The clang of her strikes echoed across the Veinwalker training ground, sparks dancing in the dusk. Each swing carried more force than the last, until her knuckles were raw, her breath sharp like knives.
"More…" Ceyla muttered, sweat dripping, lightning hissing faintly across her arms. "I need more."
From the shadows, his presence settled like the calm before a storm. Ean Nox, her father. Tall. Sharp-eyed. His silver-streaked hair caught the fading sun, and when he spoke, his voice was thunder made gentle.
"You need to relax too, Ceyla."
Her fists tightened. She didn't look at him. "No, Father… It's still not enough. I can't control the Fifth Gate."
Ean folded his arms, studying her with that piercing gaze. "Why are you rushing your strength? You've already achieved what most Veinwalkers never touch. You're a prodigy, Ceyla. Be proud of that."
Her head snapped toward him, her voice sharp. "Yeah… I'm a prodigy. But it's still nothing compared to him."
