"Why do the men always have the honor to fight in war when women have the power to bring the army down to there knees"
A ruthless man is nothing but a man
A ruthless woman is everything a man wishes he could be.
What happens if the rebellion didn't...
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Sparring is something I know how to do probaly the only thing I know how to do. It's not just a skill—it's muscle memory. Every movement, every strike, every counter has been drilled into me. I slip into my training gear, the familiar weight of the armor and leather settling around my body, and I mentally prepare myself for today's fight. My daggers are sharp, their edges gleaming as I place them in their rightful spots.
I glance over at Violet. She seems weak at first glance, fragile even, but I know better than to judge by appearances. I can see it in the way she stands, poised and ready for whatever comes. There's something in her, a fire that hasn't yet been fully realized, but it's there. That kind of resolve? It holds respect in my book.
But my mind keeps drifting back to him—Xaden.
The man I see now is nothing like the one I knew. He's colder, harder—like the fire inside him has turned to ice. The Xaden I remember had warmth, a quiet understanding between us. Now, he's distant, ruthless. Every inch of him radiates a kind of controlled violence. The scars on his body? They tell stories of pain, of survival, but the man I see before me now is one I don't recognize. He's not the same, and neither am I.
The names start calling out, snapping me back to the present.
"Nora Freysson and Jace Sutherland."
I glance at my opponent, sizing him up as I step onto the mat. He's tall, but not as towering as Xaden. Skinny, but there's speed in his frame—quick, light on his feet. The skinny ones always are. I've faced opponents like him before, and I know how this will play out: fast, sharp, and with no room for mercy.
Then, without warning, I made the mistake of meeting his eyes again.
Xaden.
He's watching me intently, his gaze lingering on the dagger strapped to my thigh. A quiet smirk plays on his lips, one that's a little too knowing, a little too unsettling. He doesn't break his gaze as he takes me in from head to toe, and I can feel the weight of it like a heavy breath in the air between us.
But then, just as quickly, he returns to the conversation he was having, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. I can't tell if he's amused or something darker, but I don't have time to dwell on it.
I focus back on Jace, taking a deep breath, the weight of the mat under my feet grounding me as I prepare for the fight ahead.
"Ready?" Jace's voice is a taunt, but his eyes betray the nervous energy bubbling underneath.
I nod, meeting his gaze with a quiet confidence. The air is thick with anticipation, and my heartbeat thrums in my ears. Every muscle in my body is primed, my senses sharpened to a razor's edge. I wait for him to make the first move.
The signal rings out, and just like that, Jace lunges.
He's fast. His footwork is fluid, almost like he's gliding over the mat, and he's already halfway to me before I can even blink. I dodge to the side, but not fast enough. His fist catches me on the cheek, sending a sharp pain blooming through my jaw.
