The sky was still painted in pale gold and cool lavender when Lyra stepped onto the training field again. Her legs ached from the punishment of the previous day, but she forced herself forward. The air was crisp, and the scent of earth and grass made her stomach twist in quiet nerves.
A few warriors were already scattered across the field, going through their routines, but it was Kyson who stood in the center like a storm waiting to break. His presence was undeniable—broad shoulders taut beneath his dark training shirt, hair slightly tousled, jaw locked with a frown as if the sight of her already soured his morning.
She approached quietly, her palms damp against the sides of her leggings.
“You’re late,” he said, not even sparing her a glance.
“I—I thought—”
“You thought wrong,” he sna
