The heavy oak door creaked open on silent hinges, and Nyra stepped through with the slow, deliberate poise of someone who had bled for every ounce of ground she now stood on. The chains at her wrists and ankles clinked softly, a reminder of what she'd endured—and what she refused to let go of. They scraped the marble floor in an eerie rhythm with her footsteps, like the dragging whisper of a blade. Her skin, dark and gleaming with the sheen of fresh healing, bore smudges of dried blood and bruises still purple around the edges. The once-rich fabric of her silk outfit clung to her curves, torn in places, soaked at the seams in crimson from the fight the day before. Her eyes, silver and sharp, scanned the room with a predator's precision—cold, unreadable, but burning beneath the surface.
It smelled like sunlight and incense. The chamber was richly furnished but sterile, too pristine for comfort. Golden drapes fluttered by the open windows, casting dappled light over the figures inside.
Riven was the first to turn.
He leaned against the far wall like he'd been forced to wait too long, arms crossed, ankle hooked over the other in practiced defiance. His dark bronze skin caught the golden light, and his lean frame looked casual—almost lazy—but Nyra knew better. Riven Caelum didn't know how to relax. Not really.
His eyes locked on her instantly. Hazel-gold, usually mischievous and impossible to pin down, but now narrowed and storm-dark. His expression twisted into disbelief—and something that might've been concern before it hardened again.
"You look like shit," he muttered.
Nyra smirked, stepping inside fully. "You always did have a thing for bloody girls."
Behind him, Seraph turned from the window, her movement liquid, like ink spilled on silk. She looked untouched by time, her deep brown skin radiant in the morning light, marked faintly with glowing sigils that shimmered like moonlight on water. Her hair—long, black, streaked with silver—was bound in an elegant braid that hung down her spine, a contrast to her glowing violet eyes that pulsed with quiet power.
"Nyra," Seraph said, her voice a soft melody, but laced with something tighter beneath the surface—worry.
Riven pushed off the wall, eyes scanning her wounds as she moved. "What the fuck happened to you?"
Nyra's smirk faded. "What didn't?"
Seraph was at her side in seconds, graceful and soundless. Her eyes narrowed, her fingers grazing Nyra's forearm. "You're hurt."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
"It's nothing—"
But Seraph had already seen through her. "Your aura's unstable. You're barely holding it together."
Riven stepped in closer, his tone sharpening. "Did someone touch you? I swear—"
"No one laid a hand on me," Nyra interrupted. "Not for lack of trying."
She rolled her shoulders, raising one hand. Shadows curled around her fingers, threads of black-and-violet energy pulsing at her skin. Slowly, the magic unraveled, sliding over her injuries like silk dipped in shadow. The bruises faded. The blood dried. Her skin knit itself closed with a hiss.
Riven's eyes widened, and he stepped back a half-step. "You just—used that? Here? In the open?!"
"I needed to heal."
"You know what I mean!" he snapped. "We agreed to keep that shit hidden. That we'd never let anyone see what we really are. You can't just—"
"We're not slaves anymore."
The silence that followed felt carved from stone.
Riven blinked. "What?"
Nyra lifted her gaze, calm and burning. "We're free. All of us."
Seraph stilled completely. Only her braid swayed behind her from the sudden stillness in the room.
Riven's face contorted. "Don't fuck with me."
"I'm not."
"How?"
"I won a public duel against a royal warrior," she said flatly. "In chains. And then the King announced to the entire court that I'm his daughter."
Another silence.
"You're… what?"
Nyra sighed. "The King. Vaelor Drayven. He's my father. Apparently."
Riven turned away, pacing, hands in his hair. "This is a fucking nightmare."
"I'm still me," she said, sharper now. "Don't look at me like I've grown a crown and started sipping noble wine."
Seraph stepped forward, her violet eyes watching Nyra carefully. "And he gave you our freedom?"
"He did. You two are officially released. He said so in front of the entire fucking court. You'll be moved into private quarters near mine. You're safe."
Riven turned back, eyes blazing. "Safe? Nothing about this is safe. You think we can just walk around showing magic and calling the King daddy and everything's fine?"
