The palace training yard was no longer a proving ground.
It had become a crucible.
Pain wasn't a lesson anymore. It was routine.
The sun hadn't yet risen when Nyra jolted awake, heart pounding from the remnants of another dream she refused to remember. Her body throbbed beneath the surface—deep muscle bruises, scabbed knuckles, tight shoulders—but it wasn't weakness. Not anymore.
She rolled out of bed, every movement automatic, fluid. She didn't wince when her feet hit the cold stone floor. Didn't hesitate as she wrapped her arms in cloth, tied back her hair, and pulled on the black combat gear Kierian had issued them a week ago—unmarked, unadorned, and soaked in blood more often than not.
Behind her, the bed shifted.
"Again?" Riven's voice was thick with sleep, rough.
"Always," Nyra said without turning.
Seraph sat up next, slow and deliberate. Her gaze was far-off, distant, as if part of her was still in another world. But when her feet touched the ground, something behind her eyes blinked.
The switch came without a word.
Nyx stretched her arms overhead with a cracking yawn. "Damn. This body is stiff as hell."
Riven groaned. "You woke up before Nyra? I need a miracle."
"I'm the miracle," Nyx shot back, flashing him a grin. "You're welcome."
Nyra didn't smile. But her eyes sparkled for just a second.
Fifteen minutes later, they stood beneath the bruised horizon of early morning, steam curling off their skin in the crisp air. The sky bled into pale violet above the eastern wall, and already Kierian was waiting.
He stood in the same place he always did—arms folded, shadow stretching long behind him, expression unreadable.
But today, something was different.
He didn't speak.
He just turned.
And walked.
They followed.
He led them beyond the main yard, through a rusted iron gate and down a steep path carved into stone. The wind howled around them, carrying salt and shadow.
At the bottom—
A pit.
Circular. Deep. Ringed with jagged walls and weapon racks.
The real training grounds.
"Today," Kierian said, voice sharp as glass, "you don't hold back. Not against each other. Not against me. No instruction. No guidance. Just instinct."
Nyra felt her heart thump once. Then settle.
Riven cracked his knuckles. "About time."
Seraph stepped forward, quiet. Calm.
Nyx blinked through.
"Don't mind if I start the bloodbath," she said, voice low with thrill.
Kierian raised an eyebrow.
"Try."
The fight exploded into motion.
Nyra launched first.
She didn't hesitate. Telekinesis flared in her palms—she yanked two spears from the rack and hurled them midair, splitting them into six shards that spiraled toward Kierian.
He moved.
Fast.
He deflected three, dodged two, and caught the last, spinning it around and driving it into the ground like a flag.
Before she could recover, Nyx was already inside his guard.
She didn't announce herself. She just appeared—one moment gone, the next slicing with curved blades and a gleam in her eye that promised cruelty.
He parried the first strike. Dodged the second.
The third drew blood.
A shallow cut along his side.
"Sloppy," he growled.
"Intentional," Nyx grinned.
Riven was already behind him.
The fight fractured into chaos.
Flashes of teleportation. Telekinetic bursts. Illusion phantoms flickering in and out. Blades met bone. Hands cracked ribs. Every clash sparked against stone and echoed into the sky.
They didn't fight like students anymore.
They fought like soldiers.
Like killers born of ash and pressure.
Nyra's voice cut through the chaos. "Riven—left!" Nyra shouted, her voice slicing through the clash of metal and grit.
He vanished before the blade reached him, appearing above Kierian with both daggers drawn.
"Surprise," Riven hissed, voice strained with adrenaline as he swung both daggers downward.
Kierian deflected one blade, but the second nicked his jaw. Blood splattered the stone.
He caught Riven mid-air and slammed him into the ground. The crack echoed through the pit.
Nyx moved before the dust settled. "Touch him again, and I'll make you swallow your kneecaps," Nyx snarled, her voice low and full of promise.
Her daggers flashed in a blur. Kierian blocked three strikes, but the fourth grazed his thigh.
"Improving," Kierian said, breath steady, eyes locked on Nyx with clinical precision.
