A quiet, exhausted sigh slipped past Aristellus's lips, lost beneath the low murmurs of the gathered spectators. His fingers flexed around the wooden blade, shifting his grip absentmindedly—tight, loose, firm, relaxed—until finally settling into something comfortable. His pulse thrummed beneath his skin, not from fear, but from something far more intoxicating.
Anticipation.
His violet gaze flicked toward the railing, where Gaia lounged lazily, tail flicking idly behind her. She wore a knowing grin, watching him like a predator amused by its prey.
Beside her, Solaine stood stiffly, arms crossed, golden eyes burning with something unreadable. Aristellus met his gaze for only a moment before the older boy scoffed, turning away—toward the opposite side of the training grounds.
Toward her.
Lunaris.