The first crowd came by accident.

  The second came on purpose.

  By the third morning, the training grounds were no longer empty when Lucien arrived.

  Steel rang against stone as he adjusted the wrap around his knuckles, shadow pooling at his feet like a living thing that refused to stay still. He could feel the eyes before he saw them—contestants leaning against pillars, knights pretending not to stare, guards who had stopped pretending altogether.

  Alicia arrived last.

  She always did.

  Light announced her before she spoke, soft and warm, brushing over the field like dawn finding earth that had never asked for it. She wore her training whites today—simple and sleeveless, the fabric fitted close to her form. Her rapier rested loosely in one hand, the other relaxed at her side.

  She smiled when she saw him.

  “You’re early,” she said.

  “You’re late,” Lucien replied.

  Her smile widened. “Then we’re even.”

  They took their places without ceremony.

  No bow.

  No signal.

  The moment stretched—

  —and then she moved.

  Alicia struck first, as she always did.

  Her rapier flashed forward in a clean, decisive line meant for his throat. Lucien did not step back.

  He vanished.

  Shadow swallowed him whole, the world thinning as he slipped sideways rather than away. Alicia’s blade passed through where he had been, slicing light into air.

  She pivoted instantly.

  Too slow.

  Lucien reappeared at her flank, shadow already rising to strike—

  Light exploded.

  Alicia flared, brilliance surging outward in a controlled burst that forced Lucien fully back into the world. Heat kissed his skin. The ground beneath them scorched white.

  “Still hiding?” she teased, already moving again.

  Lucien smiled faintly. “Still chasing?”

  They clashed.

  Again.

  Again.

  Again.

  Alicia adapted with terrifying speed. When shadow evaded her eyes, she stopped trying to follow it and began denying it space, flooding the field with light until darkness had nowhere to cling.

  Lucien countered by splitting himself.

  His shadow detached fully now, no longer bound to his feet. It moved independently—slashing, feinting, forcing Alicia to divide her attention between two threats that shared one intent.

  Her brow furrowed.

  Just a little.

  The crowd murmured.

  “She should have him by now.”

  “Why isn’t she ending it?”

  Lucien heard it.

  Alicia did too.

  She lunged harder this time, her rapier dancing in a flurry meant to overwhelm rather than outthink. Lucien retreated—once, twice—then let his shadow take the blow meant for his ribs, dispersing into smoke before reforming behind her.

  He could have struck then.

  Her back was open.

  Her guard imperfect.

  He didn’t.

  Alicia felt it.

  She froze mid-motion, breath sharp.

  “You hesitated,” she said quietly.

  “So did you,” Lucien replied.

  For a moment, neither moved.

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  Light hummed.

  Shadow coiled.

  Around them, the crowd leaned in.

  Alicia lowered her blade first.

  “Again tomorrow,” she said, not quite smiling.

  Lucien nodded. “Until you win.”

  Her eyes met his.

  “That won’t be easy,” she said.

  “No,” he agreed. “It won’t.”

  As she turned to leave, Lucien felt it again—that strange pull, like gravity bending toward her without his consent. Light lingered in the air long after she was gone, warm against his skin.

  From the edge of the grounds, Valor Drakaryn watched with clenched fists.

  And somewhere above, unseen—

  the world learned to wait.

  Alicia did not make it to the training grounds.

  She was intercepted halfway across the courtyard, just beyond the fountain where white stone met shadow, when wings unfurled in her path—wide, feathered, unmistakable.

  Athena Skjaldyrn blocked the sun with them.

  “A word,” Athena said lightly, though there was steel beneath the brightness.

  “I’m late,” Alicia replied, already shifting her weight to step around her.

  Athena matched her pace without effort. “You’ve been late for three days.”

  Alicia stopped.

  That alone was answer enough.

  The air between them tightened, wings stirring dust from the stone.

  “You’ve sparred Lucien every morning,” Athena continued conversationally, eyes keen. “And you still haven’t beaten him.” She tilted her head slightly. “I’m starting to think you like him, Princess.”

  “That’s not—”

  “People are talking,” Athena interrupted gently, almost kindly. “About light and shadow circling each other. About how neither of you ever takes the killing opening.”

  Alicia felt heat rush up her neck, sharp and unwelcome.

  Rumors.

  She remembered the moment yesterday—Lucien open at her left, breath uneven, shadow faltering for just a heartbeat.

  And the way she hadn’t struck.

  Athena smiled, triumphant and knowing. “Start with me.”

  Alicia exhaled through her nose. “Can I at least eat first?”

  “You can eat after you lose,” Athena said, wings spreading in open challenge.

  They turned toward the women’s training grounds together, the sound of steel already rising behind them.

  Lucien felt the pressure before he saw him.

  The training field had changed—heat gathering low, air vibrating like it did before a storm broke.