Nyra's smile was bitter. "You're welcome, by the way."
Seraph's voice cut through the rising heat like a blade through water. "Riven."
He paused. Looked at her. Then at Nyra again.
"Please," he said, softer now. "Tell me you didn't use your powers in the fight."
"I didn't," she answered. "Only my chains."
He stared at her.
"You beat a royal warrior," he said slowly. "With nothing but blood and chains. And now you're telling me you're the King's bastard daughter."
She nodded once. "That's the gist of it."
Seraph tilted her head. Her voice was still serene, but her gaze flickered with something ancient and amused. "It would seem fate has plans for you after all."
Nyra dropped onto the couch with a tired sigh. "Yeah? Well fate can choke."
Riven barked a laugh and dropped beside her, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. "Gods, I missed you."
"You missed yelling at me."
"That too."
Seraph sat on the edge of the armrest beside them, folding her legs with elegant control. Her eyes lingered on Nyra. "You're glowing."
Nyra arched a brow. "Glowing?"
"You always do," Seraph murmured. "Right after you survive something you shouldn't have."
The tension still lingered in the air long after Nyra's declaration. Riven, arms crossed, kept shaking his head like he was still trying to process it all. Seraph, ever composed, simply watched, her fingers interlaced as if she were calculating their next move. Nyra leaned against the table, waiting for one of them to say something—anything—but before either of them could, the air in the room shifted.
It was subtle at first, a quiet disturbance, like the feeling of being watched from the shadows. Then, the presence became suffocating. The air grew thick, pressing against her lungs like an unseen weight. A slow, creeping chill slithered down her spine, setting every nerve on edge. Her heartbeat quickened, not in fear, but in the sharp awareness of something predatory lurking just out of sight. It was the kind of feeling that came moments before a blade struck from the dark. A cold ripple crawled up Nyra's spine, the kind of instinctive warning that something—or someone—was near.
Neither Riven nor Seraph reacted immediately. It wasn't until the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed off the marble floor that they snapped their attention toward the doorway, their hands instinctively twitching toward weapons that were no longer there.
Kierian leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a smirk that barely reached his eyes.
"Well," he drawled, shutting the door behind him with a deliberate slowness, as if daring them to challenge his intrusion. "A touching reunion, I'm sure. But it appears His Majesty requires your presence."
Riven exhaled sharply, his body coiled like a spring, his fingers twitching subtly as if reaching for a dagger that wasn't there. His usual smirk faltered for just a second before he masked it with forced nonchalance, but Nyra caught the flicker of unease in his gold-hazel eyes—the momentary hesitation that meant he had been caught off guard, and he hated that. "You fucking phantom," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, masking the unease that flickered beneath his usual cockiness. "How long have you been standing there?"
Seraph didn't speak, but her pale violet eyes had darkened slightly, a subtle shift that only those who knew her well would recognize. Nyra knew that look—knew what it meant when Seraph's composure became just a little too still. It wasn't fear. It wasn't hesitation. It was readiness. Nyra wasn't sure if that comforted her or if it made her uneasy. Something stirred beneath Seraph's calm exterior, something darker, coiled and waiting. A presence just beneath the surface, watching, waiting. A shadow within a shadow. Ready.
Nyra straightened, her expression unreadable. "Summoned, huh?" she said flatly. "And what does the King want now?"
Kierian let the silence stretch, the weight of his presence settling heavily over them. Then, with a slow tilt of his head, his golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable. "Maybe he's finally decided to announce your engagement to some pretty noble boy."
Riven snorted, his stance relaxing just slightly. "That'd be one hell of a mistake."
Nyra shot him a glare before returning her focus to Kierian. "If that were the case, I'd be flattered," she deadpanned, "but I'm guessing it's something more... pressing."
Kierian's smirk didn't fade, but something in the way he studied her shifted—like he was looking at something he had expected to see but wasn't entirely sure how to process. "He didn't specify," he admitted. "Only that it concerns all three of you." His gaze flicked toward Seraph and Riven, lingering on Seraph just a little longer. "You two included."
