Lira no longer trained. She endured.
Seren's sessions became savage. No rest, no praise, just orders. Strike. Block. Fall. Rise. Again.
Lira never flinched.
Pain wasn't new. But now, it was fuel. Every bruise mapped a lesson. Every scar, a strategy.
Kael stood by the door each morning, silent. He didn't speak. Didn't interfere.
But she knew he watched.
And that was enough—for now.
Seren circled her like a hawk. "Still too soft," she said, striking Lira across the jaw.
Lira spit blood.
Smiled.
"Again."
That smile—Seren paused.
Something had changed.
This girl was no longer breaking. She was sharpening.
The next blow Lira caught mid-air.
Not perfect. But enough to show it wasn't luck.
Seren's eyes narrowed. "Good," she said coldly. "Then let's raise the stakes."
She gestured behind her.
Another figure stepped into the room.
A boy. Older. Taller. Expression blank.
"Your new sparring partner," Seren said. "He won't hold back."
The boy lunged.
Lira ducked instinctively, but barely. His fist grazed her ear. Sharp. Real.
This wasn't training.
This was survival.
Seren left the room with a whisper: "Kill or be broken."
Lira's eyes locked on the boy's.
He didn't blink.
Neither did she.
Let the real training begin.