"Getting warmed up," Nyx replied with a grin, tongue flicking across her bottom lip as her eyes gleamed.
Nyra charged in tandem, lifting the broken haft of a spear with her magic. She spun it like a storm around her body, then launched it toward his chest.
He dodged—barely—but the wind of it brushed his ribs.
He struck back with ruthless efficiency.
A punch aimed at Nyra's temple.
She ducked. Rolled.
"Almost," Nyra taunted, blood dripping from her chin, eyes sharp with fury and focus.
"Not yet," Kierian answered, his tone like cold steel drawn from a sheath. Kierian muttered, resetting his stance with quiet menace.
Seraph flickered back to the surface, the shift so smooth it was like breathing.
She formed three illusions of herself, each attacking from a different angle.
Kierian stabbed one.
It vanished.
He turned, struck the second.
Also false.
The third one was real.
Her fan cut across his back in a spray of crimson.
"That one was mine," Nyx purred from inside their shared mind, her voice curling like smoke in Seraph's skull.
"Not now," Seraph replied silently, her tone patient but firm.
"I'm always now," Nyx whispered, her presence electric beneath the skin.
"Focus," Seraph insisted, grounding them both in the present fight.
She did.
And Kierian staggered.
But only for a moment.
He exploded forward.
A blur of fury. Fists. Steel. Shadow.
He sent Riven tumbling into a wall.
Knocked Nyra off her feet.
Then caught Seraph mid-step and slammed her into the ground so hard the air left her lungs.
But she didn't black out.
She smiled.
Nyra rose, blood dripping from her lip, her eyes glowing.
"You done?" Nyra asked, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth as she rose to her feet.
Kierian shook the blood from his fingers.
"Not yet."
They charged.
All three.
As one.
And Kierian met them.
Head-on.
Silence followed the clash.
Riven lay flat on the stone, chest rising and falling in sharp bursts. One of his daggers was embedded in the wall twenty feet away; the other lay snapped in half beside him. His lip was split, and bruises blossomed purple across his ribs.
Seraph knelt in the dirt, fans at her sides, the edge of her robes stained with blood and grit. Her face was calm. Still. But Nyx's presence simmered underneath—waiting, watching, whispering threats like a devil under her skin.
Nyra stood last.
Blood ran from her temple, trailing into her eyebrow, but her eyes were locked on Kierian.
He hadn't moved.
He hadn't needed to.
But he was breathing heavier now. That was something.
"You held your ground," Kierian said, voice flat but not unkind. "Longer than I expected."
"Not long enough," Nyra muttered, flexing her hand.
Kierian approached. He didn't offer a hand. Only a glance.
"You'll need to be better than this."
"We will be," Seraph said quietly.
"We have to be," Riven added, spitting blood to the side.
Nyra nodded once, slow. "And we're not done."
Kierian's lips twitched—somewhere between pride and threat.
"Good."
They didn't rest.
Kierian had them back on their feet within minutes, drilling nonstop through the next hours.
Endurance tests through jagged terrain.
Weighted combat runs that left their lungs burning.
Combat sequences against illusionary beasts—massive, fanged constructs conjured from shadow and memory. Nyra found herself facing a twisted version of a slave master she'd killed years ago. She didn't hesitate. She didn't scream.
She tore him apart.
Riven ran low on breath, barely ducking beneath a leaping hellhound with molten eyes. He countered with a teleport, emerging behind it, driving two short blades into its neck before it burst into smoke.
Seraph flickered like moonlight between constructs, using illusion clones to confuse and misdirect. One misstep nearly cost her a leg—but Nyx slipped in, twisted their torso midair, and counterattacked with a sweeping blade that eviscerated two beasts in one motion.
They didn't talk much.
There wasn't time.
But their teamwork tightened.
Riven learned to anticipate Nyra's bursts of force—he used them to propel himself in new directions.
Nyra read Seraph's illusions instantly, directing attacks to match her phantom fakes.
And Kierian? He never praised. Never smiled.
