When the last of the Sahar prospects finished, a hush settled over the courtyard. The air was thick with dust and the lingering echo of magic, the scent of smoke and sweat mingling under the harsh afternoon sun. A few recruits exchanged weary glances, others whispered quietly, their voices edged with anticipation.

Then a familiar voice cut across the yard. “Tenzin. Come.”

The leonin warrior straightened immediately. Without hesitation, he moved from where he had been standing at the ring’s edge, his movements smooth and fluid despite the exhaustion of the long morning. He padded across the dirt with quiet confidence, each step measured, the gait of a predator who knew his strength but never flaunted it.

“This is Tenzin,” the instructor announced to the gathered recruits, his tone carrying the weight of authority. “One of the best we have here — if not the best, but remember, being a Sahar or a Guardian is not about standing alone. It’s about unity.”

He turned toward the other instructors, gesturing to the crowd. “Let us show you.”

Tenzin inclined his head, golden eyes steady beneath the glare of the sun. He drew his blade, a curved scimitar forged of Dhuman steel, its surface etched with faint runes that caught the light as it left its sheath. The weapon was a part of him, an extension of his discipline, his years of repetition, of ritual.

Across from him, two figures stepped forward, the instructor himself, a seasoned mage with streaks of gray in his beard, and his bonded Guardian: an orcish woman with skin like burnished copper and eyes as sharp as cut obsidian. Her hair was bound in a thick braid down her back, small tusks glinting when she smiled, not cruelly, but in challenge.

The crowd backed away instinctively, forming a rough circle around the ring and the air seemed to hold its breath.

The orc flexed her hands, her brass knuckles glinting faintly in the sun, while the instructor’s fingers traced glowing sigils in the air, readying his spells. Tenzin shifted his stance, lowering into readiness, his tail swaying in slow rhythm. The scimitar gleamed, balanced easily in his grip.

Then the instructor’s hand dropped, the signal to begin and the demonstration erupted in a blur of motion.

The orc lunged first, fast and low, her fists slicing through the air in a flurry of strikes. Tenzin parried, the curved edge of his blade deflecting her blows in flashes of metal and sunlight. The instructor followed instantly with a burst of magic, shards of stone erupting from the ground and hurtling toward Tenzin like a storm of jagged glass.

He moved through it like a leaf on the wind. Each step was deliberate, every pivot timed with instinctive precision. He ducked beneath a strike, rolled through the dirt, and came up slashing, the scimitar singing through the air in a silver arc that met the orc’s guard with a crack of force. Sparks flared where blade met brass. A wash of flame from the instructor’s hand scorched the ground at his feet, and still Tenzin pressed forward, his movements fluid, tireless.

For a moment, he looked unstoppable, a single warrior standing against two who moved as one. His mane caught the light as he turned, a halo of bronze fire, his tail snapping once behind him as he found his rhythm.

But it was short lived.

The instructor and his Guardian fought like reflections, the orc’s fists cutting wide arcs that funneled Tenzin into the mage’s range, the mage’s spells timed to drive him back toward her. Their rhythm was perfect, a conversation in movement, each strike anticipated, each step mirrored.

Tenzin’s breath came harder now, his muscles burning from the strain. Still, he fought on, the scimitar flashing again and again, his focus absolute. He deflected a blast of force, sidestepped another volley of stone, and turned just in time to catch the orc’s kick on his blade.

The impact sent a jolt up his arm. The next blow; a combined strike of magic and might, sent him sprawling. He hit the dirt hard, sliding several feet before coming to rest on one knee. Dust rose around him in a shimmering cloud and for a heartbeat, the courtyard was silent.

Then Tenzin coughed once, a low grunt rumbling in his chest as he pushed himself upright. His ribs ached where the blow had landed, but his expression remained composed. He brushed the dirt from his knees with a casual swipe of his hand, then slid his scimitar back into its sheath in one clean motion.

The instructor approached and clapped him on the shoulder, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Good job, Tenzin.”

The recruits exhaled as if they’d been holding their breath as the instructor turned back to them. “You see now, this is what we strive for. Alone, Tenzin is a force to be reckoned with; but united, bonded, a Sahar and Guardian are unstoppable. One cannot exist at full strength without the other.”

