Shaya took in a deep breath, dismissing her concerns and calming her rage. If even her close friends didn’t bet on her in the duel, there’s nothing she could do to change their minds except prove them wrong. And that would take far more than what she had learned at the Academy.

She focused on how much Bri clearly cared for her and her safety, and why those were the main reasons she hoped Shaya could get out of Azreon’s duel due to her injuries in the last deployment.

“Maybe,” Shaya said, “I need to be at my best for that duel regardless of when it happens though, but I doubt Azreon will let me push it back any further.”

“Why not just surrender and skip it?” Apricot asked.

“It’s a good question,” Shaya replied, “I think... the answer is complicated. But, I can’t let him get away with what he’s done to me – and others here. To me, the duel is more than just a grudge match between two people... it’s a way for me to finally punish that bastard in a way the system refuses to.

“The problem being... well, winning by a hair’s breadth isn’t going to do it. That’ll just encourage him to keep at it.” Shaya made a fist with her less injured hand, “I need to crush him utterly so his defeat is a symbol to others. And given the apparent distance between our power levels, that’s going to be difficult. I think I’m better than him martially and even magically on the battlefield, but not in a dueling arena with simple objectives.”

“Hey,” Bri said, reaching over to squeeze her hand, “If this is what you want to accomplish, I’m sure you’ll be able to do it. You’ve trained hard with Oraeus on dueling, your exercises have sky rocketed since we hit the gym, and your magic is really coming into its own.”

“That’s right,” Apricot added with an exuberant nod.

Samorn added no words of encouragement, focusing on her studies again. Shaya could tell she remained uneasy about the duel, remembering how much she had feared – or at least resented – Azreon in previous discussions.

They all settled back in to their respective books, but Shaya kept glancing over at Apricot’s notebook. One of her memories kept tugging at her, pulling her back to Apricot’s notes on nephilim lineages.

“Hey Apricot,” Shaya said, deciding to confront her wandering mind since it wouldn’t let her focus on game theory, “can I see your notebook for a minute?”

“Sure,” she replied, sliding it over to Shaya.

There was a wave of déjà vu as Shaya took the book and spun it towards herself, looking down at the lineages Apricot had outlined, their histories, personalities, and those she believed were descended from the gods based on physical appearances. She flipped through the pages to sate her curiousity, wondering why she had cared so much about looking at it, but then paused as she came to the page on Astoria and her descendants.

Something about the descendants of each god Apricot listed made her mind itch. The names of their nephilim peers at the Academy looked familiar to her for some reason. More than a few of those listed under Luceri the First Born – Azreon's progenitor – were also among his goons. But there more than a few of those who were descended from Zawn Swiftblade.

Shaya was studying her opponents for tomorrow’s exam, so her notebook outlining the traits and notable events of Azreon’s goons was close at hand. Shaya had even expanded it when she realized how useful information about her peers proved in working with – or against – them, including at least brief notes on many of them and people she’d interacted with. She flipped through her notebook as something continued to scratch at her mind.

While the pages flipped, something clicked into place.

She flipped back a page in Apricot’s notebook.

Zawn’s descendant’s stood out to her: Galo, Una, and possibly Bri.

She flipped through her notebook.

Galo: Single-minded, blunt, sadistic, rabidly loyal

Una: Driven, honest, blood thirsty, maybe crazy

She looked up at the top of Bri’s head. How would she describe her?

Driven, certainly. Honest and, if not blood thirsty or sadistic, then at least always ready for a fight. Certainly zealous.

Shaya flipped through both notebooks, expanding her search to others she thought may have the same progenitors. Given the Academy’s currently bias for descendants of Astoria, she had a respectable sample size of those she believed were descended from Luceri and Zawn, and the same personality traits kept coming up again and again. Even the words she used to describe them seemed to vary in strength that correlated with the strength of the person’s bloodline.

Luceri’s descendants: the current rulers, Azreon.

Azreon: Vain, arrogant, glory-seeking, demands respect for his title, believes himself invincible.

Shaya thought back to her brief interactions with Princess Theame.

She certainly thought herself invincible, but she was raised in a guarded environment. Thought her title could protect her... but she wasn’t particularly vain. Perhaps arrogant and glory-seeking, chasing down thieves by herself rather than allowing the watch – or even her guard – to handle it. And who knows what she’s become now that she’s older.

It’s not just Tarrak’s curse... Shaya wondered, do all nephilim inherit traits from their progenitor? Is it tied to how potent their bloodline is, just like Rea speculated regarding my blood rage?

Or am I just going crazy? There’s so many other variables to consider that I can’t be sure of eliminating...