Seraph's expression remained unreadable, but Nyra caught the subtle shift in her posture—how her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her sleeve, how her shoulders squared just enough to prepare for the unknown.
"If the King is summoning us together, it means he intends to make a statement," Seraph finally murmured, voice smooth but laced with quiet calculation.
Riven scoffed, raking a hand through his hair. "Or he wants to test us. Again."
Nyra exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders. "Then we play along. For now."
Kierian pushed off the doorframe, stepping aside with a mocking bow. Nyra studied him for a fraction of a second longer, trying to gauge his true intent. Did he enjoy delivering the King's orders, or was there something else beneath that smirk? The way his gaze lingered, the way his body language remained just a little too relaxed—it was impossible to tell if this was amusement or something more calculated. Either way, she wasn't about to let him see any uncertainty on her part. "Then by all means, let's not keep the King waiting."
But as Nyra moved past him, his voice dropped low enough that only she could hear.
"You're different now."
She didn't stop walking, but her fingers curled at her sides. "So are you."
Kierian only chuckled, falling into step beside them as they left the chamber, stepping into whatever fresh challenge awaited them next.
The hallways of the palace were as grand as they were suffocating. Towering columns lined the path, adorned with intricate carvings of Veyrune's past—glorious battles, fallen enemies, the rise of kings. The air smelled of polished stone and burning incense, thick with the weight of unspoken power.
Nyra walked ahead, her steps steady, the iron cuffs still wrapped around her wrists clinking softly with every movement. She could feel the stares of the guards and servants as they passed, their gazes flicking between her and her companions, some filled with intrigue, others with barely concealed disdain.
Kierian led the way, his posture as effortlessly confident as ever, but Nyra didn't miss how his fingers occasionally flexed at his sides, as if restless.
Behind her, Riven moved like a shadow—silent, watching, calculating. He had always been a step away from violence, but now, there was an edge to his silence, a tightness in his jaw that spoke volumes.
Seraph was unreadable as always, her gaze forward, her presence calm but coiled, like a blade waiting to be drawn. Nyra still felt it—that hidden force beneath Seraph's skin, waiting to slip through the cracks. A shadow watching through her eyes.
The guards outside the throne room stiffened as they approached. One of them stepped forward, clad in ornate armor etched with the sigil of the royal house. "His Majesty is expecting you."
Nyra didn't hesitate. She walked past the guards as if she belonged there—because now, whether she liked it or not, she did.
The throne room was a vast chamber of dark stone and gold, massive banners draping from the ceiling, flickering torches casting long, distorted shadows along the marble floors. At the far end, seated on an elevated platform, was King Vaelor Drayven.
His gaze locked onto her the moment she entered.
There was no hesitation, no flicker of doubt in his eyes. Only recognition. Calculation. And something else she couldn't quite place.
The room was filled with nobles, some seated, others standing, their hushed whispers filling the space like rustling leaves. Nyra felt their gazes crawl over her skin—some hungry, some wary, some openly hateful.
Kierian stopped just before the dais and turned slightly, gesturing toward them. "As requested, Your Majesty."
Vaelor's gaze swept over Riven and Seraph before settling back on Nyra. A long pause stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Then, he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest of his throne. "Tell me," he said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. "Now that you've had time to let it settle, how does it feel to have your chains removed?"
The silence in the room deepened.
Nyra tilted her head, the ghost of a smirk curling at her lips. Slowly, she raised her wrists, letting the metal cuffs gleam under the firelight. "You tell me, Your Majesty," she said, her voice smooth but laced with defiance. "Do they look removed to you?"
A few nobles murmured among themselves. Some smirked, entertained. Others looked outright scandalized.
Vaelor exhaled through his nose, something akin to amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Chains are not always metal, girl. Some are carved into the mind. Into the blood."
Nyra's fingers flexed, her smirk hardening. "Then I suppose you'd know a lot about that."
The tension in the room spiked. A few gasps echoed, followed by a hush so thick it was almost suffocating.
Vaelor regarded her for a moment longer before he leaned back against his throne. "You're sharper than most. I'll give you that." His gaze flicked toward Seraph and Riven. "And you two—loyal even now. That's rare."
