absolute certainty, each deflection flowing into the next defensive position without hesitation.
It wasn't that Silas was faster or stronger. He wasn't.
But technique bridged gaps that raw ability couldn't.
Silas read his movements before they completed. Anticipated angles before they materialized. Defended with minimal effort because he understood combat at a level Cel didn't, couldn't, might never reach.
A wild horizontal slash aimed at Silas's ribs. The spear dropped, caught the blade, lifted it over his head in a smooth arc that left Cel's entire right side exposed.
The spear's shaft struck his ribs - not the blade, just wood against flesh, but hard enough that air exploded from his lungs.
Cel staggered back, gasping.
Silas didn't press the advantage. Just reset to neutral, watching him with those green eyes that had gone sharp and assessing.
Another exchange. Cel tried to adjust, to learn from what just happened. He feinted left, drove right, putting full strength behind a thrust meant to—
The spear wasn't there.
It had moved before he completed the attack, repositioning to a guard that made his thrust pointless. Then it lashed out - quick, controlled - and cracked against his knee.
His leg buckled. He caught himself on one hand, Silent Moon still gripped in the other.
"Stop."
Silas's voice cut through the sound of Cel's harsh breathing. Not loud. Just firm.
Cel looked up from his position half-kneeling on stone.
Silas stood perhaps five steps away, spear held loosely again. That casual ease had returned, though his breathing came slightly elevated now.
"That's enough for assessment."
Cel pushed himself upright slowly, ribs and knee both aching from impacts that hadn't been meant to injure but had definitely made their point.
"Pathetic."
Zara's voice carried across the stone - flat, dismissive, utterly certain.
Cel's head snapped toward her.
She hadn't moved from the couch. Still sprawled in that same careless position, one arm draped over the back, legs crossed at the ankles. Her blue eyes met his with open contempt.
Heat flooded through him - anger mixed with humiliation mixed with something sharper. His jaw clenched. His hand tightened on Silent Moon's hilt.
He glared at her.
She glared back.
The difference was that her glare carried no uncertainty. No doubt. Just absolute conviction that what she'd witnessed confirmed exactly what she'd expected to see - weakness performing exactly as weakness should.
The air between them went tight.
Then Silas stepped directly into Cel's line of sight, his expression still pleasant but carrying a weight it hadn't held before.
"Easy." His tone stayed light. Friendly. "Everyone starts somewhere. You think I was any better when I began?"
The question landed with obvious falseness. Silas was a Mortbane. He had probably been training since childhood. Had grown up in a Great Clan with resources and inherited talent Cel couldn't even imagine.
But the intent behind the words was clear enough.
Cel forced his breathing to steady. Let the anger settle back down where it belonged - buried deep, controlled, waiting for targets that actually mattered.
Zara made a sound that might have been disgust, then shifted on the couch to face away from them both.
Silas watched her for a moment, then turned back to Cel with something that looked like genuine warmth.
"Let me give you the assessment. You've got good instincts - really good. Your reactions are solid. And you have a body that can actually keep up with it. That's rare. Most people want more than their bodies can answer."
A pause.
"Everything else is bad."
The bluntness hit harder than the spear had.
"Your technique is basically nonexistent. Your footwork needs complete rebuilding. Your understanding of distance, timing, reading opponents - all of it needs work." Silas's tone stayed matter-of-fact. Not cruel. Just honest. "You fight like someone who's survived through raw capability alone. Which..." He tilted his head slightly. "I'm guessing is accurate?"
Cel looked down at Silent Moon's blade. Remembered his first desperate, bloody kill. Waking inside the Tremorborne. Tearing himself free.
"Yes."
The word came quiet.
Silas nodded slowly. "That's what I thought."
Silence stretched between them. Not comfortable, but not hostile either. Just the weight of assessment settling.
Then Silas's expression shifted - the seriousness bleeding away, replaced by something lighter. Curiosity.
"Changing topics." His tone gained a slightly playful edge. "I heard what happened. You and our young lady got into it?"
Cel's brow furrowed. "Young lady?"
"House Mortveil's daughter. Hestia." Silas's smile widened slightly. "You two had quite the fight, from what I heard."
Cold settled in Cel's stomach. How did he know about that? Had Esrin told them? Or was information about Reckoning members just shared automatically somehow?
"How—"
"It's my business to know," Silas said simply. "So what happened?"
Cel's jaw tightened. The memory of Hestia's blade at his throat surfaced. Her crimson eyes boring into his. The vision of his death she'd somehow witnessed.
"It just happened."
Silas studied him for a moment, green eyes sharp despite the casual smile. Then he laughed - bright and genuine.
"Don't worry about it. You know what they say - what loves each other, teases each other."
Cel stared at him.
The implication hung in the air between them, so absurd that for several heartbeats Cel couldn't process it.
Then disbelief crashed through.
"What?"
Silas's laugh intensified. His shoulders shook with it, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as if that might contain the sound.
Cel continued staring, completely unable to form words around the sheer wrongness of that suggestion.
Silas recovered after a moment, though his grin remained wide and thoroughly amused. He stepped forward and slung an arm around Cel's shoulders, pulling him close in a gesture that was probably meant to be companionable but felt more like being captured.
"Come on." His voice dropped low. "She's pretty, isn't she?"
The question caught Cel completely off-guard.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Every answer he found confirmed something.
Because... yes. Objectively. Hestia was beautiful. Pale skin that seemed to glow. Crimson eyes that held impossible depth. Jet-black hair that fell like curtains of silk. The kind of beauty that noble daughters were raised to cultivate and that most people would spend their lives never witnessing up close.
"I..." His throat worked. "I suppose she's... objectively attractive."
The admission came out strangled.
Silas's grin somehow widened further.
Then reality reasserted itself.
What the hell were they even talking about? This had nothing to do with training. Nothing to do with why he was here.
Cel broke free from Silas's grip, stepping back quickly. "What does this have to do with training?"
The question came out sharper than intended. Heat had crawled up his neck, settling in his cheeks in a way that made him acutely aware of how ridiculous this conversation had become.
Silas laughed again, holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Nothing! Absolutely nothing. Just making small talk between colleagues. We're going to be working together constantly - might as well get to know each other a bit."
He lowered his hands, his expression softening into something more genuine. "Relax. Training's serious business, but we don't have to be serious every second. Sometimes a bit of levity helps."
Cel's jaw remained tight. But the logic was... reasonable. If frustrating.
"Fine."
"Good." Silas gestured toward the open stone. "Now let's actually work on those shortcomings I mentioned. Because you've got a long way to go, and we don't have much time to get you there."