A ripple of stifled snickers ran through the trainees.
Zaeryn didn't flinch. Instead, a slow, challenging smirk spread across his face as his gaze drifted from the sea of curious and hostile faces to the instructor.
He met Zelda's gaze head-on, his voice carried just enough to be heard over the dying laughter.
"Crying? I try to reserve my tears for truly tragic events, Instructor. Like running out of synth-coffee."
The faintest flicker of amusement sparked in Zelda's steel-colored eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared. "Confidence," she noted, her tone dangerously neutral. "A rare trait in your gender. We'll see if it's earned." She gave a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment of his nerve.
"I am Zelda. And I'll be your teacher in this class. In this chamber, your feelings, your titles, and your gender are irrelevant. All that matters is whether you can fight. If you can't, you're just a target."