Riven's golden eyes narrowed. "We're not loyal to the crown."
Vaelor chuckled, low and knowing. "No. But you are loyal to her." His eyes slid back to Nyra. "And that is far more interesting."
Nyra didn't like the way he said it, as if he were dissecting something, piecing together a puzzle she hadn't realized she was part of.
Then, he straightened, his presence pressing heavier against the room. "I summoned you all here for a reason." His voice darkened, echoing through the chamber. "You may be free, but freedom in this world is earned."
He gestured toward the nobles. "Many here do not accept you. They question my decision. And I do not blame them."
Nyra's jaw clenched. "Then why make it?"
Vaelor smiled, slow and dangerous. "Because I know potential when I see it. But potential means nothing if it cannot be proven."
The air thickened, something unseen shifting in the room. Nyra felt it creeping in, a weight pressing down on her skin.
Vaelor's voice dropped slightly. "You will prove yourself again, girl. And this time, the whole kingdom will be watching."
Nyra's silver eyes flashed, her smirk sharpening into something razor-edged.Nyra's silver eyes flashed, her smirk sharpening into something razor-edged. The tension in the room thickened, a ripple of discomfort shifting through the nobles. Some leaned forward, intrigued, while others averted their gazes as if her defiance burned too brightly to look upon. Vaelor's expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—whether irritation or amusement, Nyra couldn't tell. She took a step forward, letting the chains at her wrists shift with a deliberate scrape of metal against her skin. "I don't recall being nameless," she said, her voice smooth but laced with venom. "Or do kings make a habit of addressing their blood with the same indifference as their hounds?"
A ripple of tension shot through the room. A few nobles gasped outright, others looked between Nyra and the King with barely concealed intrigue, as if waiting to see if she had just condemned herself. The air was electric, thick with the scent of unspoken threats.
Vaelor's dark eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the amusement faded. The weight of his authority pressed down like an invisible force, suffocating, oppressive. "Mind your tongue," he said, voice like steel wrapped in silk. "You tread a fine line, child."
Nyra tilted her head, unfazed. "Then call me by my name," she countered, her tone still cutting, still unyielding. "Or is it easier for you to pretend I'm just another stray you can leash?"
A murmur spread through the nobles—some scandalized, some delighted by the sharp-tongued exchange. Riven, standing just behind her, let out a low whistle, though there was a trace of unease in his expression. Seraph, ever composed, remained silent, but Nyra caught the slight press of her lips, the barely perceptible tension in her posture. Even Kierian, who had been leaning lazily against a pillar, now watched with a glint of interest in his golden gaze.
Vaelor's lips curled into something that might have been a smirk—if not for the dangerous glint in his eyes. "You assume much," he mused. "But very well. Nyra."
Hearing her name from his lips shouldn't have mattered, but it did. It coiled something hot and bitter in her stomach, like she had forced a piece of him to acknowledge something he would rather not.
She held his gaze, refusing to look away first.
Vaelor leaned back into his throne, his smirk returning with measured ease. "You speak of names, but names hold weight. They come with power, expectations… responsibilities." His voice dipped lower, laced with something unreadable. "Are you prepared for what it truly means to be acknowledged?"
Nyra didn't hesitate. "I never asked to be acknowledged," she said. "You made that choice."
Another wave of murmurs spread through the room, some nobles shifting uncomfortably, others clearly entertained by her boldness.
Vaelor chuckled, dark and deep. "And yet here you are, standing before me, chains still on your wrists, demanding recognition."
Nyra's jaw tightened. "I wear these chains because I choose to," she shot back. "Not because you or anyone else put them there."
The silence that followed was heavier than before. Vaelor studied her for a long moment before exhaling through his nose, amusement flickering back into place. "Very well," he said at last. "You wish to be seen? Then be seen. But as I said before—you will prove yourself again, girl."
Nyra's expression didn't waver, but she let her smirk return, sharper now. "Then tell me, Your Majesty—who am I proving myself to?"
She gestured to the nobles, letting the weight of her words settle between them.
Vaelor's smirk deepened, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest of his throne. "To Veyrune," he said. "To the kingdom that watches. To yourself."
