Training had wrung every ounce of energy out of me. My shirt stuck to my back, my arms ached, and I could still feel the sting of Adrian's "light" sparring session from earlier. Lyra wasn't looking much better, her hair plastered to her forehead, her daggers hanging loose in her grip as we trudged off the training floor.
I was halfway through draining my water bottle when the sound of heels clicked across the tiles.
Elera.
She looked completely unfazed by the heat or the smell of sweat hanging in the air. She looked like she'd just stepped out of some high-end boardroom meeting, tailored suit, perfectly composed expression.
"Good news," she said, stopping in front of us. "Your penthouse is secured. Keys, ownership papers, all finalized."
Lyra blinked. "Wait… already?"
Elera's faint smile didn't waver. "Already. And before you ask, yes, it's fully furnished. I took the liberty of having everything purchased and installed ahead of time. Beds, kitchenware, living room setup… even bought you a decent car."
I raised an eyebrow. "That fast?"
"Efficient work gets done fast," she said matter-of-factly. "I don't waste time when something's important." She handed me a sleek black keycard. "You can move in today."
Lyra grinned, some of her exhaustion melting away. "Guess training just got a little more bearable."
I turned the keycard over in my hand. Owning a place like that… it didn't feel real yet. But Elera wouldn't have shown up if it wasn't.
After the day of drills, laps, and bruises, the idea of walking into a home that was ours was more than welcome.
The second Elera left, Lyra looked at me with that well, what are we waiting for? expression.
"Shower first," I said before she could open her mouth. "I'm not walking into a penthouse smelling like this."
She made a face but didn't argue. We split off to our respective rooms, and by the time I stepped out twenty minutes later, the aches from training were dulled by hot water and clean clothes. My bag was already packed, not that I owned much outside of my training gear and a few changes of clothes.
When I got back to the lobby, Lyra was there with Anakin, both carrying duffels. Elera was waiting by the door, checking her watch like we'd kept her ten minutes late.
"Shall we?" she asked.
The ride to the penthouse was smooth and fast, the kind of drive where the city lights blur into streaks outside tinted glass. We pulled up to the building's private entrance, where a concierge was already waiting. The moment we stepped inside, the elevator doors slid open without us even pressing a button.
Top floor. No stops.
When the doors opened, it was like stepping into another world bright, open space, floor-to-ceiling windows, and furniture that looked like it had been pulled from a luxury catalog. The air was crisp, faintly scented with something expensive I couldn't name.
"Welcome home," Elera said simply.
Lyra dropped her bag on the couch and immediately made for the balcony. Anakin wandered toward the kitchen, opening cupboards like he was testing to see if the whole place was real.
I just stood there for a moment, keycard still in my hand, taking it in.
For the first time in a long while, the place I was standing didn't feel temporary.
---
Anakin Blessborne
I was halfway through a game on my tablet when there was a knock on my bedroom door.
Before I could answer, it swung open, and Lyra stepped in, and Elera, of all people, was leaning casually against the doorframe like she owned the place.
"Come on," Lyra said, his tone clipped but not unfriendly. "We're heading out."
I blinked at her. "Uh… where?"
"Your new home," Elera answered before he could, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Twenty minutes later, I was stuffing the last of my things into a duffel bag and following them out to the waiting SUV. The ride through the city felt surreal, no chatter, just the steady hum of the engine and the occasional flicker of streetlights on the tinted windows.
When we pulled up, I thought we were stopping at a hotel. The building was a glass-and-steel giant, standing at over 5 floors. The lobby was all polished marble, soft lighting, and the quiet whoosh of elevators that seemed way too fast for their size.
We went straight to the top floor. A man in a tailored suit was waiting with a folder of documents on a glass table.
"Mr. Zane," he greeted, sliding the paperwork forward. "As discussed, once you sign these, the penthouse will be under your name as the legal owner."
I watched as Zane took the pen without hesitation, flipping through the pages and signing like it was nothing. No second-guessing. No pause. Just… done.
When the last page was signed, the man handed over a sleek black keycard.
"Congratulations, Mr. Blessborne. The property is yours."
Saying goodbye to Elera. We stepped inside.
It wasn't just a penthouse, it was a whole other world. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire space, showing the city skyline in every direction. The living room was massive, the kitchen gleaming with chrome, and there were more bedrooms than we probably needed.
Lyra whistled. "Yeah… this'll do."
I dropped my bag on the couch, still taking it in. For the first time, it hit me that this wasn't just visiting someone's place. This was ours.
And Zane… Zane owned it.
---
Zane Blessborne
The alarm on my phone buzzed at 5:00 sharp.
The rest of the penthouse was still dark, the city outside barely lit by the first hints of dawn. I slipped out of bed, moving quietly so I wouldn't wake anyone, and made my way to the private training space Elera had insisted on having built into the place.
The mats were cold under my bare feet, the air cool enough to sting my lungs a little. Perfect.
I drew both swords, the familiar weight settling in my grip like an extension of my arms.
Twin Fangs Style — Rushing Fang stance.
My body lowered, center of gravity tightening. I breathed in slowly, feeling the tension coil in my muscles. Then I moved strike, step, slash, step, each motion flowing into the next, the pace building faster than my mind could track. This stance thrived on momentum, and I wasn't going to let it break.
When my rhythm peaked, I shifted.
Coiling Fang.
I circled the mat, blades sweeping from impossible angles, footwork sharp and deliberate. The motion wasn't just about attacking; it was about dictating the fight, making sure an opponent could never plant their feet or think straight.
Sweat already clung to my skin, but I pushed into the last stance.
Falling Fang.
I leapt, twisting, both blades descending in a heavy, decisive arc that split the air with a sharp hiss. My landing rattled through my knees, the motion ending with both swords leveled forward.
The silence returned. My breathing was ragged, but the faint flicker of my status screen told me what I wanted to see
[Twin Fangs Style: Mastery 3%].
One percent higher than yesterday.
A small step, but a step forward all the same.