Moonlight spilled through the grand windows of the empty training arena, glinting off the edge of steel as it sliced through the air. Salbyth moved with measured precision, bare feet gliding over ancient stone, each motion a blend of deadly grace and discipline honed over years. The magical torches lining the walls had long since burned out; the space only illuminated by the trails of flames left lingering in the air as she swings Scorchearth in practiced movements.

She trained by herself, like every night—long after the rest of the academy had surrendered to sleep. Magic shimmered faintly around her, not conjured but drawn to her, responding instinctively to her presence, like breath to lungs. It was in this quiet, when shadows stretched long and the world stilled, that she felt closest to her goal, to him.

But tonight, something shifted.

In the pause between one form and the next, Salbyth froze. A whisper of movement, too light to be wind. A prickle at the back of her neck.

She wasn’t alone.

"I wonder what humans even do at this academy." She said, not yet turning around, her tone unhurried, calm. She lowered Scorchearth, her greatsword, and turned around, eyeing them with no real urgency.

"There are exceptions to the rule, but exceptions can only go so far." She continued, her expression an unreadable mask of indifference and slight irritation. "Do you think yourself worthy of being here?"

A question, but also a statement. Her eyes focused on their face, attempting to gauge any flicker of doubt or hesitation.

She didn't dislike humans, but she did dislike arrogant fools who were way in over their heads.

Were they?