Nyra's fingers flexed, her heartbeat steady. Whatever came next, she would face it the same way she had faced everything before—with her teeth bared and her chains ready to strike.
"Then let them watch.". She took a step forward, letting the chains at her wrists shift with a deliberate scrape of metal against her skin.
The tension in the throne room was a living thing, stretching like a predator waiting to strike. Nyra could feel the weight of countless eyes on her, some filled with disdain, others with something far more dangerous—curiosity.
Vaelor's smirk deepened, fingers tapping idly against the armrest of his throne, the sound echoing through the vast chamber like the ticking of a countdown. "Then let them watch," he echoed, his voice laced with something Nyra couldn't quite place. Approval? Amusement? A challenge?
Her jaw clenched, but she did not look away. She held his gaze as though locking blades in a duel, unwilling to be the first to flinch. The nobles stirred, whispers spreading like fire, speculation thick in the air.
Kierian, still leaning lazily against a nearby pillar, let out a slow breath. "Well, that was entertaining," he muttered, barely above a whisper, though the smirk on his face told her he was enjoying this far more than he should.
Riven's golden eyes burned with something close to fury, but he kept it contained beneath a layer of sharp calculation. "This is ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, arms crossed over his chest, but he did not move to intervene. He knew better.
Seraph, ever the enigma, remained silent. But Nyra caught the subtle flicker of her violet gaze—an unspoken warning, or perhaps a reassurance.
Vaelor exhaled, shifting his posture ever so slightly as he regarded her. "You fight well. You speak with fire. But you are still a child." His tone was neither condescending nor cruel, but there was an edge to it, a reminder of the power he held. "You may have earned your place in this hall, but you have not yet earned your place in Veyrune."
Nyra lifted her chin, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Then tell me, Your Majesty," she said, voice steady, unyielding. "What more do I have to do? Bleed more for your approval? Break more bones to amuse your nobles?"
A sharp inhale echoed from the gathered lords and ladies. Some exchanged glances, scandalized. Others watched with unhidden intrigue. The air thickened, the divide between them growing deeper, an unspoken war unfolding in that very room.
Vaelor tilted his head slightly, dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "You misunderstand me." He gestured lazily to the assembled court. "They are not the ones you must prove yourself to."
Nyra's brows furrowed. "Then who?"
Vaelor's smirk faded, replaced by something far colder. "To me."
The room fell silent. The finality of his words settled like a blade pressed to her throat.
For the first time, Riven shifted beside her, his hands curling into fists. "What exactly are you asking her to prove?" His voice was calm, but Nyra knew him too well—there was an edge of warning beneath it.
Vaelor did not even look at him. His gaze remained locked on Nyra, assessing, testing. "Strength," he said simply. "Loyalty. Resilience." He leaned forward, his presence pressing down on the room like a storm rolling in. "You wish to stand in my halls as my blood? Then you will stand before me as more than a defiant girl with a sharp tongue."
Nyra's throat tightened, but she forced her smirk to remain. "And if I refuse?"
Vaelor's expression did not change. "Then you remain as you are. A nameless girl in chains, standing in a place she does not belong."
Silence. A suffocating, deafening silence.
Something sharp twisted inside her, but she swallowed it down. She had fought for too long, suffered too much to let him strip her of what she had already clawed her way toward.
"You think I need to prove myself to you?" Nyra's voice was quieter now, but the venom was still there, sharper than ever. "I've survived worse things than you, Vaelor."
A few gasps filled the air at her blatant use of his name, as if she had struck him in front of his court. Even Kierian's usual smirk flickered, surprise flashing in his golden eyes.
Vaelor's gaze darkened, but there was no immediate anger, no rage. Instead, something far worse.
Pride.
A slow, deliberate nod. "Then show me."
The words settled in the air like a decree, final and absolute. But Vaelor wasn't finished. He straightened, his gaze sweeping over Nyra and her companions, his presence an undeniable force.
"You think survival alone is enough? That brute defiance makes you worthy of standing in these halls?" His voice carried through the chamber, low and edged with something darker. "You are strong, but strength without refinement is wasted potential."
