The training chamber beneath the Fortress of Thorns was unlike anything Elira had ever seen. It was carved into the mountain itself, lit by torches that burned with blue flame and mirrored by obsidian walls. Weapons lined the edges—swords, whips, daggers made of moonstone and ashwood, each humming with quiet power.
Lucien stood at the center, dressed in a black tunic and dark leathers, a sword strapped across his back. He looked like a warrior from legend—cold, powerful, and untouchable.
But his eyes softened when they found her.
"Elira," he said, voice low. "Are you ready?"
She stepped into the ring, hair tied back, her wrists wrapped in cloth. "Show me how to stop being hunted."
He didn't smile. He drew his blade.
And came at her without warning.
Steel met instinct. Elira moved, barely dodging the slash, her feet slipping on the stone. The sword passed within inches of her throat.
She gasped. "You're not going easy on me?"
Lucien circled her like a predator. "I can't. The world won't. If you want to survive, you must be faster than fear, sharper than pain. Again."
He attacked. This time, she caught his motion—a flick of his wrist, a shift in weight. She dropped low, spinning to avoid him, grabbing a wooden staff from the wall. Her body moved on instinct, her magic surging just beneath the surface.
Lucien blocked her swing, their weapons cracking like thunder.
"I can feel you holding back," he growled. "Don't."
She struck again—harder, faster.
Their weapons collided again and again, sparks flying between them, magic stirring the torches to dance higher.
"You're not weak," he said through gritted teeth, catching her staff with his blade. "So stop acting like it."
Elira snarled, yanked the staff back, and thrust it toward his chest. He caught it—but just barely.
For a heartbeat, they stood inches apart, breathless.
Then he smiled—proud, dangerous.
"Better."
---
By the time they finished, Elira's arms burned, her body ached, but her soul—her soul sang.
Lucien handed her a goblet of enchanted water and helped her sit. "You did well."
She looked at him, sweat glistening on her brow. "You didn't go easy."
"I never will." He knelt before her, brushing hair from her face. "But not because I'm cruel. Because you deserve to survive."
Their bond pulsed between them—no longer just a thread, but a chain, alive and growing.
"I'm not afraid of dying," she whispered.
His eyes darkened. "Then fear what death would make me. If I lost you, Elira, there would be nothing left to save in me."
---
Far away, in the ruins of a fallen cathedral, a figure stepped out of the shadows.
She was tall, wrapped in a cloak of violet, her face veiled, her eyes like cut obsidian. Around her neck hung a pendant—blood red, carved in the shape of a broken crown.
"Lucien has broken the pact," she said, voice like silk and venom. "He's bitten the Omega."
A figure behind her stirred—an elder vampire, skin pale as parchment. "Then the curse awakens. The blood moon rises again."
The woman pulled back her hood.
She was beautiful—flawless.
And furious.
"I gave Lucien my eternity. And he betrayed me for a girl with dirt on her hands and fire in her veins."
She stepped into the light. Fangs gleaming.
"Then let me be the one to rip that Omega apart."