It began with the silence.
Not the kind found in Reflection Hall or in the aftermath of a sparring match—but the kind that sank into the bones, heavy and cold. The kind that warned of blood yet to spill.
The first-year elites felt it before it was spoken. A shift. An unseen hand brushing against the soul, whispering change.
Nyra stood at the edge of the east tower balcony, staring into the twilight sky. The wind whipped her violet-streaked hair back, her silver eyes narrowed against the chill. Her chains were still, wrapped tight around her forearms like the calm before a storm. The quiet bit into her skin, and still she didn't move.
Behind her, Seraph's voice came soft. "It's starting, isn't it?"
Nyra didn't turn. "Yes."
"What is?" Riven asked, stepping beside them with a half-eaten apple in hand. "Another trial? A surprise gutting? I'd love to mentally prepare for either."
Nyra finally looked over her shoulder. "No. This is something else."
Voss stepped from the shadows of the doorway, arms folded. His eyes weren't on Nyra, or the others. They were on the horizon. As if he could see something none of them could.
"Orders came from above," he said. "A special evaluation. Unscheduled. Elite combatants only."
Nyra's jaw tensed. "From who?"
"The Dominion Council. And the Queen."
The silence after that was darker than before.
Seraph crossed her arms. "It's a setup."
Riven's easy posture hardened. "They want us isolated. Contained. Observed."
"No," Nyra corrected, voice low and deadly. "They want to see what happens when they push too far."
Voss nodded once. "We're to report to the lower arena at dawn. It's not in the training schedule. Which means it's off record."
"And off record means…" Riven's tone turned grim. "Anything goes."
Nyra turned back to the wind. Her eyes burned with the flicker of Amethyst Inferno, just enough to light the silver in her gaze.
"Then let them see what we become when they stop pretending to control us."
Far below, in the depths of Dominion, something stirred.
A door unlocked.
A howl echoed where no wind lived.
And the game changed.
Dawn came in bloodlight.
Not the warmth of sunrise, but a red-hued sky that seemed to pulse above the Dominion Institute like a warning. There were no morning bells, no announcements, no instructors herding the students to their schedules. Only silence—and the slow, deliberate steps of those who had been summoned.
Nyra walked through the inner corridors of Dominion with a kind of quiet rage in her bones. Her boots echoed off the stone floors. Her silver eyes were fixed ahead, and her body moved with the lethal grace of someone who had bled more than she'd ever spoken.
Around her, the others followed. Riven walked slightly behind and to the left, flipping one of his hidden blades over his fingers out of habit, though the blade vanished as soon as it appeared. Beside him, Seraph moved like smoke—serene but alert. And at the rear, Voss trailed in silence, his every step so calculated he barely made a sound.
The path Kael had directed them down wasn't one used in standard rotations. This corridor was older—scarred with wear, the magic in its stones heavier, denser. A place that remembered.
"What is this place?" Seraph asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Archives say it was once part of the old war barracks," Voss replied. "Before the Institute was rebuilt. Before the last rebellion."
Nyra's gaze darkened. "So they're sending us to ghosts."
Riven scoffed. "What else is new?"
The corridor ended in a narrow stairwell. Wards lined the walls—red, black, etched in blood-forged glyphs. The magic hummed with recognition as they stepped closer, and one by one, the glyphs opened like blooming wounds, revealing a door of obsidian and bone.
It creaked open on its own.
Beyond it: darkness. The kind that didn't wait to be filled.
"Let me guess," Riven muttered. "This is where they feed us to whatever's chained in the basement."
Nyra stepped in first.
The chamber beyond was vast—round, domed, layered with concentric circles of combat rings. Torches lit with black flame flared to life as they entered, illuminating a space that felt… wrong.
Kael Veyne stood at the far end, arms crossed. He wasn't alone.
Two members of the Dominion Council flanked him—hooded figures wrapped in ceremonial crimson robes. Their faces were hidden, but their presence scraped against the skin like razors.
"Welcome," Kael said, voice flat. "This is your proving ground."
Riven's brow arched. "You know, a good morning would've sufficed."