Nyra's fingers twitched at her sides, but she remained still, unreadable. Her friends, however, weren't as composed. Riven's jaw tightened, his stance shifting as if bracing for another fight, while Seraph merely observed, eyes flickering with thought.
Vaelor leaned forward slightly, his smirk barely there. "All of you will be enrolled into the Dominion Institute, alongside the sons and daughters of the noble elite. Nyra, Riven, and Seraph—you will enter as equals, though the world will not see you that way." "You will be enrolled into the Dominion Institute, alongside the sons and daughters of the noble elite."
A ripple of murmurs surged through the nobles, their expressions a mix of shock, intrigue, and outright offense.
Nyra's smirk returned, slow and sharp. "And what exactly do you expect me to do there? Curtsy and play court games with your precious nobility?"
Vaelor's expression remained impassive, but there was a gleam of something dangerous in his eyes. "No. You will dominate. You will rise above them. You will become more than a survivor—you will become the strongest. The number one."
Silence. Then, the weight of his words settled, pressing against every corner of the throne room.
Riven let out a slow, sharp breath, shaking his head. "You mean to throw her into the viper's den and see if she comes out alive."
Vaelor's smirk deepened slightly. "Precisely."
Seraph finally stirred beside Nyra, her pale violet eyes darkening, her presence shifting ever so slightly. When she spoke, it was with a calm, eerie certainty. "So you mean to mold us, then? To shape us into something useful to your empire?"
A few murmurs rippled through the gathered nobles at her boldness, though Vaelor did not immediately respond. Instead, he studied Seraph, his expression unreadable, before the faintest smirk returned.. If she truly believes herself capable, she will prove it—not with her chains, but with skill, strategy, and sheer force of will. And you—" his gaze flickered to Riven and Seraph, "—will prove your own worth as well. You are not just her shadows. You will fight for your own place."
Riven scoffed, arms crossing over his chest. "You mean throwing us into a nest of vipers and watching us tear each other apart for your entertainment? Or is this just another one of the nobility's twisted games—testing who can grovel the best while stabbing each other in the back?" and seeing who gets bitten first."
Vaelor barely reacted. "No. I mean throwing you into fire and seeing who forges themselves into something indestructible.". If she truly believes herself capable, she will prove it—not with her chains, but with skill, strategy, and sheer force of will."
Nyra exchanged a brief glance with Riven, whose jaw remained clenched, frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior. Seraph, ever unreadable, tilted her head slightly as if contemplating the weight of Vaelor's words. Nyra let out a slow exhale, her fingers twitching before she finally looked back at the king. Then, her lips curled into something cold and knowing. "And how long do we have before we're tossed into this little arena of yours?"
Vaelor tilted his head, watching her. "One month."
Riven exhaled sharply, his fingers drumming impatiently against his arm. "One month? What, so we can be primed and polished like noble pets before they throw us to the wolves?" His tone was sharp, but there was something in his expression—reluctant understanding. Training meant an edge, and he never ignored an advantage.
Seraph, however, remained still, her pale violet eyes unreadable. But then, in a voice softer than the tension in the air, she murmured, "It's necessary. A storm is only as strong as its build-up."
Riven scoffed but said nothing more. Nyra cast them both a glance before turning her gaze back to Vaelor, her smirk returning with a dangerous edge.. Use it wisely. You will have access to everything you need to prepare—training, resources, knowledge. But when the time comes, there will be no mercy. Once you step foot in the Institute, you will either rise or be crushed."
He let the words settle before continuing. "And to ensure you are not walking into this unprepared, I am assigning you a combat trainer."
Nyra's eyes narrowed slightly, her tone sharp with suspicion. "And who exactly is this so-called expert you're forcing on us?"
Riven snorted, crossing his arms, his voice laced with skepticism. "Let me guess, some washed-up noble war hero who thinks he can beat obedience into us?"
Vaelor's smirk remained, his voice calm but firm. "Not quite. Your trainer is someone who knows what it means to fight without privilege, to claw their way up from the dirt. He will teach you not only how to fight—but how to win."
