The sun was high, the air sharp. Rea stepped into the sanded ring where Lyz and Shawn stood waiting. Both wore light sparring gear, arms crossed. Lyz twirled her blade lazily. Shawn cracked his neck.
Rea grinned. "So we meet again. What trick have you two got up your sleeve this time?"
Lyz laughed. "No tricks. Orders. We're your instructors today."
Rea's smile sharpened. "An opportunity to square things up... I've been waiting."
Shawn smirked. "You'll find that... difficult."
Rea arched a brow. "Why's that?"
Lyz took a step forward, stance shifting. "Because the sect that sent those assassins after you, the ones who nearly killed you, we were part of it."
Shawn nodded. "Not our proudest memory. But we were elite
Rea's pupils narrowed, a flicker of heat in her throat. She inhaled deeply, and when she exhaled, flames danced over her forearms, she was enraged.
Lyz's voice cut in, low but firm:
"Remove the artifacts, Rea."
Rea's head tilted. "Excuse me?"
Shawn added, "We know who you are. And if we're meant to train you, we train the real version. Not the diluted one."
Rea's expression flickered. She didn't move.
Lyz stepped closer. "We don't need the mask. We need the monster."
Rea smirked at that.
"Careful what you wish for," she murmured.
One by one, she unclasped the thin black bands around her wrists and neck. The concealment charms fizzled and died, releasing a quiet pulse of stored magic. Her silver-white hair darkened at the roots, then gradually returned to its natural, wild ash-black. Her eyes, already red, deepened, now ringed with an eerie black iris that made Shawn flinch slightly.
But it wasn't just her appearance. Her very presence changed. A thick, confusing aura bloomed around her—light and darkness folding into one another like storm clouds crashing into sunlight.
Even Lyz took a step back.
"You feel like... two people," she whispered.
"No," Rea said, lowering into a stance. "I'm one. Just… not bound by anyone's rules."
Without warning, she lunged, dark energy crackling through her veins, her body a blur of Malvolius curse fire. Her fist came down like a hammer, sending a wave of scorched earth through the sand.
Lyz leapt aside, countering with a spiral kick. Shawn parried, stepping into Rea's blind spot.
But Rea vanished. Teleportation, a Tarkilian shift, and reappeared behind them, her palm glowing with bliss-casting runes. A concussive wave sent both Lyz and Shawn sprawling back.
"You're switching too fast!" Lyz barked, her boots skidding across the arena. "You'll rupture your core!"
"I'm fine!" Rea snapped, voice echoing unnaturally.
She raised both hands and the air distorted. Tenebros inferno wind burst forward, this time, Shawn charged through it, absorbing the heat. He threw a punch. Rea caught it, barely and shoved him back with a burst of black flames.
Then Red Light. Pure, vibrating, unstable. Rea's body glowed with raw Lucreus power.
But the moment before it touched them, Lyz and Shawn changed.
Their skin turned grey. Veins darkened. Their irises turned pitch-black.
They moved faster now inhumanly fast.
Shawn twisted around Rea's next strike and drove his elbow into her ribs. Lyz struck her from behind, a kick to her shoulder blade that sent her tumbling.
Rea growled, sliding to a stop. She raised her hand, this time Blue Light crackling in her palm, seeking to freeze their movement with precision. But before she could summon it completely, Lyz blinked beside her then hit Rea in the chest with a flat palm. The ground cracked beneath her.
"Alright. No more games."
She called on Adamas also named the dying star. Tenebros version illumination.
And then,
She dropped to her knees.
Blood poured from her mouth as her body convulsed. The aura vanished.
Shawn's skin returned to normal. He crouched beside her, eyes narrowed with something like admiration. He pressed a ruin into her hand.
"You pushed too far," he said. "You tried to bridge what your body isn't ready for."
Lyz approached, wiping sweat from her jaw. "Your power's evolving faster than your body can handle. We have to condition you before it kills you."
She pointed at the sand.
"Hundred push-ups. Now."
Rea flopped to the ground with a grunt, dragging herself into position, already wheezing.
FROM THE BALCONY – ABOVE THE TRAINING RING
Annabella leaned against the railing in a pressed black half coat, her posture relaxed, arms folded. Beside her, Andrew stood hungover, his shirt half-buttoned, eyes squinting in the harsh sun.