Kael ignored him. "The Queen has requested a private evaluation. Elite combatants only. You four will enter the ring. You will survive whatever is sent to kill you. Or you will not. Either way, Dominion gains something."
Seraph's voice was even. "We're being studied."
"No," Kael said. "You're being measured."
The floor rumbled.
Something beneath the chamber shifted. A grinding sound echoed from the center of the room as a section of the arena split open like a wound. From the opening, steam poured upward—thick, hot, metallic.
And then the sound.
A guttural, wet snarl.
Nyra stepped forward, her magic already sparking at her fingertips.
"What the hell is that?" Riven breathed.
Kael's smile was thin and cold. "Something very old. Something caged here long before you were born. A beast bred in war. It doesn't think. It hunts. It feeds. And it will not stop until one of you is dead."
Seraph's breath stilled.
Voss cracked his knuckles, his graviton field already flickering around him in barely contained ripples.
The creature emerged slowly. It was twice the size of a man, its skin armored in plates of obsidian bone. Its limbs were too long, its back arched like a wolf in mid-lunge, and its eyes—six of them—glowed crimson, dripping with viscous liquid that hissed when it struck the floor.
The crowd of instructors and Council members stayed silent.
It had no name.
No leash.
And no orders.
Kael stepped back.
"The arena is sealed," he said. "Fight or die."
The beast roared.
And the floor exploded.
Dawn came in bloodlight.
Not the warmth of sunrise, but a red-hued sky that seemed to pulse above the Dominion Institute like a warning. There were no morning bells, no announcements, no instructors herding the students to their schedules. Only silence—and the slow, deliberate steps of those who had been summoned.
Nyra walked through the inner corridors of Dominion with a kind of quiet rage in her bones. Her boots echoed off the stone floors. Her silver eyes were fixed ahead, and her body moved with the lethal grace of someone who had bled more than she'd ever spoken.
Around her, the others followed. Riven walked slightly behind and to the left, flipping one of his hidden blades over his fingers out of habit, though the blade vanished as soon as it appeared. Beside him, Seraph moved like smoke—serene but alert. And at the rear, Voss trailed in silence, his every step so calculated he barely made a sound.
The path Kael had directed them down wasn't one used in standard rotations. This corridor was older—scarred with wear, the magic in its stones heavier, denser. A place that remembered.
"What is this place?" Seraph asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Archives say it was once part of the old war barracks," Voss replied. "Before the Institute was rebuilt. Before the last rebellion."
Nyra's gaze darkened. "So they're sending us to ghosts."
Riven scoffed. "What else is new?"
The corridor ended in a narrow stairwell. Wards lined the walls—red, black, etched in blood-forged glyphs. The magic hummed with recognition as they stepped closer, and one by one, the glyphs opened like blooming wounds, revealing a door of obsidian and bone.
It creaked open on its own.
Beyond it: darkness. The kind that didn't wait to be filled.
"Let me guess," Riven muttered. "This is where they feed us to whatever's chained in the basement."
Nyra stepped in first.
The chamber beyond was vast—round, domed, layered with concentric circles of combat rings. Torches lit with black flame flared to life as they entered, illuminating a space that felt… wrong.
Kael Veyne stood at the far end, arms crossed. He wasn't alone.
Two members of the Dominion Council flanked him—hooded figures wrapped in ceremonial crimson robes. Their faces were hidden, but their presence scraped against the skin like razors.
"Welcome," Kael said, voice flat. "This is your proving ground."
Riven's brow arched. "You know, a good morning would've sufficed."
Kael ignored him. "The Queen has requested a private evaluation. Elite combatants only. You four will enter the ring. You will survive whatever is sent to kill you. Or you will not. Either way, Dominion gains something."
Seraph's voice was even. "We're being studied."
"No," Kael said. "You're being measured."
The floor rumbled.
Something beneath the chamber shifted. A grinding sound echoed from the center of the room as a section of the arena split open like a wound. From the opening, steam poured upward—thick, hot, metallic.
And then the sound.
A guttural, wet snarl.
Nyra stepped forward, her magic already sparking at her fingertips.
"What the hell is that?" Riven breathed.
