The sun was almost at its zenith, bathing everything in its warm blue light. The Veil loomed over the horizon, its milky membrane slightly distorting the celestial body’s shape.

  Mithra made her way to the training hall in record time, sweaty from the run. She entered via a side entrance and quickly changed into a loose tunic and pants, tying her hair into a quick bun. A few people shot her surprised looks—it was rare for her not to be the first person in the hall. Other trainees were already warming up on the spacious floor, a mix of ages and genders. The younger kids were accompanied by teachers making sure they performed their exercises correctly and stepping in as needed. Overall, there were fewer people than usual—those of Mithra’s age were mostly absent. No doubt they were all preparing for the upcoming Marking. She joined the nearest group and started her own warm-up.

  The various stretches and exercises took her around fifteen minutes. Most others had already split into pairs for free combat training by the time she was done. With so few people the instructors didn’t bother with group drills and just let them do what they wanted. It’d been like this for the past week, but Mithra didn’t mind.

  She loved fighting.

  “Hey Mithra, wanna pair up?” Ives noticed her looking around and waved her over. He was her age, with patchy stubble and messy hair. He wasn’t the best fighter, but he was always eager to spar with her for some reason.

  “Sure. What’d you wanna start with?” she asked.

  “I was hoping you could help me with my throws?”

  A spark lit up in Mithra’s eyes.

  “No ground fighting though!” Ives quickly added. “You don’t know how to hold back and I want to look presentable for the Marking.”

  A shame. Mithra was hoping for some good practice today. She needed to let out the tension from her heist.

  “Ah, fine. But after I help you with the throws, I want a real spar.”

  “That’s fair.” He gave her a toothy smile. “I owe you one.”

  When giving pointers, Mithra was exacting. She corrected Ives’ throws for the better part of an hour, and with every repetition she found another mistake for him to fix and was relentless about pointing them out. To his credit, the boy didn’t complain, just set about correcting them.

  Finally, it was time for the exciting part. Or at least more exciting than practicing the same throw for an hour. Ives wasn’t the most thrilling opponent on his best days, but Mithra wasn’t going to complain. She was itching for a fight, any fight.

  She didn’t let the anticipation cloud her mind, however. Mithra took every duel seriously and wasn’t about to break that habit. She made an effort to remember how he fought—solid defense, but he struggled with pressing an advantage.

  The two teenagers stood opposite each other at a distance. Ives gave a half-bow, and so did she, signifying the start of the fight.

  She moved into striking range quickly. Against another opponent, she wouldn’t close in so early, but she knew Ives. He wouldn’t counter-attack, preferring to strengthen his block instead. She tested his guard with a weak jab. He turned it away and retaliated with one of his own, which she dodged.

  A dance of strike and block began. The two opponents circled each other; Mithra trying to find an opening, Ives desperately trying not to give her any. It was futile. As her uncle said—offense was the best defense. She was cracking Ives’ guard like a crab did a shellfish, bound to find a weak point soon. He was on the back-foot, struggling to find an opportunity to counter-attack.

  It took a few minutes, but the first and last crack appeared.

  Mithra’s kick connected with Ives’ knee, the boy falling to the floor in a heap. She was on him immediately, pinning him down with her legs and locking an elbow around his neck.

  Three quick taps on the floor. She let go.

  On her feet again, she helped Ives up and slapped him on the back, dust flying from his tunic.

  “Good fight, man!” she said. “You need to be more careful about your footwork. You're off balance when you pivot. Other than that, your guard was great today.”

  Ives lit up at the compliment. It was a good habit to point out your opponent’s strength, especially if you wanted them to spar with you again in the future.

  “Thanks, but damn. I didn't even get a workout out of you, did I?” he asked.

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  “Nonsense. Though it’d do you good to be a bit more aggressive.” A lot more if she had to be honest. But she couldn’t just say that and crush his stupid smile. “Wanna do another round? We can do spears next.”

  “Nah, sorry,” he said. “My mom wants me home early today, says good rest helps with getting a good mark.”

  That wasn’t true as far as she knew, but some people held weird superstitions around the Marking. Mithra wasn’t the most religious person, but she didn’t think the Gods chose what magic to give you based on how sleepy you were at the ceremony.

  “Well, I’ll find someone else in that case. Thanks for the fight.”

  “Thanks, Mithra. See you!”

  There was a group of older trainees fighting with spears. Mithra was about to approach them when the main entrance door slammed open. A kid, no older than twelve, ran inside, panting. She recognized him immediately. Adri, son of the baker. She'd bribed him with sweets to bring her news as soon as possible.

