DRAGONA

Aurelia

After our match, Instructor Galen gave only a curt nod.

"Your form is solid, Aric. But you hold back a lot. Stop compensating for her, or she'll never learn. I put you two together because I know you'll help each other out.

Miss Ferguson, I need you to hit on time. Hit fast. Don't hesitate, or you'll never land a clean strike. Kudos for the point today. You did great."

I blinked. I hadn't even realized I was hesitating. I thought I was fast, but apparently, I was slow in this aspect.

Galen moved on, already calling another pair forward. Aric and I stepped aside.

"He always knows," I muttered.

"He always sees," Aric replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I swear he's got a third eye under that tattoo."

I yanked the mask off, pushing damp curls away from my forehead. The cool air hit my face, but it didn't make me feel any lighter. My breathing was still ragged, my arms still thrumming from the strain of holding the foil steady.

Aric stood a few paces away, mask under his arm, his expression as neutral as always. But I saw the flicker of satisfaction he tried to hide.

He'd won. Again.

I tried not to let it sting.

"Good match," I said, because it was.

He inclined his head, playful. "You almost had me."

I almost laughed. I hadn't almost had him, not really. I'd scored a single point, and the rest of the match had been a dance I couldn't quite master.

It was ridiculous. I could call down fire hot enough to melt steel. But put Aric and me in fencing suits, and he would beat me. Every single time.

Fencing is one of the few sports where we follow the normal rules. No supernatural powers allowed. And even though manifesting gave me strength most people couldn't match, Aric was still someone I couldn't beat.

Fencing was a part of him the way fire was a part of me.

Sometimes, I think about the fact that once he manifests, I definitely won't be number one anymore. I hate the thought of him being my rival, but I can't stop thinking about it.

I looked down at my gloves, flexing my fingers. A tiny ember of jealousy curled low in my stomach. Not enough to burn, but enough to stir the fire in me.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Across the room, Callum stood in front of a basin, concentrating hard. He made shapes out of the water. A tiger, a large insect, a lion. He made the lion open its mouth to roar, and that was when the water trembled and dropped. When it collapsed with a splash, he groaned and wiped his face.

A few feet away, Mira practiced alone, flames wreathing her in a faint blue halo. She moved slowly, deliberately, as though dancing with the fire itself. I feel connected to her in a way, but we've never exchanged more than casual pleasantries.

Damon was hunched over a chunk of stone, one hand pressed flat against it. A crack spread under his palm, but not much more. He looked frustrated, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.

Everyone was pushing themselves harder lately.

The Trials were getting closer.

And none of us wanted to be left behind.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

Out on the grass, Elira was practicing with her clones. Three of her moved in perfect unison, blades flashing as they circled a training dummy. Even from here, she looked effortlessly precise, like she'd never once doubted herself. Like she was already picturing her name on the victor's pedestal.

A gust of wind tugged at my hair, carrying the hush of a dozen watching students. I could feel them all, eyes on my back, on my hands, on the scorched targets I'd left behind.

Aurelia Ferguson, they whispered. The prodigy. The heir. The dragon-blooded girl who's supposed to bring glory to the line.

My mouth felt dry.

What if I wasn't enough?

What if, despite everything, despite all my power and all the nights I'd spent training until my body shook, Elira won? What if Aric did?

The thought shouldn't have scared me. They were my family. Aric, at least, and it would still be a victory for our house. But the idea of standing in second place, of watching someone else's triumph, made something cold press against my ribs.

Aric stepped closer, close enough that our shoulders almost touched.

"You're overthinking again," he said, almost teasing.

I didn't answer.

Because he was right.

And because I didn't know how to stop.

Instructor Galen called for the next match, and we moved to clear the strip. As I slipped my glove off, my gaze drifted back to Elira. She caught my eye just as she sent one of her clones lunging at the target, blade aimed perfectly for the heart.

I held her stare for a beat too long before I looked away.

I could pretend I wasn't worried.

I could pretend it didn't matter who came out on top.

But even perfect girls were allowed to be afraid of losing.

And even fire could feel cold when it was locked up inside you.