Kael's smile was thin and cold. "Something very old. Something caged here long before you were born. A beast bred in war. It doesn't think. It hunts. It feeds. And it will not stop until one of you is dead."
Seraph's breath stilled.
Voss cracked his knuckles, his graviton field already flickering around him in barely contained ripples.
The creature emerged slowly. It was twice the size of a man, its skin armored in plates of obsidian bone. Its limbs were too long, its back arched like a wolf in mid-lunge, and its eyes—six of them—glowed crimson, dripping with viscous liquid that hissed when it struck the floor.
The crowd of instructors and Council members stayed silent.
It had no name.
No leash.
And no orders.
Kael stepped back.
"The arena is sealed," he said. "Fight or die."
The beast roared.
And the floor exploded.
The beast lunged.
It didn't move like something that size should. It was too fast—far too fluid. One moment it was in the pit, the next it had launched into the air, limbs twisting like broken scythes, maw unhinged and fanged, its roar like shattering stone.
Nyra moved instinctively.
She ignited her Amethyst Inferno mid-dash, searing the ground behind her as she dodged left, narrowly avoiding a hooked claw that embedded deep into the obsidian floor where she'd just stood. She didn't stop. Her chains snapped forward like serpents, coated in shadow magic, coiling for the beast's neck.
They never reached it.
The creature turned too fast. One claw swept sideways and sliced through the chains like they were thread. Nyra felt the recoil shudder through her arms as her body was flung back. She landed hard, blood bursting from her lips.
"Nyra!" Seraph's voice rang out.
But Nyra was already rising, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, fire crawling back over her shoulders.
The beast roared again, turning toward Riven, who was already vanishing into shadowmeld.
"Don't stand still!" Riven's voice echoed from the void. "It tracks sound and heat—stay mobile!"
Seraph raised both hands. Moonfire spiraled from her fingertips in a controlled arc, attempting to blind it. But even as the silver light struck, the creature twisted and let out a screech. It didn't stagger. It surged forward, swinging a bladed limb that tore through the fire as if it were fog.
Voss stepped in.
The ground beneath the beast pulsed as he unleashed a concentrated gravity swell. For a moment, the creature faltered, its limbs compressing under its own weight.
"NOW!" he shouted.
Nyra launched forward again, her flames forming into jagged blades at each hand. She struck—slashing, burning, ducking—but the beast didn't scream. It barely reacted.
Its blood was black. Thick. And where it sprayed, the floor hissed.
Seraph darted in from behind, unleashing her Silence Field just as Riven blinked back into existence beside her. He stabbed forward with poison-coated blades—twice, three times, slipping beneath a claw. He carved deep along the beast's underside.
But again, no scream.
Instead, the beast's tail lashed.
It caught Seraph mid-spin and slammed her into the wall with a wet crack. Nyx surfaced in a rage, eyes burning red as she forced Seraph's body back up.
"You son of a—"
The beast turned—but this time, Voss was already there. He struck the creature with a gravity-empowered kick that cracked one of its plated shoulders. The sound reverberated like a bell tolling.
Still, it didn't fall.
It spun.
Riven caught a claw across the ribs, blood spraying. He rolled, gasping, but still crawled back to his feet.
Nyra gritted her teeth and summoned her shadows again. This time, they shaped into a ring of tendrils—her Marionette Requiem.
She didn't aim for the beast.
She aimed for the air.
The shadows wrapped around its limbs mid-leap, pulling, tangling, anchoring it to the air itself. Mid-fall, the beast shrieked—caught in a web of its own momentum.
Seraph returned then, her Moonfire shifting into a vortex—silver flame twisting with screams that didn't come from her mouth. It enveloped the beast's face, blinding it.
Voss added his weight to the strike, creating a gravity sink beneath the creature's legs.
"Nyra!" he shouted.
She answered.
She leapt.
Her body ignited in a storm of Amethyst Inferno, shadows and flame twisting around her like wings. Her hands shaped into burning claws as she dove toward the immobilized beast.
And she struck.
Her claws plunged deep into the creature's chest—through armor, through bone, through everything. She screamed as her fire surged through her arms into the monster's body, lighting it from the inside.
The beast shrieked.
