Misery’s Shadow
Nightshade Academy wasn’t just a school; it was a crucible where the strongest rose to the top and the weak were ground into dust. Dominating that hierarchy was Misery, a name spoken with both admiration and fear. Her cold beauty turned heads wherever she went, but it was her ruthlessness that kept them lowered. Misery’s position was unshakable, fortified by her sharp mind and even sharper instincts.
The moment Misery saw Lyra, she recognized something off about her. It wasn’t just her peculiar mannerisms or the way Adrian’s attention lingered on her—it was a sense of… difference. Misery couldn’t explain it yet, but she felt it in her bones. Lyra was a threat.
Misery didn’t waste time. She kept her distance from Lyra at first, observing her during classes and training sessions. She noted every slip, every flicker of hesitation. But while Misery studied Lyra, her curiosity was piqued by Eryon. He carried himself with a quiet confidence that intrigued her, and his refusal to bow under pressure only added to his mystique.
During sparring practice one afternoon, Misery made her move. Eryon stood at the edge of the training circle, his broad frame casting a shadow over the room. He had just finished a match, his opponent still sprawled on the floor.
“Impressive,” Misery said, her voice smooth as silk. She stepped into the circle, her movements fluid and deliberate.
Eryon glanced at her, his expression wary. “What do you want?”
Misery smiled, a slow curve of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. “Is that any way to greet someone offering a friendly match?”
Eryon crossed his arms, but the challenge in her tone couldn’t be ignored. “Fine,” he said, stepping into the center.
The match began, and Misery struck fast, her speed forcing Eryon on the defensive. He countered with precision, his strength and reflexes keeping her at bay. But Misery wasn’t fighting to win—she was testing him, her attacks probing for weaknesses.
Her movements were like a dance, graceful and controlled, but her words carried a blade. “You’re strong,” she remarked as their blows collided. “But there’s something… different about you.”
Eryon didn’t reply, his focus on the fight.
Misery leaned in during a feint, her voice dropping to a whisper as her breath ghosted against his ear. “I know you’re hiding something,” she murmured. “And I always uncover secrets.”
