Nyx's POV
Five days later
I woke to the pre-dawn darkness and the bone-deep ache that had become my constant companion.
Every muscle hurts. My shoulders burned from yesterday's weapons training. My legs protested the thought of moving after three days of increasingly brutal conditioning runs. Even my fingers were sore from practicing magical constructs for hours on end.
'You're getting stronger,' Frost reminded me. 'The pain is temporary. The strength is permanent.'
'Easy for you to say. You're an immortal wolf made of ice and magic.'
'Exactly. Which means I know what I'm talking about.'
Through the life-bond, I felt Kael already awake in the next room. He'd been waking earlier each day—before dawn now, using the quiet hours to stretch his healing wounds and plan the day's training.
The wounds were better. Not healed completely, but better. Enough that yesterday he'd demonstrated a full combat sequence without wincing. Enough that he pushed himself harder than he probably should.
'He's as stubborn as you are,' Frost observed.
'That's not comforting.'
I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on training clothes—the third set my mother had made for me this week after the first two had been destroyed by ice magic mishaps and combat practice. Simple, durable, already showing wear.
When I emerged from my room, Kael was in the kitchen as usual. But instead of eating breakfast mechanically while reviewing mental training plans, he was staring at something on the table.
A letter.
The Council seal was visible even from across the room—red wax stamped with the wolf-and-lightning crest.
"Morning," I said carefully.
He looked up. Through the bond, I felt his tension immediately—tight and anxious and trying to hide it.
"Morning. There's porridge on the stove." He gestured vaguely. "Your mother made it before she left for the market."
I served myself, eyeing the letter. "What's that?"
"Weekly report request." His voice was flat. "The Council wants a detailed assessment of your progress. Combat skills, magical control, strategic thinking, physical conditioning—everything."
"When do they want it?"
"Today. I'm supposed to deliver it before sunset." He picked up the letter, scanning it again. "They're also requesting a demonstration. You and me, full sparring match with weapons and magic. They want to see how you perform under pressure."
My stomach dropped. "When?"
"Three days from now."
Three days.
Five days of training, and the Council wanted to see results already.
"What if I'm not ready?" The question came out smaller than I intended.
"You won't be." He said it bluntly, but through the bond I felt his concern wasn't judgment—it was worry. For me. "Not for what they're probably expecting. But we'll work with what we have."
He stood, leaving the letter on the table. "Which means we adjust today's plan. Less conditioning, more practical application. And we need to work on something we've been avoiding."
"Which is?"
"Combat between us. Real sparring, not just forms and drills." His expression was carefully neutral. "You need to learn how to fight someone who knows what they're doing. Someone who won't hold back."
"Okay," I said. "After breakfast?"
"After breakfast."
Thirty minutes later, we stood in the training yard facing each other.
Kael held a practice sword—blunted edge, weighted to match a real blade. I held one too, though my grip was awkward despite five days of drilling proper form.
"Rules," Kael said. "First blood stops the match. No magic—not yet. Just swords and the forms you've learned. If I tell you to stop, you stop immediately. Understood?"
"Understood."
"And Nyx?" He met my eyes. "I'm going to hurt you. Not badly, but this is real combat training. You need to learn what it feels like to be hit, to be pushed past your comfort zone. So don't expect me to go easy."
"I don't want you to go easy."
Through the bond, I felt his approval and his reluctance fighting each other.
"Defend yourself," he said.
Then he attacked.
The first strike came faster than I expected—a overhead swing I barely managed to block. The impact jarred my arms, sending shock waves through my shoulders.
"Good block," Kael said, already moving into his next strike. "But your footwork is wrong. Move!"
I stumbled backward, bringing my sword up to deflect another blow. This one I missed—the practice blade caught my shoulder hard enough to make me gasp.
"That's first blood," Kael said, stopping immediately. "If this were real, you'd be badly injured. What did you do wrong?"
"I didn't move." My shoulder throbbed. "I tried to block everything instead of dodging."
"Exactly. Again. And this time, remember—defense isn't just blocking. It's positioning. Making me work to reach you."
We reset.
This time when he attacked, I moved—sidestepping, using the footwork he'd drilled into me over the past five days. His blade whistled past my ribs instead of connecting.
"Better!" He was grinning now, falling into the rhythm of teaching. "Keep moving. Make me chase you."
For three minutes, I managed to avoid his strikes. My arms burned from blocking, my legs screamed from constant movement, but I kept going.
Then Kael changed tactics.
He feinted left, I committed to the dodge, and his blade reversed direction faster than I could track. It caught my forearm—not hard enough to bruise badly, but hard enough to sting.
"Second blood." He lowered his sword. "What happened?"
"You faked me out." I rubbed my forearm. "I fell for the feint."
"Because you're reacting to what you see, not anticipating what I might do." He demonstrated the feint again, slowly. "Watch my shoulders and hips. They tell you where the real strike is coming from. My sword arm can lie—my body can't."
We ran through it again. And again. Each time, Kael found a new way to exploit my inexperience. Each time, I learned something new.
And each time I hit the ground or took a strike, through the bond I felt his guilt and his determination warring with each other. He hated hurting me. But he knew this was necessary.
"Enough with swords," he said finally, after I'd managed to last a full five minutes without taking a hit. "Now we add magic. You can use ice to defend, create barriers, whatever you need. I'll use basic enhancement—speed, strength, nothing fancy."
He rolled his shoulders. "Ready?"
I wasn't. But I nodded anyway.
The difference was immediate and terrifying.
Even without magical enhancement, Kael was able to move twice as fast to match me. His strikes came harder, faster, from angles I couldn't predict. I threw up ice barriers desperately, but he shattered them almost as quickly as I formed them.
Within thirty seconds, his practice blade was at my throat.