The stars were out, scattered like white embers across a deep indigo sky. The training grounds were quiet—too late for servants, too sacred for idle noise. The only sounds were breath and movement. The muted rhythm of two bodies weaving in combat.
Damien's foot slid across the mat—tight, precise, controlled.
His body had changed.
The fat was nearly gone now, muscle tightened against his frame, his core more defined with every passing day. He didn't move like a recovering cripple anymore. He moved like a contender.
And Elysia?
She no longer held back.
Not even a fraction.
No flourishes. No correctional pauses. Only Silent Vein, in its rawest, most punishing form.
Damien ducked a sweeping strike.
SWOOSH.
His elbow snapped out in a counter that clipped just past her ribs—her block came a half-second late.
Not because he was faster.
But because his rhythm had changed.
'She still expects the old pattern. Good.'
