The training grounds at Saelira's estate had always felt like something ancient left behind.
Smooth volcanic stone stretched out in a wide ring, veined with silver spell lines and fire-conducting runes.
Warding columns circled the space—eight in total—each carved with language that predated the Demon Kingdom itself. It was a sacred space. A place for honing power, not showmanship.
And today, Malvoria had no patience for showmanship.
She stood at one end of the ring, arms crossed, eyes narrowed—yet completely aware that she hadn't heard a word Lara had been saying for the past five minutes.
Because Elysia was stretching.
Wearing that combination outfit.
Gods, why.
It wasn't even supposed to be that attractive—it was black, simple, made for mobility. But on Elysia, with her hair pulled back and the sunlight catching the red flame glints in her eyes, she looked like something conjured from Malvoria's darkest, most treasured dreams.