The orc Guardian gave Tenzin a respectful nod as she stepped aside. “You move well, lion,” she said, her voice rough but sincere.

Tenzin returned the nod, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “And you strike true.”

As the crowd began to disperse, the dust settling once more, the ache in his side reminded him of the truth in the instructor’s words. He was strong, skilled, feared by some, respected by most, but he was also alone, and as he looked across the courtyard, he found his gaze drawn again to the winged woman standing at the back of the crowd, quiet and unreadable.

On the far side of the group, Vela took a long sip of water, trying to steady her breathing. Even from a distance, his presence was overwhelming. He was enormous, nearly a foot taller than she was and easily twice her weight. Up close, he was more intimidating than she had imagined, his golden eyes sharp but unreadable.

Watching him fight tore open memories she had spent years trying to bury. Each strike, each fluid motion of his blade, called back flashes of a night drenched in blood and fire, the roar of beasts, the sound of screams in the distance, the sharp tang of smoke clogging her throat. The way the ground had shuddered beneath her as her world burned. Her village had fallen to creatures like him, golden eyes gleaming in the dark, fangs glistening red. The Seraphelle who fought to defend them had fallen one by one, their wings broken, their light extinguished.

She could almost hear it again, the screams, the snapping of bone, the weight of her mother’s voice whispering from beneath the floorboards.

Hide, my light. Do not come out until it is safe.

The memory struck with such force that for a moment she forgot where she was. The heat of the courtyard melted into the heat of the flames that had devoured her home. The sound of Tenzin’s scimitar meeting armor rang in her ears like the clash of those long-ago battles.

She inhaled sharply, grounding herself in the present, in the smell of sweat and dust instead of smoke and ash. The magic inside her pulsed like a second heartbeat, eager, volatile, as if it too remembered the fire.

No. Not here. Not again.

Vela forced the memories down, pushing them deep where they couldn’t reach her magic. She had learned long ago that emotion fed power, and power fed destruction. When fear took hold, the fire came. When anger bloomed, things burned., but still… she couldn’t look away.

There was no denying the truth of what she had seen, the raw grace in his movement, the harmony of strength and control. Tenzin fought like water and flame at once; each motion measured, each strike inevitable. Even when he fell, it was with the dignity of a predator forced to yield only to the impossible.

It unsettled her, that contradiction. Something about him was both terrifying and captivating. He could end her with a single blow, that much she knew instinctively.

Vela’s breath caught, and she realized she’d taken an unconscious step back. She shifted again, placing the crowd of recruits firmly between them. It wasn’t fear, she told herself, just caution. Caution born of memory and survival, at least he wasn’t looking at her now, but still, even from across the courtyard, she could feel the echo of him.

When he was dismissed, Vela found herself glancing back toward the ring once more. She had never seen magic and combat blended so seamlessly. The old chosen in her village had never taught her that, only how to gather power, to feel it, to let it shape her will. She realized, with an uneasy flutter of both curiosity and dread, that she had far more to learn than she’d ever imagined.

When the sparring ended, the recruits were gathered once more beneath the blinding sun. The instructor’s voice carried over the murmuring crowd.

“Tomorrow you will all receive your assignments,” he announced. “Each of you will attend both magic studies and combat training, regardless of the role you may fill in the future. Mornings will be devoted to magic; combat will follow after noon. Your placements will be based on the skills shown today. Rest well, you’ll need it.”

A ripple of relief spread through the courtyard as the last match ended. The air buzzed with the soft hum of conversation, the scrape of boots, the rustle of cloth, the mingled scents of sweat, oil, and dust. Some recruits clapped one another on the shoulder, laughing off their failures. Others drifted quietly toward the dormitories, too sore or humiliated to speak, but Tenzin lingered and Vela hesitated at the edge of it all.

She had stayed apart through most of the day, content to observe rather than join the noise. A younger woman had approached her earlier, all wide eyes and boundless energy, gushing over the fire spell Vela had unleashed that morning. The girl mimed the explosion with flailing arms, her voice bubbling with awe as she peppered her with questions: How did you do that? Did you mean for it to burn that fast? Can you teach me?