“Shaya, are you alright?” Apricot asked, Bri raising her head the moment the words were said.

“Yeah,” Shaya sighed again, “just scratching an itch in my mind.”

“Anything you’d care to share?” Samorn asked, delicate eyebrow raised.

“No,” Shaya replied, restraining herself from shaking her head and tweaking her neck further that day, “Just a crazy theory, but I’ll share it if it amounts to anything.

“Thanks,” she continued, pushing Apricot’s notebook back to her, “you may have just given me an idea.”

“You’re welcome?” Apricot said, confused, taking her book back and closing it.

I might just win this duel after all.

“We should turn in for the night anyway, it’s getting late,” Samorn suggested, stretching her neck and wrists with the elegance of a crane.

“Good call,” Apricot said, standing and leaving her books on the table.

“I need to keep studying,” Bri said after a huge yawn and feline stretch. She remained seated and took over more of the table as others packed up their stuff, quirking an eyebrow at Apricot as the elf simply moved her items to one corner of the table, “Staying the night?”

“Yes, Oraeus should be back from his tutor’s any minute now, but said I could stay here if our study session ran late.”

“Good timing,” Shaya said, rising to her feet unsteadily. She kicked a sleeping foot into the ground as punishment for its betrayal, then continued, “It’s Samorn’s turn to make breakfast tomorrow.”

“Just as I planned,” Apricot grinned.

+++++

Dear Dad,

Thank you for everything you’ve done for Rel and I. I know I haven’t expressed

Shaya sighed, leaning back from the small writing desk in her room. Try as she might, referring to her adoptive father as ‘dad’ just felt wrong, no matter how much she wanted to express her adoration and respect for him. She knew he was a good man who went out of his way to take her and Rel in and treated them like they were his own children.

Her adoptive mother, when she lived, and her adoptive brother were the same. As much as she wanted to look at herself as a victim of life, she and Rel couldn’t have asked for a better adoptive family.

She was able to call Tarron ‘bro’ as easily as Rel, so why couldn’t she call Lumir ‘dad’? Writing to the others back in Kelahk was so much easier and she hated how much time each letter to Lumir took her, how wooden she sounded in them compared to letters to others.

With another frustrated breath, Shaya ran her fingers through her wet mane of hair, snarling as she tore at the tangles in it. Her body was still sore, the shower far from easy on her with her lasting injuries, and she had slept poorly to boot. She wanted to blame whatever company Ren kept last night, but she knew it was due in no small part to her anxiety.

No matter how ready she was for her exam, and no matter how well she had done up to that point, her imagination couldn’t help but run away with nightmare scenarios.

Wooden legs scraped as Shaya pushed the chair away from her desk and stood. The lack of progress was only making her frustration grow, so she decided to get ready for her day and return to the letter later. Fortunately, her physical exams were later in the week, so she only had to worry about grabbing quills and ink.

An ink well tipped over due to her injured, exhausted state and she cursed, watching money seep down the side of her desk. With slug-like reflexes she yanked her would-be letter from the desk and thanked fate all of her notebooks were already put away. She cleaned up what she could with a nearby rag and breathed deeply to restore some semblance of control to her rattled mind.

She slung her satchel over a shoulder delicately and left her room before she could cause any more damage, hearing the door to Ren’s room open as well. Eyes narrow with anger, she turned to berate Ren for being so inconsiderate and her jaw dropped as Una emerged, her svelte, scarred body only wrapped in a towel, sporting a cheshire grin on her face. Ren limped out after her similarly ‘clothed’, shoulders and tail slumped, skin covered in freshly healed... claw marks?

“You...” Shaya managed as her jaw snapped shut and her teeth grinded together.

“Oh,” Una said, grin widening, “Sorry, did we keep you up? Fox boy here-”

“No!” Shaya hissed, throwing up her hands defensively as her eyes narrowed on the woman that had cost her a good night’s sleep before the longest exam ever.

Her wit flailed for a response. A knock on the door interrupted her before she could deliver a line to destroy them, and she cocked an ear toward the stairs, curious as to who would be visiting them mid-morning at the start of exams.

“Parmenia, what a pleasant surprise,” Samorn’s lilting voice said with chill politeness that suggested no pleasantry, “Have you come to beg for my study notes for our exam today?”

“Your sense of humour never fails to amuse me, Samorn,” Parmenia replied with a voice that was smooth and powerful and a tone that was just as cool and polite as Samorn’s, “Is Ren around?”

“I believe he’s upstairs,” Samorn said, closing the front door, “I suspect you know which room is his already.”