But his eyes lingered longer now.
Later, they stood at the edge of the cliff again—scarred, soaked in sweat, their shadows long in the sinking sun.
The wind whipped past them, sharp as a blade, tugging at torn fabric and crusted blood.
Kierian stood like a statue of war, arms behind his back, the same calm that always bordered on arrogance.
Nyra's boots crunched against the stone as she stepped forward. Her face was smeared with grime and dried blood, silver eyes burning beneath the bruises. She was done playing student.
"I saw it," she said, voice quiet but serrated. "You blinked."
Kierian didn't move. "I don't blink."
"You did," Nyra said, stepping closer, voice low and slicing. "Just for a second. When I cut you, Ruin."
Still, he said nothing. But something flickered across his face—barely visible. A shift in posture, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not annoyance. Not anger.
Recognition.
Maybe even approval.
She'd started calling him Ruin a few days ago. Just once. Testing. Daring.
He hadn't corrected her.
And that alone said everything.
She remembered when Riven had tried it—cocky and smirking during a particularly brutal training match.
"Nice hit, Ruin," he'd quipped.
Kierian hadn't spoken. He'd simply dismantled him.
Riven limped for three days.
Since then, no one had dared use the name.
No one but her.
And for reasons she didn't understand yet, he let her.
She tilted her head, chin raised like a challenge. "You can pretend it didn't happen. But your blood says otherwise."
"You want a medal for drawing blood?" Kierian asked, finally turning toward her, his tone still calm but the edge behind it sharp as broken steel.
"No," Nyra snapped, her silver eyes burning. "I want your respect. And I want you to stop acting like you're untouchable.". And I want you to stop acting like you're untouchable."
His jaw flexed, voice low. "You think one lucky cut earns that?" Kierian asked, his jaw flexing, voice dipped in disdain.
"No," she said, eyes narrowing. "But next time?" Nyra said, stepping even closer, her voice now just above a whisper but dripping venom. "I won't stop. I'll carve that look off your face and make you feel what you always try to hide.". I'll carve that look off your face and make you feel what you always try to hide."
The air went still.
A flicker passed through his gaze—brief, but real.
"You think you can break me?" Kierian asked, voice like gravel—low, cold, dangerous.
Nyra leaned in slightly, her voice a slow, venom-dripping whisper. "I don't want to break you," Nyra whispered, every word deliberate, like poison laced in honey. "I want to watch you bleed like the rest of us.". I want to watch you bleed like the rest of us."
His stare sharpened—cutting, dangerous. "Then come for me," Kierian growled, jaw tight, heat flashing in his dark eyes.
Nyra smirked, slow and cold. "I already did," Nyra said with a cold smirk, eyes locked on him like she could see through his bones.
They were nose to nose now.
Breaths uneven. Magic humming beneath skin.
It wasn't a spark.
It was the moment before detonation.
Behind them, Riven cleared his throat with exaggerated volume. "So uh… fight, fuck, or maybe just glare at each other until someone combusts?" Riven asked, hands in the air, voice lazy but laced with tension as he stood a safe distance back. at each other until someone combusts?"
Nyra's head snapped toward him. "I will staple your mouth shut with a blade, Riven," Nyra snapped without looking at him, her tone sharp enough to wound.
He held up both hands. "Just saying," Riven muttered, backing up another step. "If there's a cliff to throw me off, now's the time.". I mean, if there's a cliff to throw me off, now's the time."
Seraph chuckled softly behind them.
Nyx muttered, "I'd help her," Nyx added with a grin curling beneath Seraph's skin, her voice slithering like silk through grit.
Nyx didn't bother hiding her smirk.
The tension lingered even after they turned away from the cliff.
No one spoke.
Back in the pit, the ground was stained with dried blood and shredded footprints from their previous session. The silence that followed wasn't peace—it was anticipation sharpened to a blade's edge.
Kierian stood at the center again, back to them.
"Form up," he ordered, voice cutting through the air like a whip crack.
They obeyed instantly.
"Three against three," he said without turning. "You against yourselves."