"Wow," he muttered. "How is she even moving after last night?"
Annabella didn't smile. "You don't seem surprised."
Andrew sipped his flask. "I've seen all sorts of things. Rea's just... inevitable."
He looked at her sideways.
"Even you, my dear. Control of water like that? It's unheard of in the Ambrosieus line. You're easily one of the most powerful of them. Probably the most refined."
Annabella gave him a sideways glance. "I am at disadvantage sir. You know me more than i know you"
Andrew smirked. "Care for a sparring match? I promise I won't use my good arm."
Annabella's lips curled. "Shall we set the terms?"
Andrew raised his eyebrow. "Now that's the spirit. What do you want, lady De la Croix"
Annabella arched her eyebrow. "If I win, you will keep nothing from me. And you will treat me as your equal".
Andrew licked his lower lip. He grinned and bowed theatrically: "Agreed."
To the sparring ground.
Andrew rolled his sleeves and chuckled. "You sure about this, my dear? I've had decades on you."
Annabella tilted her head, smile serene. "I believe you've mistaken grace for fragility
They circled each other once, measured, calculating, like two dancers waiting for the first beat.
Then Andrew struck.
Quick. Controlled. A veteran's blow.
Annabella blocked it with a single flick of her wrist, spinning backward and pivoting on her heel to avoid the next. She didn't return the strike, not yet. Her gaze was steady,
"My good lord... you will do wrong to go easy on me "she said, eyes gleaming. "I will not go easy on you".
Andrew narrowed his eyes and feinted, then came in with a hard sweep toward her leg. she flipped over his head and landed behind him.
Andrew was smirking now. "Oh dear. I must say you are full of surprises"
Annabella smirked as she said: "I'm just warming up. I'd hate to embarrass you too quickly."
Andrew barked a laugh as he circled her with a lazy grin, blade spinning in his hand.: Gods, you've got that tongue from your aunt Helene.
Annabella paused, her stance still guarded, blade gleaming in her grip. "Lady Helene De la Croix...You knew her?"
Andrew chuckled but there was sadness and longing to his gaze. "She wasn't just anyone. I was… very close to her once."
Annabella tilted her head slightly, stepping forward with calculated steps. "Very close"? That sounds suspiciously like the language of a former lover"
Andrew smirked, but his eyes darkened. " She had a fire. A gentleness too. But you ..."
He pointed his blade at her chest."You may wear her face, but your wit… that's all Sylvester."
Andrew's eyes narrowed with mischief. He shifted his weight and struck harder, faster.
Annabella this time surged forward suddenly, sword clashing against his with a loud clang, their blades locking.
This time, his blade arced low, then feinted high. Annabella blocked with precision, but his weight bore down. He twisted, pivoted and held his blade at her throat.
Andrew said panting slightly: Checkmate. You were saying?
Annabella didn't flinch. Instead, she smiled sweetly. "That I was holding back. But if you insist..."
A wave of water crashed up from behind her, summoned with a graceful but punishing sweep of her arm. The torrent spiralled in mid-air before collapsing in a roaring arc. Andrew stepped back instinctively, eyes narrowing, but it was too late, the moisture curled around his blade and sealed it in a delicate case of frost. The hilt shimmered with frozen veins, locking his weapon still in his grasp.
Annabella moved with precision, her breath shallow. Her violet eyes blazed for a moment, and with a flick of her wrist, she kicked his sword clean from his hand. It landed with a dull clatter on the stone floor. Before he could recover, the tip of her blade was pressed to the hollow of his neck.
Her shoulders rose and fell with controlled breath, though the strain was evident in the slight tremor in her fingers.
"You're still holding back."
Andrew raised his hands in surrender, not out of fear but respect.
"A fine match, my lady. You're every inch worthy of my trust. You could have bent my will... but chose the hardest way to win. A way that spares my mind..."
He tapped his temple lightly. "...and maintains my free will."
At his words, something in her relaxed. The purple light in her eyes dimmed to their usual soft hue, and the water receded, dissolving into mist. Her aura softened, folding inward like silk drawn back into its weave. She lowered the blade and stepped away, expression unreadable, but no longer at odds with itself.
There was a long silence. No sound but their breath and the faint echo of water retreating into the stone.
Then, as if a dam had cracked, Andrew spoke. Quietly. Without pride or preamble.He told her everything he knew.