Vela could only shrug and offer faint, awkward smiles until the girl finally scampered off to pester someone else. The moment she left, Vela let out a long, quiet breath, her shoulders relaxing. The peace didn’t last and she didn’t hear him approach before he spoke.

“Your magic was impressive.”

The voice came from behind her, deep, resonant, warm in tone yet powerful enough to still the air around her. Her entire body locked in place. Instinct seized her before thought could intervene; her wings flared sharply, feathers bristling like a startled cat’s tail.

Slowly, she turned.

Up close, Tenzin was enormous. The late sunlight caught in the golden strands of his mane, turning them to molten fire, while the rest of him was all shadow and strength, broad shoulders, a thick chest, hands calloused and sure. His face was calm, unreadable, but his presence filled the space between them like heat radiating from a forge.

Vela froze, every instinct she had screamed run. Her pulse hammered in her throat, her wings twitching with the urge to take flight. The creature standing before her could have torn her apart in seconds, she knew that with the same certainty she knew how to breathe, but her legs wouldn’t move.

Tenzin stopped a few paces away, careful not to crowd her. He didn’t look directly at her, his posture loose, his hands visible, unthreatening. He’d seen that kind of stillness before, in soldiers who’d flinched one too many times, in survivors who couldn’t yet tell the difference between safety and danger. He recognized the look in her eyes, though she didn’t raise them now: the wariness of someone who’d learned that kindness could be a prelude to cruelty.

 “You have a lot of raw power,” he said quietly, sincerity softening the rumble of his voice. “We don’t see that here often. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

He meant it as kindness; a simple gesture of encouragement after a grueling day, hoping to calm her nerves, never realizing he was the source of them.

The words barely reached her through the pounding in her ears. All she saw were the sharp lines of his teeth when he spoke, the gleam of his eyes, the same color she remembered in the dark that night, when her world burned.

Claws. Fangs. Blood on the ground. Her chest tightened until she could barely draw breath.

“I—” The word caught, breaking in her throat. She shook her head, desperate to clear the rising panic. “Just… stay away from me.”

Her voice came out harsher than she intended, brittle and sharp, but the sound of it gave her courage. She took a step back, then another, never turning her back to him. Her wings trembled as she retreated into the crowd, needing the press of bodies between them like a wall. Maybe he wasn’t the one who had destroyed her village, maybe he’d never killed anyone at all, but he could, and that was enough.

Tenzin remained where he was, his expression unreadable but his ears tilted slightly forward, not in anger, but uncertainty. He hadn’t moved closer, hadn’t raised his voice. Yet, she had looked at him like he was a monster. He blinked, confusion flickering across his face as he watched her withdraw. Her entire body trembled, eyes wide with the kind of fear that went deeper than instinct. For a moment, he thought something else must have startled her, a threat behind him, a shadow, a sound, but when he turned his head, there was nothing.

It was him.

His shoulders sagged slightly, and his ears flattened against his skull. He’d seen fear in combat before, the kind that comes before heavy blow, but never directed at him in peace.

For a long moment, he did nothing. The noise of the courtyard faded to a distant murmur, the laughter, the rustle of feathers, the clang of steel. Only the soft whisper of the mountain wind moved between them as she hurried as far from him as she could get. He could have been angry, but he wasn’t. He only felt something he couldn’t quite name, something heavy and quiet, like regret.

After a while, he inclined his head in silent acknowledgment, though she was too far away to see it, and turned away, padding back toward the Temple.

Behind him, Vela exhaled a trembling breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The warmth of the setting sun still burned on her skin, but the cold in her chest would take much longer to fade.

Before he could speak again, the young woman who had been talking to Vela earlier darted up in front of him, smiling brightly. She was talking quickly, her words tumbling out in excitement, but he barely heard her. His gaze drifted past her, searching the crowd for the winged girl who had fled, but she was long gone.

With a slow exhale, Tenzin tore his eyes away and nodded absently at whatever the young recruit had said. The day’s heat had begun to fade, but the weight in his chest did not.

He’d only meant to be kind.