Nyra's eyes narrowed. "Illusions again?"
Kierian finally turned, and for a moment, something like satisfaction flickered across his face.
"No," he said. "Projections. Pure combat instinct. Not copies. Reflections. They'll move like you. Think like you. Exploit your worst habits. If you've learned anything… you'll survive this."
With a flick of his hand, the pit shimmered.
Three figures emerged—twins of the trio, but darker. Grim. Twisted. Each wore a smile that mirrored their own, but warped.
Seraph's projection moved with eerie grace, her fans soaked in black mist. Nyra's doppelgänger held blades crackling with telekinetic energy, her face a mask of rage. Riven's twin spun his daggers with manic glee, eyes glinting with malice.
Riven groaned. "Gods, I'm an asshole."
Nyra gritted her teeth. "We kill them, right?"
"If you can," Kierian said flatly.
Nyx emerged then, shoulders rolling with anticipation.
"Oh, I'm going to enjoy this," she purred, stepping forward.
The fight erupted.
Steel clashed instantly. Seraph vanished into smoke, appearing behind her projection, but it was waiting. It countered her flicker with a mirrored move, slashing her across the side.
She winced. "Smarter than they look," she murmured.
Riven blinked across the pit, aiming for his double's blind spot—but the reflection vanished, reappearing behind him. "Damn it!" he barked, rolling aside.
Nyra met hers head-on.
The clash was seismic. Power flared. Sparks lit the air as telekinetic energy exploded in waves around them.
"You're sloppy," her projection spat.
"I'm alive," Nyra snarled back, launching a full-force pulse that sent the shadow version flying into the wall.
Nyx dove into the brawl, striking at Seraph's twin with feral rhythm. "You move like you're afraid to sweat," she taunted, her blades clanging with deadly grace.
Seraph retook control, voice a whisper through clenched teeth. "Less blood. More precision."
"Fine," Nyx growled. "We do it your way."
The twin stumbled as Seraph's calculated strike hit a joint seam in its armor—clean, silent, and effective.
Riven and his projection were locked in a blur of steel.
"Godsdamn, I hate me!" Riven shouted, ducking under a feint and slicing his twin's thigh.
Kierian watched from the shadows.
Not once did he interfere.
Nyra's body pulsed with kinetic fury, blades orbiting her like wings of death.
"Why are you holding back?" her projection hissed.
Nyra grinned, blood in her teeth. "I'm not."
Then she sent every weapon flying—twelve steel fragments hurtled toward the projection, striking true.
It collapsed, vanishing into mist.
Nyra exhaled hard, chest heaving.
Seraph dispatched hers with surgical finality.
Riven finally twisted his dagger across his twin's throat, ending the mimic with a snarl.
The mist faded.
Only silence remained.
Kierian stepped forward.
"That," he said, voice like flint, "was the closest thing to real I could give you."
Nyra stared at him, sweat running down her temple.
"It won't be enough, will it?" she asked.
"No," Kierian said.
And this time, his voice was colder.
"Because what's coming… is worse."
Their bodies were breaking.
And yet—they moved.
It was past midnight. The moon hung high over the palace cliffs, casting fractured silver through the skeletal branches above the upper courtyard. Shadows draped across the blood-soaked stone, and the wind carried the metallic scent of iron and sweat.
Kierian had not dismissed them.
Which meant they stayed.
"Again," he said, tone like cracked granite.
Nyra staggered to her feet, jaw clenched so tight her molars screamed. Her right arm trembled—dislocated earlier and shoved back into place without pause. Her eyes gleamed with silver fire, blood trickling from her nose. Still, she stepped forward.
Riven groaned from where he lay flat on his back, arms out. "If I die, someone better drag my body to the river. Let it float out dramatically."
Nyra didn't look at him. "If you die, I'm feeding you to the hounds."
"Romantic," he muttered.
"Get up," Kierian snapped.
Riven coughed and rolled onto his knees, swearing under his breath. "One day," he muttered, "I'm going to poison your food."
"I don't eat," Kierian replied coldly.
