Raynor Velcroft sat atop the academy's secluded rooftop, away from the crowded halls and the suffocating weight of speculation. His encounter with Elana and Cassin lingered in his mind longer than he liked. He had expected Cassin's hostility—he had earned it, after all—but Elana's curiosity unsettled him. People like her, genuine and kind, had no business involving themselves with someone like him.
The Survival System's notification about building rapport with Elana remained in his interface, untouched. He had no intention of entertaining it, but a nagging thought whispered in his mind: connections were valuable, even ones he didn't want.
As he mulled over his options, the academy bell rang, signaling the start of evening training sessions. Raynor sighed. Avoiding others had been his primary strategy, but after the Veil intrusion, skipping combat practice would only make him more suspicious. If he wanted to stay beneath notice, he needed to blend in just enough.
The training grounds were alive with the sounds of sparring. Students clashed with wooden weapons, instructors barked corrections, and the tension of competition crackled in the air. Raynor kept to the outskirts, selecting a basic training dummy to practice his footwork and control over his abilities.
"Didn't expect to see you here," a familiar voice remarked.
Raynor turned to find Lira Ashford approaching, a wooden training sword in hand. Her gaze was sharp, though not unkind. "You've been avoiding these sessions for a while. Finally decided to start taking things seriously?"
"I have my reasons," Raynor replied coolly, resuming his stance.
Lira studied him for a moment before smirking. "Spar with me."
He arched a brow. "Why?"
"Because," she said, twirling her weapon with practiced ease, "I'm curious if you've improved."
Raynor debated refusing, but denying her outright would only draw more attention. With a sigh, he grabbed a wooden sword from the rack. "Fine."
The duel started slow, both testing each other's movements. Lira was fast and precise, her strikes honed from years of formal training. Raynor, on the other hand, relied on instinct and adaptive footwork, avoiding her attacks rather than blocking them outright.
"You're slippery," Lira noted, adjusting her stance. "You dodge more than you strike."
Raynor's eyes flickered. He wasn't about to reveal that most of his experience came from real survival, not structured training. Instead, he merely said, "Striking isn't always necessary."
Lira's smirk widened. "Then let's change that."
She lunged, forcing Raynor to parry. The clash of wood echoed across the training grounds. His hands tingled from the force of her blows, and it became evident that holding back against her would only lead to his loss.
He adjusted his grip, shifting his stance. When Lira struck again, he sidestepped, redirecting her momentum just enough to throw her off balance. Capitalizing on the opening, he moved forward, stopping his sword inches from her exposed flank.
A moment of silence passed before Lira chuckled. "Not bad."
Raynor exhaled, lowering his weapon. "Satisfied?"
"For now," she admitted. "But next time, I won't let you get the upper hand so easily."
As she walked away, Raynor felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—pride, perhaps. He had spent so much time avoiding conflict that he had almost forgotten the satisfaction of standing his ground. Maybe, just maybe, blending in didn't have to mean staying weak.
As he turned to leave, another System notification appeared.
System Notification: Skill Progression Unlocked: Adaptive Combat Instincts (Rank I).
Raynor smirked. If trouble insisted on finding him, he might as well be ready for it.