The training grounds beneath the eastern wing of the palace were quiet at this hour, lit only by faint crimson lanterns that cast long, flickering shadows across the obsidian floor. Vina moved like liquid night—silent, precise, deadly. Her twin blades sang through the air as she sparred against her own shadow constructs, each strike a blur of controlled violence. Rey stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed, watching his sister with the quiet vigilance that had defined them both for decades.
Lucifer approached without announcement. His presence was enough. The constructs dissolved into smoke the moment they sensed him. Vina lowered her blades, sweat glistening on her skin, dark hair plastered to her neck. Rey gave a respectful nod and stepped back into the deeper shadows, granting them privacy without a word.
"Lucifer," Vina said. Her voice was steady, but her eyes—sharp, golden-flecked from years of loyalty and old regrets—betrayed the storm beneath. "You're leaving."
