They made their way into the indoor training arena. It was fully cloaked and safe. Ashbane was a threat they refused to underestimate.
Fin and Jax hadn't told Nova yet about the Auric Moonspire or mission retrieving it. They weren't sure if that was the only thing tethering her to Ashbane and if her mind was still compromised.
Nova sensed there was something that happened, but didn't ask.
Rex was already in the arena, rolling his shoulders loose. The moment they entered, his stance faltered for half a breath, his gaze locking on Nova. The suit clung to her with merciless precision, every line shaped to her impossibly slender frame. Against the dark fabric, her hair gleamed like a blade catching light.
Her green eyes swept over the arena with that calm, assessing glint. She looked stunning, infuriatingly so, the kind of beautiful that was sharp enough to cut. And seeing her dressed in Redmoon colors, wearing the mark of his house like she had been carved for it, twisted something deep in his chest.
She was meant to stand here with him, meant to belong in this place at his side, and the sight of it hit him with a force no opponent ever had.
He grinned wide, not letting his composure falter.
"You three are looking better. Yesterday I honestly wasn't sure if I should heal you or bury you."
Jax snorted. Fin rolled his eyes. Nova actually laughed—light, quick, almost surprised by itself—before her hand drifted unconsciously to her ribs, where the puncture had been.
Rex's eyes softened briefly at the sound of her laugh, but he didn't call attention to it. Instead he gestured them forward with a tilt of his chin, all business now.
"Come. We start with assessment," he said.
There were a handful of warriors down in the arena as well—Rex had pulled them for support. All were seasoned and watching with interest.
Nova's wolf murmured in her mind.
Seraphine:No pressure, Nova. Only three Alphas watching us if we count Jax. Plus a charming audience of foreign soldiers. Lovely.
Nova grinned and had to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid laughing.
Nova:If I hear one more person say I can't fight, I'm going to scream.
Seraphine:We've read about that style of fighting. Not everyone is a cave man with a club, swinging at shadows like they're auditioning for village idiot.
Nova choked on a laugh.
Rex caught the expression immediately and narrowed his eyes in amusement.
"Why are you grinning right now, Nova?" he asked, matching her smile with one of his own.
Before Nova could answer, Seraphine spoke in her mind.
Seraphine: Because I am going to kick your ass and whoever else we go against.
Nova's eyes flickered—silver flashing, then gold—before she wrestled her wolf back down. She blinked hard, steadying herself.
"My wolf is… excited," Nova said, attempting composure.
Rex stared at her for a heartbeat, his expression shifting—curiosity, calculation, something sharper.
He recalled she mentioned speaking with her wolf before, but she said it indirectly, so he wasn't certain if she could.
"Mm," he said, eyes narrowing in interest. "I gathered as much."
Rex tossed her a sword. The weight landed neatly in her palm, though Nova adjusted her grip twice—reflexive, precise, instinctive.
"Have you killed anyone by blade before?" Rex asked.
Nova shook her head once.
"Have you trained by blade before?" Rex asked.
"A few times with blades. But we used sparring sticks everyday." Nova said. She didn't want to say she'd read about it, because she knew how silly that would sound. But in truth, she'd read about it quite a bit and felt ready.
Rex kept his expression neutral, however, that was far less than he hoped she'd trained for.
"Very well," he said. "We'll start with one opponent. I need to see your level."
A warrior stepped forward—broad-shouldered, confident, clearly one of Rex's well-trained men.
"Beginner level," Rex ordered.
The warrior nodded, assuming this would be easy. Rex crossed his arms, relaxed, expecting a slow evaluation.
He got the opposite.
The moment the warrior stepped in, Nova didn't move—she waited, measuring him in a blink. He swung, predictable and heavy. She sidestepped by a finger's breadth, twisted her wrist, and slapped his sword arm away with the flat of her blade.
Before the man even processed that, she stepped inside his guard, knocked his knee out just enough to break stance, hooked his wrist, and stripped the sword clean from his hand.
Five seconds. Barely that.
The warrior hit the ground with a grunt, disarmed and staring up at her like he'd been attacked by a ghost.
