Varyth lowered his blade. “If I did, would you believe it?”
Darian rolled his eyes, and then he saw me. “Ah, our guest has arrived.”
Varyth turned, gaze cutting over me with the sharpness of a blade. I felt him catalogue every breath, every unconscious tell, unseen calculations ticking though his mind.
“You look prepared,” he said, his tone betraying nothing of his thoughts.
I rolled my shoulders. “I am.”
Varyth stepped back, sheathing his blade with a fluid motion. “We’ll start with hand-to-hand combat,” he said. “Dariandralis will be your opponent. I’ll observe.”
Darian was still grinning. His face was rounder than Varyth’s, a contrast of warmth to the High Lord’s carved elegance, freckled and sun-kissed from time spent training outdoors. Ruggedly handsome in that effortless way, he had a light scruff along his jaw, the kind that suggested he didn’t always bother to shave unless someone made him.
He bounced on his toes, his sandy hair falling across his brow. There was no malice in his expression, just eager anticipation, a puppy waiting for play.
The earth beneath us was packed firm, scuffed with countless footprints of previous combatants. The air smelled of dust and sweat, the familiar scent of training grounds everywhere, regardless of realm.
Darian’s smile was all boyish charm. “Don’t worry,” he said, stretching his arms. “I’ll go easy on you.”
I arched an eyebrow, annoyance cutting through my nerves. “Please don’t.”
The second the words left my mouth, Darian clicked into place.
That easy smile still played on his lips, but his expression turned assessing. There was a subtle change in his stance—feet planted more firmly, weight balanced, hands loose but ready. A predator hiding behind laughter.
We circled each other, a cautious dance of assessment. I watched his movements, searching for patterns, for tells. He was bigger than me, stronger, but there was a looseness to his posture that hinted at overconfidence. I could use that.
“First to pin?” Darian asked, shifting on his feet.
I nodded, and he lunged without warning. He was fast, aggressive. He came at me withunrelenting force, each step meant to drive me back, to overwhelm. I didn’t fight back, not yet. Instead, Ievaded every strike.I let himchase, let him think I was struggling to keep up.
He threw a punch aimed at my ribs, but I twisted away.Another aimed for my shoulder. I ducked. His fist sailed through the air above me.
“Come on, little human,” he taunted. “Did no one ever teach you that you actually have to throw a punch to win?”
He lunged forward again, more confident, more reckless.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I watched—studied.
He was much larger than me, muscled in a way that spoke to strength as much as speed. Not the kind of bulk that slowed a fighter down, no, he was built for the battlefield. Scars littered his skin, pale slashes across bronzed flesh, each one a testament to battles survived. He was no stranger to pain. No stranger to war.
My gaze caught on one in particular, a brutal scar carved clean across the centre of his chest, jagged and deep.
His movements wereraw power, his footwork strong butpredictable. Every punch he threw had force behind it, butit also had weight, meaning he committed to every blow.
I stepped back, letting him close the distance again. “Tell me about the attack yesterday.”
Darian’s rhythm didn’t falter, but I caught the slight tightening around his eyes. “What about it?”
Another dodge, another feint. “That wolf thing. Torrath. It knew my scent.” I circled left, forcing him to turn. “It wasn’t hunting randomly.”
“Monsters are like that,” he said, throwing a combination that I slipped past. “Real bloodhounds when they want to be.”
“Bullshit.” I began testing him, throwing light, almost careless strikes. “It spoke about its master. About taking me back to him.”
Darian’s grin flickered. “You’re reading too much into monster chatter. They like to sound important.”
I pressed forward, testing his guard with a series of sloppy strikes. “Lord Ashterion. The Lord of Murder Wolves.”