A sound like a dozen dying things.
Then it buckled. Cracked. Collapsed.
And burned.
Nyra landed beside the smoldering corpse, barely upright.
She was covered in black blood. Her limbs trembled. But she stood.
Kael's voice finally came from above.
"Round one… complete."
Nyra spat blood on the floor. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
Nyra barely had time to exhale before the floor shifted beneath her.
She staggered back, legs blood-slick and trembling as the blackened corpse of the first creature still sizzled at her feet. But the sound—the low groaning of ancient gears grinding beneath stone—sent a spike of dread through her chest.
Cracks webbed through the arena floor like a living wound.
"Back!" Voss barked, already yanking Seraph out of range.
Too late.
The obsidian floor split open, not in neat halves but with jagged, tearing violence. From the chasm rose a scream that sounded like it came from the deepest pit of the world—a sound so wet and broken it dragged bile up Nyra's throat.
From the dark void emerged the beast.
Or what could only be described as one.
A towering horror, stitched together with layers of molten bone and blistered flesh, its muscles twitched beneath skin like it had been burned alive and forced to keep moving. Its arms were malformed scythes, serrated and dripping with black blood. Bone jutted from its back like a crown, and its mouth—if it could be called that—stretched from jaw to clavicle, a jagged abyss that oozed hot ichor.
Its body hissed and bubbled with raw corruption. The ground burned where it stepped.
Kael's voice sliced through the thick tension. "Round two."
The beast didn't wait.
It launched into motion with terrifying speed, slamming into the ground with its forelimbs and propelling itself at Seraph. She barely dodged. One claw tore through her illusion cloak, catching her shoulder. Flesh peeled open with a splatter of blood.
Seraph spun, eyes wide with pain. Nyx emerged, snarling. "You want pain, you malformed corpse? Let me educate you."
Moonfire exploded from her hand in a wave of silver death, slicing the air. The beast twisted—unnaturally fast—and rammed its body through the flames, burning, but undeterred.
"Holy shit," Riven muttered, already circling. He leapt from a raised platform and slammed his dagger into the creature's back. It sank deep—until the creature's back muscles flexed and cracked the blade.
Riven hit the ground rolling, blood soaking his sleeve from a jagged cut down his forearm.
"Okay. Bad idea."
Voss surged forward, launching a gravity pulse that lifted the monster a full foot off the ground. He followed it with a gravitational crush that bent its limbs inward with sickening cracks.
The beast roared, splattering the floor with globs of burning ichor that hissed and melted stone.
"NOW!" Voss shouted.
Nyra didn't need to be told.
She sprinted forward, chains retracting tight against her arms as she summoned her Amethyst Inferno. Her flames curled upward like wings—twisting into jagged swords that flickered with shadowed edges.
She leapt, landed on its back, and drove the twin blades into the base of its spine.
The beast screamed.
It reared, tossing her like a rag doll.
She hit a pillar, hard.
Her vision flickered. Blood filled her mouth. Her ribs screamed in protest.
Behind her, Seraph was already retaliating—her body spinning in a dance of deadly grace. She summoned a phantom image of herself with Illusion Weaving, sending it to flank the beast while she moved low and silent, Moonfire coalescing into a sharp fan of energy.
The illusion struck first.
The beast shredded it in a burst of gore and smoke.
But that was enough.
Seraph launched her fan of Moonfire into its exposed throat. The silver light burst on impact, carving into its neck with sizzling precision. Black blood gushed, spraying the arena floor in an arc that painted the stone.
The beast roared.
And lunged at Voss.
He didn't retreat. He grounded himself, hands glowing with gravitational pressure. He released a Black Orbit pulse, collapsing the space around the beast's body, forcing its torso downward in a violent crunch.
The creature howled.
And then something shifted.
The creature adapted.
Its limbs snapped outward with a surge of new strength. It flung Voss like a ragdoll into the far wall with bone-breaking force.
"VOSS!" Nyra screamed.
He didn't move.
His body crumpled in the rubble. Blood pooled beneath him.
Then Riven screamed.
The beast lashed out with its tail—a barbed, whip-like appendage. It tore a gaping gash across Riven's back, exposing bone and sinew. He dropped to his knees, choking, crimson pouring down his side.