Rex's arms dropped from being crossed.
"Go again. Assume she is Advanced level."
The warrior swallowed, picked up his sword, and reset his stance—much tighter this time. Less arrogance. More caution.
He lunged first, faster than before.
Nova didn't retreat.
She stepped into his strike. Her blade met his with a sharp clang, sliding along his steel in a controlled glide that knocked his angle off. He tried to twist away, but she pivoted, shoulder dropping, foot sweeping behind his ankle.
He stumbled.
She didn't let him recover.
Her elbow clipped his forearm, her wrist hooked under his hilt, and she ripped the weapon from his hand with practiced efficiency. It skidded across the floor.
Eight seconds. Clean. Precise. Not luck.
Rex gestured.
"He's been the aggressor twice. You be the aggressor this time."
Nova nodded, adjusting her grip.
As soon as Rex said, "Begin," she stepped in.
She opened with a quick strike to test his guard — nothing forceful, just enough to make him react. He lifted to block, and Nova slipped under the angle of his blade, pivoting around the outside of his arm.
A small shift of her foot behind his heel disrupted his stance — subtle, almost gentle, but effective.
Before he could recover, she rotated her wrist, catching the inside edge of his blade and applying a simple pressure turn — the kind of maneuver used to disarm trainees, not seasoned warriors.
But it worked.
His sword left his hand so fast he blinked at the empty space where it had been.
Nova stepped back immediately, lowering her blade with the automatic politeness of someone finishing a drill rather than winning a bout.
"Apologies," she murmured, concerned she'd hurt him.
The warrior flushed, scrambling for his weapon.
Rex nodded once, motioning for two new warriors to step forward.
Both seasoned. Both confident. Both clearly used to training entire battalions.
"Advanced level." Rex instructed.
They nodded in unison.
It had been less than five minutes, yet he'd already assessed her as advanced — untrained in certain offensive patterns, yes, but frighteningly quick. She corrected things before he even voiced the note. As if she could feel him… or more likely, some instinct she hadn't yet consciously tapped into.
Rex stepped closer.
"When facing more than one opponent, the key is simple," he said.
"Control the angles. Never give both a clean line to strike. Turn one into a shield against the other. Force them to get in each other's way."
Nova nodded, absorbing it instantly.
Fin had to admit, their training was unmatched. Everything he'd seen in Redmoon impressed him. It gave him ideas on how to improve Shadowclaw that he would be enacting.
The match began.
Both warriors advanced at once — one circling to her left, the other stepping in fast from her right. Nova shifted, a quiet half-step that angled her body just enough to deny them a clean two-on-one approach.
The warrior on her right struck first.
Nova met his blade, not with force, but with a redirect — a calm, efficient deflection that sent his momentum past her. Before he could recover his footing, she pivoted behind him, placing him directly between herself and the second warrior.
The second tried to adjust, but his strike nearly clipped his own partner.
Nova used that moment — a fraction of hesitation — and slid to the side. She snatched the first warrior's wrist and flicked his blade free with the same effortless turn she'd used earlier.
One down.
The second lunged in frustration. She ducked under the swing, let his forward drive carry him past, and the moment his balance tipped, she swept the inside of his knee lightly with her foot. Not enough to injure — just enough to topple.
His blade clattered across the floor before he even processed the fall.
Nova stepped back, not having broken a sweat and lowered her sword with quiet respect toward both men.
Rex stared. That was good. Not what he was expecting.
"Moving forward," Rex said, voice crisp, "you are the aggressor every round. You move first."
Nova nodded once, drawing in a breath.
The tension in her shifted and Rex felt it immediately through the matebond.
This was the opposite of everything her instincts leaned toward.
He stepped aside and motioned forward five warriors.
Not inexperienced ones.
Not lightly trained ones.
Five advanced soldiers — the type who could take on full squads and win.
Rex faced them.
"Master Level."
All five nodded.
Nova inhaled again.