She listened without interrupting, each revelation building atop the last until her chest felt tight with the weight of it all.
Annabella exhaled slowly. "So this is it. My father has resorted to terrorising the villages where I've been spotted... hoping to flush me out like prey."
Andrew stepped closer. The humour had faded from his face. He looked at her now with something graver. Something human.
Your father is one cruel man. He feels robbed. Of his legacy. Of his pride. Of you."A pause."Of course he'll burn the whole world to find you."
Annabella's jaw tensed. Her fingers curled loosely at her side, as if holding back a thousand thoughts from spilling out.
"If the funeral is today, why aren't you attending?"
Andrew's reply came with a boyish shrug and a lopsided grin, almost as though he were trying to charm her, ease the tension he himself had stoked.
"I'm safer from capture here. Charles isn't foolish enough to send troops into my realm. This land still answers to me, not him."
He picked up his frozen blade, examining the hilt as it began to thaw in his hand."If I marched in, he'd have every right to detain me. Call it treason, slander, pick a name. And then I'd be the one silenced before I could say a word."
He glanced at her sideways."I sent an emissary instead. One I trust."
Annabella studied him, her expression flat, except for the faint twitch in her brow that betrayed thoughtfulness.
Andrew sheathed his half-thawed sword and dusted off his coat. "Besides,"
He added with a smirk, "I'd rather spend the morning being bested by a clever woman than nodding through false prayers and crocodile tears."
She didn't smile. But the corners of her mouth didn't fight quite so hard to stay still.
Before Annabella could ask more questions, a voice called from the corridor. It was Lysa.
Apologies, Master Andrew, urgent summons. Your presence is required immediately in the north wing.
He exhaled, chuckling,
Well fought, Lady Annabella. Consider me properly humbled.
Still grinning, he turned and strode off, sweat at his collar, but satisfaction in every step. Annabella bowed.
When they were alone, Lyz lingered in the doorway, arms folded.
"I never thought I'd see someone stand their ground against Master Andrew," she said, voice light. "That was... refreshing."
Annabella didn't answer. She turned her back, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve. "How is Rea?"
"She's alive," Lyz said, stepping into the room. "But drained. It will take time to shape her back into something useful."
Annabella's eyes narrowed. "Shape her? She's not a blade, Miss Lysa."
Lyz tilted her head. "No. She's more like a fire. Reckless. Bright. Dangerous if left unchecked." She paused, watching Annabella closely. "You'd know something about that, wouldn't you?"
Annabella gave a short, humourless laugh. "You seem very eager to provoke me."
"Not provoke," Lyz said smoothly. "Observe. You pretend not to care. But your voice trembles when you ask about her."
Annabella turned, composed but cold. "What a keen ear you have. Do you eavesdrop on all your patients' lovers?"
Lyz's smile flickered. "Only when they lie to themselves."
She stepped forward, slowly, as if testing her footing. "You love her, don't you? But you're scared. You think if you love her loudly, you'll get her killed."
Annabella's voice was quiet. "I think if I love her recklessly, I will."
"Then let her go," Lyz said, almost coaxing. "Your father hunting for you with this dedication only puts a bigger target on Rea."
Annabella's eyes sharpened. "And what would you know of love, Miss Lysa? You speak like a woman who has only studied it. Never really felt it."
Lyz's face stilled. Then she laughed, but there was no joy in it. "You're clever. But cleverness doesn't protect you from emotional thinking. Or from being the cause of someone else's demise."
Annabella stepped closer, her tone elegant but cutting. "Is that what this is? A lecture? Or jealousy?"
Lyz didn't flinch. "Maybe it's clarity. Maybe I don't enjoy watching you play the martyr while all our lives are hanging on a thread because of you."
A flicker passed through Annabella's expression. Not fear, something darker. Guilt.
"You know nothing of what It takes from me to stay, knowing what I know," she said, voice cool as glass. "I don't owe you explanations."
Lyz smirked. "There it is. Finally. A crack in the porcelain."
Annabella drew herself tall, every inch the noblewoman. "You mistake silence for permission. This conversation is over."
She turned without another word, her expression unreadable once more but her knuckles were pale around the hem of her sleeve.
And Lyz, watching her go, smiled to herself. Because she couldn't help wanting Annabella to break for her.