"No," Seraph whispered.
Then Nyx took over.
"You want to play, freak?" she snarled. "Let's fucking dance."
She launched herself at the beast, Moonfire whirling like a cyclone, illusions flickering in and out of reality. But it was wild now. Uncontrolled. Desperate.
And it matched her.
The two forces collided in a screaming, spinning clash of flame and muscle.
Nyra rose slowly, eyes burning.
Her Amethyst Inferno responded not just to anger—but to pain. It flared brighter now, licking up her arms, dancing over her skin like war incarnate.
She stepped forward. "Enough."
Her voice was low.
Her fire answered.
The Inferno raged, coiling upward, wrapping around her like armor. Shadow tendrils erupted from her back and formed a swirling halo of knives. Her body moved on instinct—pain forgotten.
Seraph joined her.
Their eyes met.
No words.
Just understanding.
Together, they moved.
The Moonfire and Amethyst Inferno collided midair—silver and violet—spiraling together in a crescendo of magic. A wave of energy erupted from their fusion, melting the arena floor beneath them.
The beast turned to face it—too late.
The fire struck.
It tore through the creature's torso, severing limbs, cauterizing veins, boiling flesh off its bones. The impact peeled back its body like layers of armor. Blood burst in jets—dark, steaming, foul.
Its scream shattered stone.
Then—silence.
The beast fell, twitching. It didn't explode. It didn't fade.
It bled.
And it died.
Nyra stood at its side, soaked in gore, her chains burned black, her flames sputtering but present.
Voss still didn't move.
Riven groaned in a distant haze.
And Kael?
Kael simply said, "Round two… complete."
Nyra didn't scream this time.
She burned.
Blood soaked the stone floor, seeping into runes long forgotten, long dormant. The beast's corpse twitched once more before going still—its final breath hissing through split lungs and charred throat.
The silence afterward wasn't peace.
It was aftermath.
Nyra stood in the center of it all, fire flickering across her skin in dying pulses, her silver eyes wide with fury and fear. Her chains hissed, half-melted and heavy, dragging behind her as she stumbled toward the body that wasn't moving.
Voss.
He lay sprawled where the beast had thrown him, his body twisted awkwardly amid broken stone and blood. His shoulder was caved in. A gash ran from his brow to his jaw. His breathing was shallow. Barely there.
"Voss," she whispered, falling to her knees beside him.
No answer.
Not even a twitch.
"Ruin," she said again, louder now. Her hands trembled as she touched his chest, searching—pleading—for movement.
Still nothing.
Behind her, Seraph and Riven remained slumped against opposite walls. Riven clutched his side where blood poured steadily from a ragged wound. His face was pale, lips cracked, eyes unfocused.
"I can't—move," he murmured.
Seraph crawled toward him, dragging herself forward with one arm, the other dangling uselessly. Her Moonfire shimmered weakly at her fingertips.
"Don't talk," she whispered. "Save your strength."
Kael's voice echoed above them, low and unfeeling.
"You succeeded."
Nyra's head snapped up.
"You call this success?" she snarled.
Kael didn't flinch.
"You survived."
Her expression twisted. Her fire spiked.
The Amethyst Inferno flared across her back, surging up into jagged wings of flame that hissed and licked the air around her. Her shadow magic coiled beneath her feet like a living creature, responding to the venom in her voice. Her silver eyes darkened, glowing with barely restrained power.
"No," she hissed. "You want to see what survival looks like?" Her voice cracked like bone. "Try pushing me again. Try giving me another order."
The room's temperature plummeted. Killing intent rolled off her in waves.
One of the robed Council members shifted uneasily.
"We require one of you to execute the creature's remains. Burn it to ash. Complete the eradication."
Nyra's voice dropped into a whisper—but every word cut like a blade.
"It's already dead," she spat. "Like whatever twisted thing passes for your soul."
"You do not get to decide—"
"You're right," she growled, rising to her feet, fire crawling over her shoulders. "I don't get to decide. But if you ask me to do one more thing while my friends are bleeding out beneath your fucking test—I will decide who dies next."
