Lessons in Shadows
The academy buzzed with its usual intensity as students sparred, studied, and schemed, but for Lyra, the day passed in a haze. The image of Seraphine holding the relic, her silver eyes alight with purpose, was seared into her mind. Every word their supposed mother had spoken replayed in an endless loop, the weight of them heavier with each repetition.
Lyra barely heard the instructor’s commands as she faced her opponent in advanced combat lessons. The vampire before her grinned, baring his fangs as he circled, his blade spinning lazily in his hand. He sensed her distraction and intended to exploit it.
“Come on, Lyra,” he taunted. “You’re not afraid of a little fight, are you?”
Lyra tightened her grip on her blade, trying to drown out the noise in her mind. She lunged, but her movements were slow, uncoordinated. Her opponent parried easily, his blade a blur as it struck toward her exposed side.
Pain flared as the edge of the weapon grazed her ribs, forcing her to stumble. The vampire sneered, raising his blade for a finishing blow—
—but it never landed.
Adrian’s sword intercepted the strike with a sharp clang, the sheer force of it sending sparks flying. The combat hall fell silent as the students turned to watch, the tension palpable.
“Pay attention,” Adrian snapped, his voice low and clipped.
Lyra straightened, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and frustration. “I’m fine,” she muttered, gripping her blade more tightly.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. “Clearly,” he replied, stepping back but not leaving her side as the fight resumed.
Lyra pushed through the rest of the session, her movements sharper, though the pain in her side slowed her. She avoided Adrian’s gaze, but she could feel it on her—watching, assessing.
Meanwhile, Eryon trained in the shadows of the academy, away from prying eyes. The memory of the relic’s energy still coursed through him, his wolf restless and eager to surface. Every strike, every maneuver was executed with precision, his heightened senses guiding him.
He couldn’t afford to falter. The King’s knights were closing in, and Misery’s growing suspicion loomed over him like a storm cloud. Her sharp smirks and pointed glances during class were constant reminders that his secret was no longer entirely his own.
As the day ended, Adrian cornered Lyra in a quiet corridor, his presence commanding as he stepped into her path.
“I don’t trust her,” he said, his voice low but firm.
Lyra froze, her wolf stirring defensively. “She’s our mother,” she replied, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them.
Adrian’s crimson eyes bored into hers, his frustration barely concealed. “Then why does everything she says feel like a lie?”
Lyra opened her mouth to argue but stopped. The truth was, she didn’t have an answer.
