My match went smoothly, and my opponent seemed stunned before he began kicking and screaming, clearly upset to have been knocked out of the tournament so early. He was forced out of the arena by the attendants, screaming and glaring at me as if I had personally done him wrong by winning. As soon as I won, I was handed a bedroll and a change of clothes before being led to a small barracks by another attendant. Glancing around the small room, I saw that it was meant to be shared by three people, and I quickly claimed one of the beds next to the wall. Given the odd number of winners and the losers being sent home, I could only hope I would have the space to myself.

  I prepared my bed, considering the idea of going back to watch the rest of the rounds, but I decided against it. There was nothing for me to gain from watching the other six rounds and I had no interest in gawking or gossip. Instead, I called out to one of the attendants and asked for them to get my axe from Caspian. They at first looked at if they wanted to refuse, but eventually agreed, disappearing back down the halls to return with the weapon. I knew Caspian was waiting for me to ask for it since we were allowed to use our own weapons, and I had shattered the axe I used in the round.

  It was no longer the training axe my family had sent me, but a proper Dririan axe, with a wide, crescent-shaped blade, the edge glinting faintly under the sunlight. Its haft was long and wrapped in dark blue leather, reinforced with silver studs to keep the grip solid even in the rain or blood. A gift from Cyldri and my mother, and I took it without thanking the attendant.

  As soon as they were out of sight, I stopped holding the axe with two hands, testing its weight in my left hand. Caspian had finally taught me how to wield the training axe one-handed, and while this one was heavier, the shape and balance was similar. I did a slow overhead swing, then a sweeping arc, letting the weight carry through the motion as I moved through the forms Caspian drilled into me. I adjusted my grip slightly, anchoring my stance as I transitioned into the next movement, sharp and deliberate. I could hear the sounds of the entrance tournament over the barrack walls as I practiced, the clang of steel on steel rising and falling like distant thunder.

  My Dririan axe moved like it had always been mine, the curved blade carving invisible arcs as I struck low, then high, then low again. Caspian’s voice echoed in my mind, but not with words, with presence as if he was still standing over me. The way he watched me, corrected me, gave his few words of praise; in a place where I couldn’t eavesdrop, practicing was better than wasting time. I finished the last form, exhaling slowly as I brought the axe to rest against my shoulder.

  “That was impressive.”

  I quickly turned, glancing to see Zivi standing with the attendant. He had a similar bundle to the one I had been given, and there was a slight look of amusement on his face. The attendant bowed and left us alone, as I turned to face the future Sovereign. He bowed his head, a small, respectful motion before walking past me to enter the barrack. I waited until he stepped inside to look away, gazing at the sky to try and determine the time. It didn’t seem that late, so I resumed my stance, forcing myself to hold it with two hands.

  “You don’t have to pretend for me,” Zivi’s voice made me pause again, his tone light but not mocking. “I saw how you held it earlier. One-handed. That’s not easy to do with a Dririan axe.”

  I didn’t answer, but I shifted back into position and completed the form again, slower this time, letting the movement speak for itself. Zivi didn’t interrupt, but I could feel his gaze tracking me as I went through all the forms again, this time using the proper two-hand versions. When I finished, I rested the axe head against the ground and leaned on it slightly, glancing back over my shoulder.

  “I’m not pretending,” I said finally, doing my best to keep my voice neutral. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, but there was no need to make him dislike me. “I’m practicing. Being able to do it one-handed means nothing if my form is bad.”

  Zivi let out a short hum of agreement, and I noticed he made no effort to return to the barracks. He simply leaned in the doorway, as if he intended to continue watching me practice.

  “You’re not watching the rest of the fights?”

  “No. None of the people I came with are fighting today, and I’m not interested in cheering for strangers,” Zivi shrugged, and I nodded slightly. At least he wasn’t pretending to care or be friendly with strangers, so it was clear to see he was only interested in me because he found my form impressive. He stepped out of the doorway after a moment, and the sunlight caught in his hair, causing me to notice the subtle silver sheen to his hair. Considering he had been with the other sea folk, I had my suspicions, but the gleam confirmed it.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  “You’re sea folk.”

  “I am,” Zivi confirmed, grinning widely at me and I saw his sharpened teeth. A predator then. “My mother was a shark.”