Her flames hissed louder.
And then—
"Nyra."
The voice came from behind her.
Not Voss.
Not Seraph.
Nyx.
Nyx had taken over Seraph's body—smeared in blood, her jaw clenched, eyes wild with something deeper than fury. Something close to fear.
"Nyra," she said again, softer this time. "Heal them."
Nyra blinked.
"You can fix them," Nyx continued, her voice uncharacteristically calm. "You can't lose them. We can't lose him."
Nyra stared at her.
Nyx was trembling.
And that wasn't like her.
It wasn't like her at all.
Nyra turned.
Her hands hovered over Riven's chest first. Her fire pulsed, shifting hues, blending with a pale light as her necromantic healing kicked in. His blood began to slow. Bones pulled inward, reknitting. His breath steadied.
Then she turned to Voss.
She dropped to her knees, breathing hard.
Her hands pressed over his wounds.
"Don't you fucking die on me," she whispered.
The fire crawled through his chest—painful, healing, holy.
He twitched.
Just barely.
But it was enough.
Outside the ring, Seraph stared.
And Nyx—quiet and trembling—didn't fade.
Because something in her broke the moment Riven stopped moving.
Later, the medical ward buzzed with muted panic.
Healers swarmed. Magic poured into broken bodies. Bones were reset. Blood was replaced. But some wounds were deeper than skin.
Voss lay in a sealed chamber, monitored, still unmoving.
Nyra sat beside him, her hands balled into fists, her eyes distant. Her body was bandaged, bruised, but upright.
"You're not allowed to die," she muttered. "Not yet. Not before I find out what you meant."
Still no response.
Outside the ward, Seraph leaned against the wall, her own wounds wrapped in glowing threads of moonlight.
Riven sat on a bench next to her, head resting back against the wall, eyes closed. He looked like hell—pale, bloodstained, breathing in shallow gulps.
And then Nyx emerged.
She stood in front of him, arms crossed, face tight.
He opened one eye.
"You look like death warmed over," he rasped.
Nyx didn't smile.
She punched him—lightly, but directly in his shoulder wound.
He grunted. "Ow. Fuck—"
"Don't you ever scare me like that again," she snapped, voice shaking.
He blinked.
Was that moisture in her eyes?
"You…" he started.
"I thought you were gone," she whispered. "And I didn't like it."
She turned to go.
He caught her wrist.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said.
She hesitated.
Then turned back—and kissed him.
It wasn't soft.
It was raw. Real. Blood and all.
When she pulled back, he smiled through the pain.
"Worth the concussion."
"Damn right," Nyx muttered.
And for the first time since the fight… she smiled.
The next day came, but the world hadn't reset.
There were no instructors barking orders. No drills. No lectures. No bells.
Just silence.
The elite dormitory was quiet. Too quiet.
Nyra sat in the far corner of her room, perched on the windowsill like a sentinel. Her body was wrapped in tight, rune-imbued bandages, the scent of burnt skin and blood still lingering in the air. The pain wasn't just physical—it had settled deep in her marrow, humming beneath the surface like a second pulse.
The chains at her wrists had been reforged by the Dominion blacksmith, re-etched with new sigils. They were heavier now, crackling with dormant energy. One rune shimmered faintly—designed not to protect her, but to subdue her. To contain what had awakened during the last trial.
Her magic hadn't calmed. It churned. Grew restless.
She hadn't slept.
The nightmare repeated in her mind: Voss hitting the stone wall. Blood gushing from his mouth. The crack of bone that sounded too final. And her own scream.
They hadn't let her see him again.
Not yet.
A knock cut through the quiet—sharp and deliberate.
"Enter," she rasped.
Seraph stepped into the room, face unreadable.
"Voss is awake," she said softly.
Nyra didn't speak.
She moved.
The walk to the medical wing felt longer than it was.
The hallways were empty, but her boots echoed like war drums.
When she entered the ward, the scent of blood and antiseptic hit her in the face. Healers murmured to one another, moving between curtained beds with glowing hands and furrowed brows.
But Nyra didn't see them.
Her eyes locked onto one room.