Nyx surfaced, dragging Seraph back into the quiet.
Her eyes were feral as she strode forward, joints cracking. "Your little shadow monsters are starting to bore me," she said, licking blood from her lip. "Got anything real left to throw at us?"
Kierian stared at her.
Then smiled.
It was not kind.
He raised a hand.
A fissure split open in the far wall of the courtyard. Magic surged—black, violent, unstable.
And from it… came sound.
A roar.
Not illusion. Not memory.
Something real.
Something ancient.
The beast that emerged had no eyes. No clear form. Just twisted muscle, segmented jaws, and black ichor dripping from limbs it had no business possessing.
Nyra's breath caught.
Even Riven stopped moving.
Kierian stepped back into shadow.
"You wanted real," he said. "Survive it."
The creature lunged.
Nyra moved first, her telekinesis lashing out. The beast absorbed the blow, flinging her across the courtyard with a sickening crunch.
"Nyra!" Riven shouted.
He blinked beside the creature and drove his daggers into its ribs. They sank halfway—then the beast shook, throwing him like a ragdoll.
Nyx let out a snarl, darting low with both blades in hand. She carved a deep slash across its side, dodged its retaliatory swipe, then vaulted off the wall and struck again.
Its scream split the sky.
Seraph took control mid-air, landing soft as mist. She summoned a full illusion of herself, baiting the creature left—then Nyra returned.
Bleeding. Cracked. Furious.
She hurled herself into the chaos.
Her blade spun in midair, catching light—then split into fragments.
Twelve blades spiraled toward the beast.
It swatted half aside.
The other half buried in its chest.
It roared and slammed its body down—Nyra shielded herself with kinetic energy just in time. Her bones still rattled.
"Left flank!" she shouted.
Riven teleported and slashed behind the creature's knee.
Nyx reemerged with a shriek and stabbed into the exposed ribs.
The beast reeled.
They gave it no mercy.
Kierian stood silent.
Watching.
Always watching.
Riven stumbled as he hit the ground hard, coughing blood, a jagged gash across his ribs. "Okay," he gasped, "so I vote we never piss him off again."
"Shut up and bleed quieter," Nyra snapped, wiping the ichor from her blade.
The beast roared again, charging toward Nyx, who greeted it with a maniacal grin.
"Come here, ugly," she hissed. She feinted left, then dove under its swipe, slicing a tendon along its leg. The creature screeched and buckled.
Seraph flickered in next, their shared body shifting in movement—Nyx's aggression threading through Seraph's fluid grace. The blend was deadly.
She drove a phantom blade into the beast's exposed throat. Illusion magic shimmered over the impact, confusing its senses. It spun violently, crashing into the courtyard wall.
Nyra moved in.
This time, there was no hesitation. Her mind was steel, her magic pulsing in sync with her heartbeat. She hurled two daggers midair—then altered their trajectory mid-flight. They pierced deep into the beast's exposed flank.
"Riven—now!" she shouted.
He blinked in from above, despite the blood dripping from his chin, and drove both his daggers downward into the creature's back.
With a final shudder, the beast let out a sickening howl—and collapsed into black smoke, folding in on itself like a dying storm.
The silence afterward was worse than the noise.
Riven slumped to his knees. "Remind me to never ask for something real again."
Nyra dropped to one knee, arm clutching her ribs, eyes locked on Kierian.
He stood at the edge of the pit.
Expression unreadable. Voice calm.
"You survived."
Nyra spat blood and forced herself to her feet.
"Was that a test?" she demanded.
Kierian's eyes flicked toward the dissipating smoke. "No. That was the warm-up."
Nyra's jaw clenched. "You could've warned us."
"I did."
"You dropped a creature out of a nightmare!" she barked.
Kierian's lips twitched. "And you didn't die. Progress."
Nyx surged forward, fury rippling through their frame. "If this is how you teach, remind me not to ask for a damn lesson in kindness."
Kierian stepped toward her slowly, gaze hard.
"I don't teach kindness," he said. "I teach survival."