Seraph, her voice quiet yet unwavering, met Vaelor's gaze with cool intensity. "Then we'll see if he is worth learning from." I am assigning you a combat trainer."
Nyra's eyes narrowed slightly. "And who exactly is this so-called expert you're forcing on us?"
Riven snorted, crossing his arms. "Let me guess, some washed-up noble war hero who thinks he can beat obedience into us?" His tone was sharp, edged with skepticism.
Vaelor's smirk remained. "Not quite. Your trainer is someone who knows what it means to fight without privilege, to claw their way up from the dirt. He will teach you not only how to fight—but how to win."
Seraph's voice was quiet but firm. "Then we'll see if he is worth learning from."
I am assigning you a combat trainer. One of the best. He will make sure you learn more than just how to survive—he will teach you how to win.". Use it wisely. You will have access to everything you need to prepare—training, resources, knowledge.
But when the time comes, there will be no mercy. Once you step foot in the Institute, you will either rise or be crushed."
"So you want me to tear apart the system from the inside."
Vaelor's fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne. "I want you to show me whether you are the storm that will shake Veyrune to its core… or a spark that will flicker and die."
The challenge had been issued. And Nyra had never been one to back down from a fight.
Vaelor let the weight of his words linger before shifting his gaze across the room. "This audience is over. Leave us."
The command was final. The nobles hesitated only for a breath before they moved, a rustle of silk and steel as they filtered out of the great hall. Riven cast one last glance at Nyra before exiting, Seraph following in measured silence. Kierian gave his usual lazy smirk but said nothing as he, too, disappeared beyond the towering doors.
Only one remained.
Kierian.
The silence that followed was thick, laced with something unspoken. Vaelor leaned back into his throne, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest before he finally spoke. "What do you think of her?"
Kierian, standing at ease but ever watchful, let the question hang in the air for a moment before answering. His smirk lingered, but there was a sharpness in his gaze, a flicker of something more calculated. He shifted his weight slightly, as if testing the atmosphere before finally speaking.
"She's fire. Untamed, unpredictable. She's still rough around the edges, but that's what makes her dangerous." Kierian's gaze darkened slightly, his smirk lingering, but there was something else beneath it—something assessing. Did he admire her defiance, or was he wary of what she might become? His golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable. "And she's only just begun to realize what she is."
A long silence stretched between them, the flickering torches casting shifting shadows across the grand chamber. Vaelor studied him, his expression unreadable, before he finally exhaled, a sound barely audible.
"Then you will continue to watch over her," Vaelor said, his voice quieter now, but no less commanding. His tone carried a weight that was impossible to ignore—a warning, a promise, and perhaps even a threat. "Fail me in this, and there will be consequences." "You will attend the Dominion Institute as well. She will have enemies waiting in the dark, and I will not have her vulnerable."
Kierian arched a brow but said nothing.
Vaelor's gaze was sharp, steady. "You have kept her safe until now. You ensured her return to me unharmed. Vaelor's gaze remained fixed on Kierian, waiting, watching. Kierian's smirk faltered for the briefest moment before returning, though more measured this time. He tilted his head slightly, as if considering the weight of Vaelor's words. Did he feel satisfaction at the acknowledgment, or was he merely masking his thoughts, keeping his true emotions buried beneath layers of indifference? For that, you have my gratitude. And my trust."
A ghost of a smirk touched Kierian's lips, though it did not reach his eyes. "Trust is a rare thing in this court. You should be careful where you place it."
Vaelor chuckled, low and knowing. "Then I will consider this a test for both of you."
The silence that followed was no longer tense but something deeper, heavier. An understanding passed between them—one neither needed to voice.
"Go," Vaelor said finally, his voice laced with quiet authority. "Prepare. The real game has only just begun." His gaze lingered on Kierian for a fraction longer, unreadable yet weighted with unspoken intent.
Kierian smirked, but there was something in his stance—a slight tension, a knowing glint in his golden eyes—that suggested he understood the magnitude of the words just spoken.
He turned with an easy grace, but as he walked away, the flickering torchlight cast shifting shadows across his departing form, a silent specter already weaving into the unfolding game.