Sweat clung to her temples, dampening loose strands of hair as her chest rose and fell in uneven bursts. The ceiling above loomed in familiar silence, wooden beams carved with faint engravings she had traced countless times before when sleep refused to come. Her eyes widened slowly, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the dormitory curtains. This was no chapel, no blazing nightmare. This was her room. Her bed. The air smelled faintly of parchment and lavender oil, the same blend she always kept on the shelf.
Her throat worked, but no words left her lips. She pulled in a sharp breath, trying to steady it, but the pulse racing through her veins refused to calm.
Beside her, the mattress dipped ever so slightly under the weight of another presence. A voice, low and careful, broke the silence.
"Yuxin… did you have a nightmare?"
She turned her head. Blanche sat close, her posture both proper and uncertain, golden hair cascading like a curtain of light against the darker tones of the room. Her eyes, usually composed, now softened with concern. The careful lines of her expression betrayed a confusion she tried to hide, as though caught between giving comfort and fearing she might say the wrong thing.
Yuxin pushed herself upright, slow and mechanical, her breath still jagged in her chest. She didn't answer. Her mind rattled with echoes—flames, blood, those eyes gone lifeless—and she repeated to herself in silence, again and again, it was just a dream… just a dream… just a dream.
Her lips pressed tightly together as she drew her knees closer, grounding herself in the weight of her own body. Then, with a quiet exhale, she turned toward Blanche, her voice scratchy, almost hoarse.
"I'm fine."
Blanche's brows furrowed. "You don't look fine."
"I said I'm fine. You don't need to worry."
The words were sharper than intended, but Yuxin let them fall like a shield. She glanced aside, eyes narrowing with the faintest irritation—not at Blanche, but at her own weakness made visible.
"What are you even doing in my room?"
Blanche blinked once, caught off guard, then tilted her head slightly.
"You don't remember? Today we have training. With the others. You overslept, Yuxin. I came to check on you."
The realization struck with a dull weight. She hadn't even thought of the time. Of course she would be late. Of course Blanche, of all people, would be the one to notice.
Yuxin groaned under her breath, dragging one hand across her face.
"Ugh… great. Just perfect. And next time, don't just walk into someone's room like you own the place. Some of us actually value our privacy."
Blanche's lips twitched faintly, as if deciding whether to smile at the complaint or scold her for her stubbornness. In the end, she only shook her head, voice calm as ever.
"I'll keep that in mind. But you should hurry. They'll already be waiting."
Yuxin swung her legs over the side of the bed, planting her feet firmly against the cool wooden floor. The trembling in her chest still lingered, faint but stubborn, like an aftershock refusing to fade. She didn't let it show. Pulling herself to her feet, she muttered with irritation more at herself than anyone else.
"Fine, fine. Let's just get this over with."
She began gathering her uniform, movements brisk, her back turned to Blanche. For all her words of dismissal, she couldn't ignore the way Blanche's gaze lingered—watchful, patient, unwilling to leave her alone just yet.
The dormitory hallways stretched long and quiet, lit by pale morning light spilling through tall windows. Their footsteps echoed softly against the polished stone, one pair brisk and purposeful, the other slower, dragging just slightly as though every step weighed too much. Blanche walked ahead with her usual composure, her voice carrying easily in the stillness as she spoke about formations, tactics, and how best to balance defense with offense for the group's upcoming training.
But behind her, Yuxin barely listened. Her head tilted forward, gaze low, the fall of her dark hair hiding most of her face. Her body moved on instinct, following Blanche's lead, but her mind lingered far from these corridors. The whispers of last night's vision still clung like smoke she couldn't breathe out—firelight, screams, and the hollow emptiness in those eyes. Every time she tried to push it away, it returned sharper, a thorn lodged deep in memory. She hated it. Hated how it made her chest tighten. Hated how remembering felt like weakness.
Blanche's words slowed, her steps hesitating as she glanced over her shoulder. The sight of Yuxin—normally sharp, her presence cutting through silence like a blade—walking with her head bowed and expression unreadable was enough to stir unease.
"Yuxin?" her voice softened, a hint of worry threading through her usual calm. "Are you… is everything all right?"
The name snapped her back, just slightly. Yuxin blinked and straightened, as though shaken awake from a fog.
"Yeah," she muttered quickly, tone flat. "I'm fine."
Blanche studied her in silence for a moment, her brows pulling together with quiet doubt. She didn't press, but her voice lowered even more, carrying that gentle insistence she often used when speaking truths she thought others refused to admit.
"You know… sometimes it's better to tell your friends when something's troubling you." She looked forward again, hands folded lightly in front of her. "I assume it was the nightmare. It seemed to… unsettle you more than you wanted me to see."
Yuxin's shoulders tensed. She let out a slow breath, forcing her words out as if each one cost her.
"No. It's nothing like that. I'm just… tired. That's all. Still sluggish from waking up late."
Blanche's lips curved faintly, the closest thing to a smile she allowed when trying to ease tension.
"Oh? So the great Yuxin can actually feel sluggish? Who would've thought. I've never once heard you complain about fatigue."
Yuxin stopped hiding behind silence. With a sudden burst of energy, she strode forward past Blanche, her expression tight but her voice sharp with mocking bite.
"ha..ha…keep talking like that and I'll kill you."
The words hung heavy in the air, so sharp they almost felt real. Blanche halted, taken aback. Her eyes widened, and for a second she was caught between knowing it was meant in jest and feeling the weight of Yuxin's natural edge making it sound like anything but.