  "The Guardians are back!"

  She looked to the main instructor. He met her look and nodded in resignation.

  She shot off towards the Veil, slamming the door on her way out. The fastest way was through the market and so she took a sharp right, her feet sliding on the gravel. People moved out of her way as she ran through the streets, jumping over carts full of fruit and the newest magical trinkets. Some merchants shouted at her, but only those new to the town.

  As she rounded the last corner, she saw them. All eight of the Guardians were covered in blood, dirt, and Gods knew what else. Her heart jumped as she recognized the one in the front. Duncan's home. Mithra turned on her heel and hid in a nearby alleyway. They didn't notice her yet. She had a chance.

  "Blah, I need a good bath after all that," a burly man, a head taller than all the other Guardians, stretched his arms. Mithra didn't recognize him. He must've been a new recruit.

  "You tell me," Duncan replied. "You have no idea how hard it is to wash oil out of these robes. The purple stains like hell."

  Purple?! She almost jumped out of her hiding place.

  "Look at him, complaining about a promotion," Carla cut in, her normally brown hair stained black from all the grime. "I'll take the robes, if you don't want them."

  "Oh, shush."

  The group was almost next to her when Philip, the group’s spotter, turned his head with a sudden movement. His eyes pierced straight through her. Damn it. She should've expected him to be there. Mithra shot him a begging look and gestured with a finger to her lips. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only smiled at her and kept walking.

  "Bath or food first?" Duncan continued. "I vote food. If I have to eat one more cracker, I'm going on a hunger stri—"

  Mithra slammed into his back with all her bodyweight, sending them both tumbling into the mud. He rolled away from her, immediately back on his legs. She scrambled to get up as well.

  Most of the Guardians were looking at her with smiles and barely restrained laughter. The only exception was the giant man who looked ready to fight—if not for Philip holding him back.

  A smile danced on Duncan's lips as he unsuccessfully tried straightening his muddy robes. He schooled his expression into a solemn mask and looked back to his subordinates.

  "Stand down, Barlo," he said with mock seriousness. “This is my fight.”

  The giant man was Carla's brother? The shy younger brother she always talked about? He was huge.

  "You're bold to attack a Guardian team in broad daylight, young lady," Duncan continued. "In honor of your bravery, I will take you on in single combat."

  The laughter was no longer restrained.

  "Very well," Mithra played along. "I will grant you the honor of dying by my blade."

  Duncan looked slowly to her belt, where no blade was present.

  "Or fist," she added.

  "Fist it is. First on the ground loses?" he asked, but Mithra was already on the offensive. She lunged at Duncan, her fist rushing to meet his face. He dodged back and threw a counter punch, which she redirected with an open hand. Out of nowhere, a knee slammed into her stomach, forcing air out of her lungs and making her retreat.

  No easy wins. That’s why she loved fighting against her uncle.

  "Is that all you've got, villain?" Duncan said, hands outstretched to the sides.

  "Show him, Mithra!" Carla cheered. "Take revenge for all the night watches he put me on!"

  Mithra refocused. Even if it was a play-fight, she wanted to win.

  Moving back in, she started with a quick one-two punch. Duncan dodged again, but the ground betrayed him, his foot slipping on the soft mud. He regained his balance immediately, but not fast enough to dodge the kick already coming at his side. Another punch followed and pushed him to the defensive. They traded blow after blow, Mithra slowly pressing the gained advantage. Cheers from the Guardians followed each successful strike.

  Duncan flicked his fingers. A spark. Mithra's tunic caught fire.

  Instinctively, she dropped to the ground and rolled, trying to put out the flame.

  "Ha!" Duncan laughed triumphantly. "Looks like I win." Boos from his team were almost deafening. He moved over to Mithra, sitting in the mud, her head slumped in defeat.

  "Hey, don't be like that." He crouched down next to her. "I won fair and square. I always taught you to use everything you can in a fight."

  He was too slow to notice the smirk on Mithra's lips. She grabbed him and brought him down to the ground, slipping past his clumsy attempt to latch onto her. Driving a knee into his back, she twisted his arm and pushed his face into the ground. Duncan struggled to break free, but she held him down until he was spitting mud.

  Cheers from the team erupted. Mithra basked in the spotlight for a brief moment before rolling off her opponent and laying on her back next to him. Duncan rolled onto his back as well, massaging his arm.

  "Good to see you, you menace," he said.

  "Good to see you too, uncle."