I hurt Nienna.
There were days Iwantedto strike Eldeiade. I pictured it more times than I’d admit—yet I never lifted a hand. Her cruelty simmered in my blood. Fermented.I endured her abuse, waiting for the day she’d go too far and I could call for her head without guilt.
But Nienna?
She was the one sacred, pure thing I claimed in my life. And now her skin mirrored the very accusation I spent years disproving. The lie had found shape again. This time, in someone I cared for.
Tangled on the bed, her trousers slipped low, the dress caught between her thighs like a shroud. The soft rustle of fabric sounded far away.
“Kallias?” she whispered.
I looked up.
Not just eyes. Her whole face watched me, open and unguarded. Irises like seawater. Confusion blooming beneath furrowed brows.
Passion drained in an instant, dying in a puff of smoke. What filled me wasn’t cold—it was hollow. An emptiness that gnawed at my ribs.
“I’ll be back,” I said, the words gravel in my throat. My voice cracked, breaking the air between us like something fragile.
She was not Eldeiade.
“Wait—talk to me.”
I backed toward the door, my legs moving while my mind stayed trapped. Thought splintered under the torrent of emotion rising in waves.
Disgust churned first, then shame, then a deeper rot. Not fear of her—but of myself. A pathetic man hunted by echoes that never faded. Her bruises dragged my past into the light and held it there. A living nightmare.
I snatched my tunic, the linen rough in my grip, and shoved it over my head. My fingers found the lock and turned it before my mind caught up. The door swung wide, and I pushed through, desperate for air free of her scent.
Greaves stood there, blocking my path.
His brow snapped into a frown as his gaze dropped to my chest. He stepped aside, but flinched when I stormed past.
He followed.
Failure. That’s what this was. A reminder that no amount of progress could erase the scars. Life would always find a way to throw this back in my face. There was no escaping it.
“Where in gods’ name do they spar here?” I snapped, fingers buried in my hair.
Greaves didn’t answer. He just picked up speed, and I followed. The hallways stretched quiet and still, but I rushed through them, skin on fire.
He led us through the Cireendium, then down to the first level, past the grand floor where we’d signed the treaty. Turn after turn, Greaves moved as if this route had become familiar, like he’d walked it more than once since we arrived.
We stepped into a vast, windowless chamber. Lanterns burned low along the walls, their flames flickering gold over stained wood painted in concentric circles.
A training room, similar to the one I recognized from our boyhood drills.
Weapon racks lined the edges—swords, staves, spears. I walked straight to the shortswords. A spear would’ve kept him at a distance, but I craved the heat of close combat. I wanted to feel the sting of every strike. Let Greaves knock the guilt from my bones, draw penance for my sins.
Black stone walls loomed around us, matte and lightless. The air pressed heavy, gloom wrapping me like a second skin.
Greaves rolled his shoulders, loosening his stance. I tested the weapon in my grip, adjusting to the unfamiliar weight before I stepped into the smallest ring. He moved to meet me, gaze dipping to the blade in my hand before drawing his own.
As soon as steel cleared leather, I struck. No warning. No hesitation. I threw myself into the clash, a flurry of slashes and parries. Each blow shoved memories deeper. The ringing metal drowned my thoughts.
Greaves slipped inside my defense and seized my wrist. “What happened?” he hissed, breath sharp through clenched teeth.
I wrenched free. He let me go, stepping back, eyes locked on my feet. My chest heaved. A twitch shivered under my eye.
