Chapter 4: The Training Duel
927 Words
The training courtyard was a desolate circle of black sand, hidden deep within the bowels of the palace where the sun’s rays couldn't reach. It was cold—a biting, unnatural chill that clung to the lungs—but as Lyra paced the perimeter, her blood was boiling.
She gripped the hilts of the shadow-glass daggers Malakai had given her. They felt light, almost weightless, as if they were made of frozen smoke rather than solid matter. Across from her, Malakai stood unarmed. He had shed his heavy royal furs, wearing only a sleeveless black tunic that revealed the intricate, moving tattoos winding down his muscular arms.
"You're distracted," Malakai said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "You're thinking about the Summit. You're thinking about why you didn't let that bullet find my heart."
"I was protecting my investment," Lyra snapped, her boots scuffing the black sand. "If you die, my sister dies. It’s that simple."
Malakai’s lips quirked into a ghost of a smile—a sharp, dangerous thing. "Liars are usually better at hiding their pulse, little bird. I can hear yours from here. It’s drumming a frantic song."
He raised a hand, and the shadows in the corner of the room stood up. Literally. They took the shape of three soldiers, wielding swords made of solid darkness. "Defeat them. Then you get to try for me."
Lyra didn't wait for a second invitation. She moved like a streak of lightning.
The first shadow-soldier swung a heavy blade, but Lyra was already under its guard. She drove her glass dagger into its chest. There was no resistance, only a hiss of escaping air as the shadow dissolved into mist. She didn't stop to celebrate. She spun, parrying the second soldier’s strike with her left blade while her right hand sought its throat.
She was a whirlwind of practiced lethality. Years of rebellion training had turned her body into a weapon, but as she sliced through the third shadow, she felt a strange pull. Every time her glass blades touched the shadows, a spark of violet light jumped from the steel into her skin.
It didn't hurt. It felt like... 'fuel.'
"Enough," Malakai commanded. The remaining shadows melted back into the floor. "The constructs are too easy for you. You need a challenge that can bleed."
He stepped into the center of the ring. He still didn't draw a weapon.
"Draw your sword, Malakai," Lyra hissed, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
"I don't need a sword to handle you, Lyra." He beckoned her with a flick of his fingers. "Show me the rage you’ve been nursing since you woke up in my bed."
Lyra roared and lunged.
This wasn't a dance; it was a brawl. She attacked with everything she had—slashes, stabs, elbows, and knees. Malakai moved with a fluid, terrifying grace, stepping just out of reach of her blades, his eyes locked onto hers with predatory intensity.
She swung her right dagger in a wide arc, a feint she’d used to kill a dozen men before. Malakai saw through it instantly. He stepped inside her reach, his hand catching her wrist in a grip of iron. With his other hand, he swept her legs out from under her.
Lyra hit the sand hard, the wind knocked out of her. Before she could roll away, Malakai was on top of her, pinning her wrists over her head.
The weight of him was immense—a heat that contrasted sharply with the cold shadows of the room. His face was inches from hers, his violet eyes glowing so brightly they left spots in her vision.
"Your technique is flawless," he whispered, his chest heaving against hers. "But your heart isn't in the kill. You're holding back. Why?"
"I’m not," she gasped, struggling against his grip. But his shadows had risen to help him, coiling around her limbs like living silk, holding her fast.
"You are." He leaned down, his nose brushing against hers. "You’re afraid that if you touch me with the intent to kill, you’ll find out you’d rather touch me with the intent to... something else."
"You're a monster," she whispered, though her body was betraying her, her heart racing not from fear, but from the overwhelming proximity of him.
"I am," Malakai agreed. He released her wrists, but didn't move away. Instead, he traced the line of her jaw with a thumb that felt like a brand. "But I’m 'your' monster now. And you are my Void. Do you feel that?"
As he spoke, the violet sparks she had felt earlier began to pulse in time with his heartbeat. The shadows around them started to glow, turning the dark sand into a field of starlight.
"Our powers are reacting," Lyra realized, her voice trembling.
"They are merging," Malakai corrected. He stood up, offering her a hand to help her up. "The Rebellion told you I was a curse. They didn't tell you that you were the cure. And they certainly didn't tell you that once a Void finds their Shadow, they can never go back to the light."
Lyra looked at his hand, then at the shadow-glass daggers lying in the sand. She realized with a jolt of terror that he was right. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay in this cold, dark place until she understood what she was becoming.
She took his hand.
His skin was burning hot, and as their palms met, the shadows in the room let out a collective, satisfied sigh.
- Writer