He lay beneath a thin protective ward, surrounded by faint glyphs that pulsed with light. Voss's chest rose and fell slowly. His skin, usually dark and warm, looked pale beneath the magical wash of the ward's light. One arm was immobilized in a cast of magical energy. A faint scar now stretched down the side of his face, from temple to jaw—raw, jagged, and recent.
His eyes were closed.
She didn't breathe.
Then they opened.
Silver locked with onyx.
His lips twitched. "Hellcat."
She didn't reply immediately. She walked to the edge of his bed and stared down at him, jaw clenched tight.
"You nearly died," she said flatly.
"Did I?"
Her fists clenched. "Yes."
He blinked slowly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Still here."
"Barely."
She dragged a chair over and dropped into it with a thud.
"I thought you were gone."
"I'm hard to kill."
There was silence.
Then he said, more softly, "You came back for me."
Nyra's silver eyes narrowed. "Of course I did. You're mine to destroy, remember?"
He chuckled, and winced. "Still dramatic."
She didn't smile. But she didn't leave either.
"You burned everything," he murmured.
"You pushed me there."
His voice dropped. "Good."
Elsewhere in the dormitory, Riven sat in the tower alcove, wrapped in fresh bandages. The wounds on his side were closed now, but the bruises and swelling along his ribs remained deep and ugly. He looked like hell—pale, bloodstained, breathing in shallow gulps.
He stared out the window, watching the twilight settle over Dominion like a velvet noose.
Behind him, soft footsteps approached.
Seraph sat beside him.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Then, in a quiet voice, Seraph broke the silence. "I froze."
Riven turned slightly. "You?"
"I didn't know what to do," she said. Her words weren't broken, but they carried weight. "I saw you bleeding out. I saw Nyra screaming. And I… I just—shut down. My mind went blank. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think."
Riven blinked, surprised by her admission.
"I'm supposed to be the calm one," she said, eyes shining. "The poised one. But all I felt was panic. Like the floor had disappeared under me. Like I was watching everything through a window I couldn't break."
He was silent.
Then she turned to him fully, her face close, her breath shaking.
"I love you, Riven."
His eyes widened.
And before he could say anything, she grabbed his collar and kissed him.
It wasn't sweet. It wasn't gentle.
It was mad. Passionate. Desperate. Her lips devoured his. Her hands pulled him closer, even as he winced from the pain in his ribs. The heat between them ignited, furious and raw.
When she finally pulled back, breathless, her voice was low.
"Don't you ever make me feel that helpless again."
Riven blinked, dazed.
"Seraph," he murmured. "That was…"
His lips curved slowly.
"...probably the sexiest thing I've ever experienced while partially concussed."
She rolled her eyes.
But she was smiling.
And when she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, Riven let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Back in the ward, Nyra still sat beside Voss.
His hand brushed hers.
"You burned everything," he repeated.
"I didn't have a choice."
"You did."
She looked at him.
"And you still came back."
"I always come back."
He reached out, touching the back of her hand with calloused fingers. "Don't stop."
A beat passed.
Then two.
"Not planning to," she whispered.
Far from Dominion, deep within the obsidian spires of the Royal Palace in Veyrune's capital, the Queen sat alone in her private chambers. The walls were lined with mirrors that reflected nothing—enchanted to devour light, not cast it. Candles flickered but gave no warmth.
Before her hovered a crystal orb—glowing, humming, pulsing with echoes of the trial. Fire. Blood. Screams. It played like a symphony composed of suffering.
The Queen's expression was unreadable. Lips curved just slightly, but her eyes were dark with intent.
"They survived," she murmured.
From the shadows behind her, a figure emerged. Cloaked. Silent.
"They're changing," he said.
The Queen didn't look at him. "Good. Let them. Let them grow. Let them believe they're becoming something untouchable."
A pause.
"Should we begin Phase Three?"
She tilted her head, slowly.
"No. Not yet."
She stood, moving toward the window. Outside, the skyline of the capital glowed—false peace under a dying moon.
"They're not ready to die," she said quietly. "Not yet. Not until they know what they truly are."
She turned slightly, and for a moment, something in her eyes flickered—something feral.
"And when they do… I'll take everything."