She launched forward with a speed none of them expected, cutting the distance before the front two could even raise their blades. She struck the first man's weapon at the exact hinge-point of his grip — disarming him with a single snap-turn of her wrist. Before his blade hit the floor, she pivoted and slammed her hilt into his chest, sending him stumbling backward into one of the others.
Two down in a breath.
She turned on the third, attacking in a blur of precise forward strikes. She kicked his knee from the side, forcing his guard open, and ripped his sword clean from his hand before he hit the mat.
The fourth charged, but she was already moving again. Nova sidestepped hard, hooked her arm around his, and used his own momentum to flip him onto his back. His sword skittered across the floor beside the others.
The fifth made the mistake of hesitating.
She didn't.
Nova crossed the space between them, drove her blade down his line of defense, and slapped his sword clean out of his grip with a forceful, confident strike. It clattered away, and she tapped her blade gently to his chest.
Thirty seconds.
Five warriors disarmed.
All of them staring at her with wide eyes.
Nova wasn't even breathing hard. She lowered her sword.
Rex blinked once. Twice.
"Why am I not surprised…" Rex muttered under his breath, mostly to himself.
He lifted a hand.
Twelve warriors stepped onto the floor, spacing themselves in a loose circle. This time the upper ranks. The veterans. The ones who trained commanders.
"When you have attackers coming from all sides," Rex said, his voice carrying across the arena, "you never let them surround you. You break the circle before it forms. Pick the closest threat, hit fast, and use that body as a barrier between you and the next attacker. Create a lane. A funnel. Force them into single-file whether they like it or not."
Nova listened intently. She had never fought more than two opponents at once with Professor Draven—and she had never been the aggressor. Defense had been her survival. This was new.
But she absorbed every word.
Then she looked at the twelve soldiers, assessing them in seconds. A dominant leg here, a weak shoulder there, a delayed stance shift on another. Subtle tells most people would miss.
"Master Level. Lethal-Form Simulation." Rex announced.
The room went silent.
She didn't wait for them to come to her. She moved, blade low, feet silent on the ground. The closest attacker barely had time to register before she slid inside his guard, struck his wrist, and tore the sword from his hand. She shoved him back into the next warrior, using his body as a shield exactly as Rex had instructed.
Two down in three seconds.
She pivoted sharply, stepping past them, turning the circle into a broken line. She saw another attacker coming in from the left—bigger, stronger, confident in his reach. She ducked under his swing, clipped his knee with a precise strike, and ripped the weapon from his stunned grip. He crumpled; she didn't even look back.
Five seconds.
Another came at her head-on. She feinted right, then used the momentum of her pullback to slam her elbow into his sternum. His breath whooshed out—weapon gone.
Eight seconds.
She worked smart. Efficient. No wasted motion. She kept moving, forcing the twelve into a bottleneck. Letting their size and speed work against them. Every time a blade swung, she redirected it into another attacker, creating chaos they couldn't recover from.
By thirty seconds, she had dropped or disarmed seven.
Then—mid-step—it hit her.
She could run faster.
Alpha-speed.
It was a realization that didn't come as thought, but instinct—her wolf pressing forward.
Seraphine muttered in her mind.
Seraphine: Finally.
Nova inhaled—then blurred.
She vanished from the warrior's sight and reappeared behind him, ripping the sword from his grip before he even registered she'd moved. She launched forward again, a streak of silver and shadow, disarming three more in the space of a breath.
The last two didn't even understand what was happening.
She was everywhere at once—blade tapping wrists, knocking weapons aside, sweeping feet. She ended behind the last warrior, toe hooking his ankle as she pulled the sword neatly from his fingers like taking a toy from a child.
He hit the ground with a thud.
Silence.
Nova stood in the center of the arena surrounded by twelve disarmed men.
Forty-one seconds.
Rex exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, staring at her like she had rewritten every assumption he'd made about her.
The soldiers gaped.
Fin and Jax exchanged a look, both fighting the urge to grin.
A warrior on the field seemed to be mindlinking Rex.
"It would appear," Rex said, laughing under his breath, "that the ancestors who lectured us yesterday have absolutely no idea who they're dealing with."