Their eyes locked.
It was a standoff. Breaths shallow. Energy crackling.
Then Seraph slipped back in, chest rising and falling in quiet control.
"You teach pain," she said softly.
"And pain keeps you alive," Kierian answered, without flinching.
Nyra looked between them—then turned away.
"I'm done talking," she muttered, voice like a blade dulled with restraint.
She walked slowly—each step deliberate, even as blood streaked down her side. Her spine was straight, unyielding. Her shoulders didn't sag. Not even when her entire body screamed to collapse.
She didn't look back.
But Kierian did.
His eyes followed her—sharp at first, then something else. Something harder to name. His stance didn't falter, but his head tilted slightly. A shift in breath. A subtle tension along his jaw. His fingers flexed at his side, as if resisting a movement even he didn't understand.
He didn't speak.
But his gaze lingered long after she was gone.
Seraph noticed.
She didn't say a word, but her eyes flicked from Kierian's rigid silhouette to the trail Nyra left behind. Her expression remained unreadable—but the corner of her mouth curled in quiet acknowledgment.
And then she turned away too, following Nyra without a sound.
Riven whistled low. "That was the warm-up?"
Kierian looked over his shoulder, tone dry. "You'll hate the next part."
Riven groaned. "We already hate this part."
Dawn didn't come gently.
It broke through the storm-heavy sky like a blade—sharp, merciless, burning away the last of the shadows clinging to the blood-soaked courtyard.
Nyra didn't sleep.
None of them had.
They sat in silence on the edge of the broken sparring pit, bodies wrecked, minds frayed, but something burning behind their eyes that hadn't been there before. Not just survival.
Resolve.
A kind that could only be forged through carnage.
Riven leaned back against the stone wall, bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs. "So. What do you think he's going to do next? Drop a hydra on us? Throw us into the ocean with weights tied to our legs?"
"Don't tempt him," Nyra muttered, her voice hoarse, eyes locked on the rising sun. "He probably thinks drowning is character-building."
"Wouldn't be the worst thing," Nyx said through a yawn, stretching their body until joints cracked. "At least then we get a break."
Seraph surfaced slowly, her tone calmer. "There's no break in war."
Nyra's fingers twitched, still aching from the force she'd pushed through them last night. "This isn't training anymore. It's preparation for something worse."
Riven glanced at her. "You think he knows what's coming?"
She didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Footsteps echoed across the upper platform.
Kierian appeared, his silhouette cut sharp against the rising dawn. His coat moved like smoke, his eyes unreadable—though darker than usual. He carried no blade. No scroll. Just himself.
That was worse.
"You've endured," he said, voice rough from disuse. "Now you begin."
Riven blinked. "I'm sorry—begin?"
Kierian nodded once. "You've learned how to fight. Now I teach you how to kill."
A heavy silence.
Nyra stood slowly, her spine straight despite the pain. "So the rest was just foreplay?"
Kierian stepped down into the pit.
"No," he said. "That was mercy."
He drew a thin, dark-bladed sword from behind his back. The steel shimmered unnaturally—like it remembered every scream it had ever spilled.
"You're going to fight me," he said, turning toward them.
All three.
"Together."
Seraph's breath caught. Riven stiffened. Nyx hissed something obscene.
Nyra didn't flinch.
"Then let's finish what you started, Ruin," she said, stepping forward.
Kierian tilted his head slightly—barely a movement.
But it was there.
That flicker.
He liked it.
Nyra didn't wait for a command.
She launched forward like a spear, blades whirling midair, silver eyes glowing.
Kierian didn't wait.
He moved like death made flesh.
No signal. No pause.
He was just there—inside their space, blade flashing.
Nyra barely deflected the first strike, her telekinetic shield splintering under the force. "Motherfucker was holding back," she growled, voice low and venom-laced.
Riven cursed, teleporting behind Kierian with a flicker of light—but the blade met empty air. Kierian was gone.
"I told you," Kierian snapped, voice like breaking bone, "you think this is a lesson. It's not. It's survival. You fail here, you die out there."
