Thalia had never known peace.
Even now days after she'd said yes, after the surge of fire had burned through her veins and left her part devil she still walked like someone expecting a knife to her back. She didn't relax. Not completely. Not even here.
The Phenex estate in the human world was built like a sanctuary. It stood atop the Hudson Valley cliffs like a palace that had risen from myth. Old world columns met enchanted marble, every wall lined with runes that shimmered softly under moonlight. It was safe, sure. Comfortable even.
But Thalia had long ago stopped trusting comfort.
She sat alone in the training chamber Riser had created an indoor arena shaped by devil magic, with atmospheric enchantments designed to simulate any environment. Right now, it was set to mimic a thunderstorm over the Aegean Sea. Lightning cracked above, storm clouds churned with her breath, and the ocean air burned cold in her lungs.
She stood barefoot in the center of it all, lightning dancing along her fingertips.
She concentrated focusing the crackling energy into shape. A long spear of electricity formed in her palm, wobbling before stabilizing. She hurled it at a conjured target watching it explode on contact with a roar of thunder.
"Better," she muttered to herself. "Still not good enough."
The door behind her creaked open.
"I'm starting to think your version of a warm up is my idea of suicide training," came Riser's voice, smooth and dry.
Thalia didn't turn around. "Don't sneak up on a demigod."
"If I wanted to sneak up, you'd never hear me."
A brief, tense pause. Then Thalia cracked a smirk, letting the tension drain from her shoulders. "Fair."
Riser stepped into the storm simulated arena, untouched by the wind or the wetness in the air. His long crimson coat fluttered slightly, his golden eyes glowing against the thunderous backdrop. His presence overpower hers it command respect.
"Your control has improved," he observed. "Your throws aren't just powerful now. They're precise."
"I've been practicing," she said, creating another lightning spear and spinning it in her hand. "I'm not going to be dead weight."
"You never were," he said simply.
That caught her off guard. She looked at him sharply.
He shrugged. "You held your own against four stray devils, wounded and alone. You weren't the one who needed rescuing, Thalia. You just needed a reason to stop running."
She stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for mockery, pity anything she could fight against.
She found none.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. "You're annoyingly honest."
"I've been told it's a flaw."
A silence passed. Then Thalia sighed, her shoulders lowering. "I still don't know what I'm doing here."
"You're forging your future," he said. "You just haven't realized it yet."
Another silence.
"Thanks," she said, voice soft. "For not treating me like a weapon."
Riser smiled gently. "You're welcome."
Two days later, across the sea
The mists of Britain clung to the earth like ancient ghosts. Magic hung thick in the air, older and more primal than what ran through the veins of modern devils. Riser had traveled far for this. Not for politics. Not for war.
For someone.
He stood at the edge of a forest clearing in Wales, overlooking the ruins of a once proud estate. Moss clung to broken stone. The wind carried the scent of wildflowers and rusted steel.
And in the center of the clearing, a girl trained alone.
Long blonde hair tied back into a braid. A wooden sword gripped in both hands. She moved through forms as though born to them elegant, brutal, efficient. Each strike was grounded in purpose, not rage. Each breath was measured, not frantic.
She was a warrior no a knight would fit better.
Riser waited until she paused, sweat beading down her brow, then stepped forward through the mist.
"You move like someone chasing ghosts," he said.
She whirled around, sword raised. "Who are you?"
"Riser Phenex," he said, hands open in peace. "And you are Artoria Pendragon. Am I correct?"
Her jaw tightened. "That name doesn't belong to me anymore."
"I think it does," Riser replied calmly. "And I think you're trying very hard to pretend it doesn't."
She scoffed, stepping back. "Why are you here?"
"I came to find someone strong enough to bear a blade without letting it define them," Riser said. "You've walked away from everything, but you're still fighting. That tells me everything I need to know."
Artoria's eyes narrowed. "You think I'm just another stray looking for a master?"
"No," Riser said firmly. "I think you're a knight with no cause. I'm offering one."
He summoned a knight piece into his palm. It glowed with a deep violet hue, pulsing with fire and potential.
"Join me. Fight not for glory, but for legacy. Not for bloodlines, but for honor."
Artoria stared at the piece. Her knuckles whitened around her wooden sword.
"My mother's scandal ruined our name," she said bitterly. "My family fell into disgrace. Everything we were gone overnight."
"But you remain," Riser said. "And so does the name if you're willing to reclaim it."
"What would I be to you?"
"My knight," he said. "Trusted. Respected. Honorable."
Artoria hesitated. Her whole life, people had made choices for her. Her training, her expectations, her future. But Riser wasn't offering to mold her.
He was offering to follow her into battle.
She stepped forward. "And you won't treat me like a broken relic?"
"You're not broken," he said. "You're a sword waiting to be drawn."
Slowly, she reached out and placed her hand on the knight piece.
Power erupted. Wind howled. Fire surged. The devilmancy of Riser's knight piece flooded into her veins not painful, not wild, but a cozy feeling almost like a warm blanket.
And when the light faded, she stood reborn.
That evening
Riser stood in the mansion's central atrium, dressed in a loose shirt and slacks, sipping fruit wine. He looked up as Thalia entered from the eastern wing, towel slung over her shoulder, damp hair clinging to her face.
Then came Artoria from the west wing, now clad in black training gear, her braid tight, her posture regal despite her fatigue.
The two girls locked eyes.
"So," Thalia said, eyes flicking over Artoria's build. "This is the new knight?"
Artoria arched a brow. "This the storm princess?"
Riser chuckled. "Let me guess. You're about to spar over who gets the bigger bedroom."
Thalia cracked her knuckles. "I was going to ask who'd win in a fight."
Artoria tilted her head. "Do you want to find out?"
"I really do."
Riser sighed. "Wonderful. They're going to destroy the estate."
Thalia stepped closer, eyes gleaming. "Kidding. Mostly. But hey if we're going to be teammates, might as well see what you've got."
Artoria nodded. "Tomorrow. Dawn. Courtyard."
Thalia smirked. "Looking forward to it, sword girl."
Riser raised his glass. "To storm and steel."
They both looked at him.
"What?" he said. "Every good legend needs a title."
And as the firelight danced around them, a new kind of energy crackled in the air, potential. He wasn't building a harem of followers.
He was forging a court of legends.
And they were just getting started.