The Price
The days blurred into one another.
Pain. Darkness. Blood.
Lucien’s training was relentless. He gave no kindness, no comfort or warmth, only lessons carved in bruises and shadows. Each morning, I woke sore and trembling. Each night, I collapsed with wounds fresh and soul frayed. And still, he demanded more.
“Again,” he snapped as I struggled to hold the shadow-blade steady.
My arm shook, the weapon flickering as though mocking me. Sweat burned my eyes. “I can’t—”
“You can,” Lucien cut in sharply. He stalked around me, his presence heavy, his voice cold. “Every time you say you can’t, Derrick wins. Do you want to crawl back to him in chains?”
Rage flared, burning away exhaustion. The blade solidified, shadows locking tight in my grip. I swung, and the air split with a sharp