Nyx snarled, flipping through the air, her blades singing. "And if we die here?"
"Then I've done my job," Kierian said coldly.
He struck again—this time at Seraph.
She flickered, dodged just in time, but the wind of the strike tore her illusion apart.
"Damn it," she hissed. "He's reading us."
Nyra circled to the side, face streaked with blood. "Then change the page."
They attacked in unison.
Nyra's telekinetic daggers spun in a deadly orbit, launching toward Kierian's side as Riven blinked into his blind spot and slashed for the tendon behind his knee.
Kierian twisted, catching Riven mid-motion and slamming him into the ground.
Riven groaned, "Okay—so we're actually dying today. Cool."
Nyx dove low, sliding beneath Kierian's next strike and aiming high—her blade arced toward the most tender place on a man's body.
Kierian spun to block.
"Going for the balls?" he growled.
"I aim for the weakest points," Nyx purred, grinning.
Seraph took over mid-motion, her control tightening their strikes.
Their fighting style blurred—Nyra's brutal finesse, Riven's unpredictability, Seraph's elegance, and Nyx's feral chaos.
They struck again.
This time, they landed hits.
Nyra's blade bit into his arm.
Riven scored a slash across his ribs.
Nyx got behind him and drove her dagger right to the seam of his armor, just above his thigh.
Kierian growled, blood dripping now.
"You're learning," he said.
"Learning to gut you," Nyra spat, silver eyes burning.
They moved again.
Kierian tried to counter—slashed toward Riven, kicked at Seraph—but they were faster now. Sharper.
Unified.
Nyra slammed her boot into his knee.
He staggered.
Riven flashed behind him, blade pressed to his spine.
Nyx appeared in front—grinning, feral, eyes gleaming—dagger aimed at a place no man wants to feel steel.
Nyra stood at his side, one blade to his throat, her other hand clenched and trembling with telekinetic charge.
"Got you, Ruin," she whispered, sharp as broken glass.
Kierian didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
His breath was calm.
Then—
He smiled.
Not wide. Not kind. Just enough to mean something.
"You're ready."
But Kierian wasn't done.
He twisted, blood still dripping from his arm, and disarmed Riven with a snap of his wrist. The blade went flying. Nyra struck, her dagger aimed for his throat—but he caught her wrist mid-strike, and for a heartbeat, it was just the two of them, locked in a savage, breathless contest of will.
"I'm not finished," Kierian growled.
Nyx spun back into the fray, sliding beneath him again—this time slicing his calf open with a grin. "Oh, you are sofinished."
He backhanded her across the jaw, but she laughed through the sting.
Seraph took over instantly, balancing the ferocity with grace—fan-blades flickering like crescent moons as she drove one into the back of his knee.
Kierian faltered. Just for a second.
And that's when they struck.
Nyra slammed her boot into his shoulder, twisting him. Riven blinked into position, blade aimed steady at the base of his spine. Seraph shifted left, illusion flickering in and out—until Nyx reappeared, crouched low, blade poised at his groin with a wicked smirk.
Nyra pressed her blade to his throat. "Now you're finished."
Kierian didn't move.
Didn't blink.
But his breath hitched.
And then—he smiled.
A deep, dark smirk that bled satisfaction.
"You passed."
The trio didn't lower their weapons yet.
"You're ready," Kierian said, stepping back slowly, letting their blades peel away one by one. "You'll report to the Academy gates by sunrise. Your escort will be waiting."
He turned, but before stepping off the field, he paused.
His gaze flicked over Nyra—sharp, deliberate.
And then—
He smirked.
Not the cold, calculated smile they were used to.
But something slower. Darker. Wicked.
Nyra's stomach twisted.
A rush bloomed under her ribs—tight, hot, unfamiliar.
She stood frozen for a moment, blinking.
What the hell was that?
She didn't know the word for it. Didn't know what to call that flutter in her gut or the pulse in her throat.
All she knew was that Kierian had already vanished into the shadows.
And she couldn't stop thinking about the way he looked at her.