  He turned.

  Valor Drakaryn stood at the edge of the grounds, arms crossed, massive frame casting a long shadow. Black lightning crawled along his skin in restless threads, snapping faintly like something alive and impatient.

  Lucien’s gaze flicked past him.

  No Alicia.

  “Looking for someone?” Valor asked, voice deep, roughened by smoke and pride.

  “Depends,” Lucien said calmly.

  “On what?”

  “On what you did with my sparring partner.”

  Valor’s mouth twitched. “Busy.”

  Lucien exhaled slowly. “Rumors travel fast.”

  “Yeah,” Valor said, eyes burning brighter. “They say you’re flying too close to the sun.”

  Lucien tilted his head, studying him. “I hear dragons burn just the same.”

  Laughter rippled through the watching crowd.

  Valor did not laugh.

  “Enough,” Valor said. “Fight me.”

  “I choose who I spar with.”

  Valor closed his eyes.

  Lucien watched him do it—felt the restraint snap into place, the discipline of someone raised on legacy rather than impulse.

  When Valor opened his eyes again, his voice was different.

  “I fought a beast like the one you faced in the first trial,” he said. “Smaller. And I wasn’t alone.”

  Lucien’s shadow shifted.

  “I want to know how you survived,” Valor continued. “And whether you’re worth my time.”

  Lucien studied him carefully.

  “I respect your father,” he said at last.

  Valor blinked. “You do?”

  “He let my mother through the arena when no one else would.”

  Something eased—just slightly—in Valor’s shoulders.

  “So,” Lucien went on, “let’s raise the stakes.”

  Valor’s grin returned, slow and sharp. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

  “If I win,” Lucien said, “I get your protein at dinner.”

  The crowd erupted.

  Valor stared at him. “…My food?”

  Lucien nodded once.

  Valor swallowed. Then smiled ferally. “Guess I’ll have to kill you.”

  They did not hold back.

  The first clash sent spectators scrambling—black flame tearing across stone, lightning splitting the ground in jagged scars. Lucien vanished between strikes, shadow swallowing him whole before spitting him back into the world behind Valor, to the side, above his own moving darkness.

  Hours of fighting followed—clashing, striking, absorbing blow after blow. Both quickly realized how evenly matched they were.

  The only difference was that Lucien was using a wooden training sword.

  Which was no excuse.

  Valor didn’t use a weapon.

  He was the weapon.

  Each blow came heavy, crushing, his body reinforced by draconic force, scales of heat shimmering beneath his skin. Even with the wooden blade infused with shadow aura, Valor withstood every strike that landed.

  Lucien felt it immediately—this was different from Alicia.

  Alicia fought with precision. With grace. She was fast, but predictable—at least to Lucien.

  Valor fought like a catastrophe. He allowed Lucien to strike him just so Lucien would be in range for him to strike back.

  Valor was unpredictable.

  But so was Lucien.

  Lucien’s borrowed wooden blade struck once, twice—

  Then cracked.

  The wood blackened, warping under pressure.

  It fell from his fingers.

  Valor laughed, breath steaming. “Giving up already?” he huffed, trying to hide how tired he was becoming.

  “No,” Lucien said quietly.

  He detached his shadow.

  It did not flee.

  It flowed back into him.

  Darkness wrapped his frame like living armor, contouring to muscle and bone, eyes burning violet beneath a hood of shadow. From the ground, massive claws rose—jagged, bestial, echoing a roar Lucien had heard only once before.

  The claws fused to his arms, extensions of himself.

  He looked like the shadow of a beast.

  The roar of the trial beast echoed across the field.

  The crowd ran.

  Valor froze.

  Then his smile widened, something like awe flickering through the fire in his eyes.

  Black flame and lightning fused above him, coiling into a serpentine dragon that roared in answer. It shrank, compressed, and wrapped around his arms, forming enormous claws of living destruction to match Lucien’s.

  Two black horns grew from Valor’s head. His teeth lengthened, jagged. Black scales formed along parts of his face.

  He had entered dragon form.

  Fire faced shadow.

  Dragon faced echo.

  They stepped forward together.

  The ground split beneath them.

  Wind howled violently around their bodies.

  They lunged—

  And before the final blow could land, the power vanished.

  Like breath stolen.

  Shadow unraveled.

  Flame guttered.

  Both forces collapsed inward, unfinished.

  Lucien felt weightless—

  Then nothing.

  Silence fell.

  When the crowd crept back, trembling, they found two bodies on scorched stone.

  Unconscious.

  Breathing.

  Alive.

  A draw.

  Hours later, Lucien woke staring at a cracked ceiling, heart pounding with unanswered certainty.

  Somewhere else, Valor woke with the same thought.

  Neither slept easily that night.

  And the city whispered again—

  Not with fear.

  But anticipation.