"She was the strongest Veil-touched in recent memory. She surpassed me a few weeks into training. She may have been the strongest ever born." Lyralei’s voice held grief and pride equally. "She believed her daughter would surpass her."
The weight of that expectation settled across my shoulders. Not only did I need to surpass my mother, but also Lyralei.
"I'm not her," I said quietly. “Or you.”
"No. You’re you. And that might be exactly what we need."
Over the following days, I practiced anchoring until my head ached and my nose bled from the strain. I learned to layer bindings for redundancy, to recognize when a Void-touched entity was testing the anchor for weakness, and to adjust and reinforce on instinct.
The Devourer's interest became clearer through the lessons. Lyralei explained how my power drew its attention like blood on white cloth. Every time I touched the Veil, I sent ripples through dimensions the ancient entity monitored.
"It sees you as a threat and an opportunity," she said. "If it corrupts you, you become a doorway large enough for its forces to pass through. If it kills you, it loses the one Veil-touched who might actually banish it permanently."
"So, it's waiting to see which option becomes available first."
"Yes."
I didn’t ask what happened if it chose the corruption route.
By the end of the second week, I could perform all the basic techniques without guidance. I could compress space across short distances, touch the Verdant Beyond without losing control, reflect hostile magic, and anchor the Veil into place.
Not mastery. But competence. Survival-level skill.
Enough to maybe not die immediately when the real fighting started.
One afternoon, I found myself watching Daemon's team train in an adjacent section of the grounds. Kael, Kane, and Zephyr moved through combat drills with the precision of people who’d fought together for years. They communicated through minute gestures and shifts in stance, anticipating each other's movements, covering weaknesses automatically.
Their coordination was beautiful in a deadly way. Zephyr's wind magic created openings, and his arrows closed gaps that Kael exploited with brutal efficiency. Kane’s dominating force and strength showed without an enemy present, as he held down the middle. They flowed around each other like water, adapting to changing scenarios without breaking rhythm.
And Daemon. He was the nail and hammer. He turned the finely tuned deadliness of the team into a machine of war that always achieved its mission. He was faster, stronger than before. The deterioration that had plagued him weeks ago had been erased by my stabilized control.
The curse was still draining him, but slower now. Slow enough that hope felt possible instead of delusional.
"They trust each other completely," Lyralei said, appearing beside me with her characteristic silent grace.
I nodded. "Yes."
"I haven’t seen teamwork like this since your mother and I could be in each other’s presence. You’re lucky to have them as your allies and not your enemies."
I watched Zephyr let loose an arrow from his crossbow and Kane hurl his axe overhead. Their aim was completely wrong, the current trajectory of the weapons would never have reached the training dummy, but Daemon’s shadow tendrils redirected the projectiles. The arrow landed right between the eyes of the dummy before Kane’s axe split it in half.
"Will that be enough?" I asked. "Against what's coming?"
"It will have to be. Combined with your power and their skill, you might actually stand a chance." Lyralei's tone suggested she believed it possible, but far from certain.
We stood in silence, watching the deadly dance continue until Daemon called for a break. His team dispersed toward water and shade, but he crossed the grounds toward us instead.
"Making progress?" he asked, though the question felt directed at both of us.
"She learns quickly," Lyralei said. "Another month and she'll be ready for practical application."
"We might not have a month." Daemon's expression darkened.
"Then we accelerate Seris's training to match." Lyralei’s calm felt forced. "There are techniques we haven't covered yet, deeper applications, "
"She needs rest too," Daemon interrupted. "Pushing too hard risks the same loss of control we're trying to prevent."
They looked at me, waiting for input on my own limitations.