  “So?” I picked up my axe, settling into another form Caspian had taught me. This one was meant to be held, and made it perfect for talking. Zivi had made it clear he wasn’t going to leave me alone, so I exhaled, grounding myself through the weight of the axe. “Does that mean something?”

  “Not particularly. It just affects what my form looks like when I shift. Our parent’s species is how we differentiate from one another, otherwise we’re all just sea folk.” Zivi chuckled, his voice cheerful but measured. It was as if he was trying to be friendly, but he wasn’t quite sure how much charm was too much. “Even to people in Aehorus, most just see us as all the same.”

  “So sea folk aren’t considered equal?”

  “No we are. Maybe even more than equal, but it doesn’t change that we are different.” Zivi’s voice remained light and I glanced at him as he sat down on the ground near me. “If you were non-human, you wouldn’t want someone to consider you the same as everyone else, would you? To be defined by the majority instead of who you are?”

  I hummed as I considered Zivi’s words. Draconids were practically indistinguishable from humans and dragons could only be felt by other magical beasts, but it wasn’t the same as for a more public species like sea-folk. They wore their otherworldly-ness in ways they couldn’t hide; as soon as they were born, they were sea-folk and I didn’t doubt that to some, that was more important than anything else. Would I have cared if everyone knew I was a Draconid, a dragon in the making? Would I have wanted to be considered the same as Caspian or Cyldri?

  “No, I wouldn’t,” I finally answered, noticing how Zivi chuckled.

  “I didn’t expect you to take the question so seriously.”

  “Then why ask the question?”

  “You’re interesting. You are clearly powerful and focused, but you are also like a fortress, impossible to read,” Zivi admitted, his voice quieting just a little, the usual brightness giving way to something more thoughtful. “I was curious to see if I could understand the walls a bit.”

  “You don’t know who I am?” I finally released the stance, looking at Zivi properly for the first time. He shook his head, the curls bouncing as he stood, and I realized I was a little taller than him.

  “How could I? All I know is that you’re not a sea folk and given the way you talk, you aren’t from Aehorus, but you have seen a sea folk before,” he offered, and I nodded once, though I didn’t say more. Zivi tilted his head, watching me, and I could tell the silence didn’t bother him—it just made him more curious.

  “I’m from Naera,” I finally answered, and I watched as Zivi’s expression dropped. It wasn’t quite disappointment, but more like… worry. Concern. “I know Princess Tritetia.”

  “Ah… you’re the prince everyone was talking about,” Zivi answered slowly, and I nodded, curious to know why his tone and expression had changed. “You… are quite different from what I expected.”

  I raised an eyebrow, shifting the axe to rest across my shoulders. “What did you expect?”

  “Someone colder. Arrogant, maybe,” Zivi said without hesitation. “The way everyone talks about Naeran nobles, it sounds like all of you walk around with your noses in the clouds, thinking the rest of us are just animals.”

  At that I laughed, unable to stop myself. The sound cracked out of me before I could smother it, dry and sharp and humorless. Zivi blinked, clearly surprised, but I didn’t apologize, finally balancing the axe in one hand again as I faced him.

  “Weren’t you just talking about not making assumptions based on what someone is?” I chuckled, struggling to get my laughter under control. Zivi simply stared at me, as if he had never considered them the same thing. “I don’t doubt there are people who feel that way. After all, every nation has its zealots, but Naera is just a place, like anywhere else.”

  Zivi let out a nervous chuckle, glancing away from me as he seemed to find the pebbles around our feet interesting. Before he could respond, I heard the sound of voices approaching from the hallway and knew the rounds for the day were likely over or close to ending. I walked past Zivi to return inside the barracks, noticing he had taken the bed on the opposite wall, leaving the middle empty. I carefully leaned the axe against the wall, sitting down as Zivi followed.

  “My name is Zivi.”

  “Cyran.” I responded dryly, appreciating that he didn’t give a performative apology. It was clear I had shaken him a bit, but apologizing just to apologize was pointless and he must have picked up that I didn’t care for one. Instead he sat across from me on his bed, offering me a smile as he nodded.

  “I look forward to attending Roxarry with you, Cyran,” With that, Zivi laid down in his bed, ignoring the voices of the other winners as they were shown to their own barracks. I stared at him a little longer before laying down myself, staring at the ceiling as I listened. Most of them were boasting, proud and riled up from the combat, and I could hear them comparing matchups, bragging about bruises like they were medals. After a while, I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath as I rested to prepare for my next match.