"…That wasn't funny," Blanche said finally, her voice quiet, unsettled.
"Not when it comes from you."
Yuxin didn't turn back. Her strides carried her ahead, dark hair swaying, leaving Blanche in the hall behind her—half worried, half unsure if she should follow closer or let the silence speak for itself.
***
The heavy oak doors to the training hall of Asterblume swung open with a long creak, letting in the faint morning chill and the scent of polished wood. Inside, three figures already stood waiting: a slender elf with pale golden hair that shimmered faintly even in the dim light, a quiet girl clutching her ever-present plushie against her chest, and a taller young man leaning lazily against the wall with his katana balanced over his shoulder.
The first voice to break the stillness was soft but clear.
"Good morning, Yuxin," Ruka said, her tone a little hesitant, but carrying a genuine relief that her friend had finally arrived.
Before Yuxin could even acknowledge her, another voice slid in, smooth and teasing, dripping with the usual playfulness that seemed to follow it wherever it went.
"Well, well," Aria drawled with a grin, shifting the katana across his shoulders.
"The great Yuxin finally decides to grace us with her presence. Overslept, did you? I thought you were the kind of girl who liked keeping everyone waiting."
His words hung in the air with a flirtatious edge, designed more to provoke than to insult.
Yuxin didn't even glance at him. Her steps carried her past the group, silent and dismissive, until she dropped onto one of the benches lining the edge of the hall. Her body sank into the seat, one arm resting along the backrest, eyes half-lidded as though none of this concerned her.
Across the training floor, Vila folded her arms and said nothing, though her sharp gaze flicked between Yuxin and Aria with faint disapproval. Ruka, ever cautious, shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tightening on the plushie she held.
Aria only chuckled.
"Ah, that cold shoulder. Pierces sharper than steel every time."
But the attention soon moved away from her as Aria stepped forward, gathering the rest of them near the chalk-drawn diagrams laid across the floor. Lines sketched the outlines of positions, attack routes, and fallback maneuvers. He crouched, tracing them with a calloused finger as his voice took on a different tone—less mocking, more commanding, the kind of cadence that carried the weight of someone who had lived through more battles than victories.
"Listen. For the tournament, coordination will matter more than brute strength. I don't care how powerful your Astraga is, if you break formation, we lose. Simple as that."
Vila nodded, her expression unreadable, her eyes sharp and attentive. Ruka listened with quiet intensity, the plushie in her lap as though it too shared the lesson.
And Yuxin… she sat apart, watching them with a gaze that held no interest, no fire. The hall blurred slightly around the edges, her focus pulled inward to the clog of weight pressing against her chest.
Aether blockage… distortion…
The words haunted her, sharp as knives. Her connection to her Astraga—once sharp, precise, powerful—was now little more than a wound that bled every time she tried to use it. The moment she even thought of channeling, pain coiled like barbed wire through her veins. Worse still, the distortion snarled at the edges of her mind, twisting the bond until her Astraga's cries of agony echoed like shards in her skull. If she forced it, the thrashing grew violent, uncontrollable, turning its rage back on her.
She curled her fingers into her lap, knuckles white. To fight now would mean tearing herself apart from the inside out. And so, she remained on the bench, silent, eyes fixed on the chalk marks she couldn't step into.
The others leaned closer, their voices weaving strategies and counters, while Yuxin sat in the distance, a phantom at the edge of the team she once carried with unshakable certainty.
The sparring drew to its natural close, Aria lowering his blade with a faint smirk as Blanche exhaled, steady but clearly worn from the clash. Vila rolled her shoulders, golden strands clinging to her damp skin, while Ruka clutched her plushie to her chest, her breathing quick but controlled. The energy in the hall hung heavy, the sharp scent of sweat and raw aether still lingering in the air.
From her seat, Yuxin stood with a languid motion, stretching her arms overhead as if she'd merely been resting through a dull lecture. Her tone came flat, almost dismissive, as her eyes drifted toward the door.
"I'll be heading out. Just send me the analysis of the sparring later."
Blanche stepped forward, brows knitting. "Are you sure about that? It's not just analysis that matters. With you here, you've seen how we move—me, Vila, Ruka. Our timing, our flaws, our rhythm. That kind of knowledge can't just be passed along on paper."
Yuxin waved a hand lazily without even turning, her voice edged with that familiar blend of arrogance and weariness.
"I already remember all of it. Every movement. Every strike. Just send the written strategy to my room. I'll read it when I feel like it."
The room went silent for a beat, the statement so casual it bordered on absurd. Aria tilted his head, his eyes narrowing, lips curving into a doubtful grin.
"Wait—don't tell me you actually mean that. Nobody can recall an entire fight like that, down to the details. That's impossible."
But before he could say more, Yuxin cut him off, her gaze flicking briefly over her shoulder, eyes sharp enough to pin him in place.
"Since when have I ever joked?"
Her words cracked through the air like steel snapping against stone, no room for laughter, no hint of irony. For a moment, the hall seemed to still beneath the weight of her conviction.
Then, without waiting for an answer, she turned and strode toward the doors, her steps unhurried yet final, the dark fall of her hair trailing behind her. One hand lifted in a half-hearted wave, more a dismissal than a farewell.
The door closed with a muted thud, leaving the others in the training hall—Blanche's thoughtful silence, Vila's cool indifference, Ruka's faint frown, and Aria's smirk frozen somewhere between amusement and unease.