Page 25 of Angel of Ruin

A war rages inside me. I'm supposed to be cruel, to break her spirit. Instead, I'm fighting the urge to protect her, to see her succeed.

What the hell is happening to me?

Looking past Lyra, who is still waiting for new instructions from me, I watch the exhausted candidates, their bodies slick with sweat and trembling from exertion. A cruel smirk tugs at my lips. They think they're done for the day. How wrong they are.

"Line up," I bark, my voice echoing across the training grounds. "We're not finished yet."

Confusion and dismay ripple through the group. Lyra's eyes meet mine, a question in their depths. I ignore the way my chest tightens at her gaze.

"The second trial is approaching," I announce, pacing before them. "And you're all pathetically unprepared."

I snap my fingers, and a xaphan assistant appears with a box. Inside are silver bracelets, each etched with intricate runes.

"Put these on," I order, distributing them among the candidates. "They'll allow you to channel magic, even without innate abilities."

As Lyra slips hers on, I catch a flash of excitement in her eyes. It makes me want to crush that spark of hope even more. Magic is dangerous, deadly, and she won't survive it…

The idea makes me rage, makes me want to better prepare her but I squash it. No one is making it out of this.

"Now," I say, my voice low and dangerous, "let's see how you handle real power."

I demonstrate a simple spell, creating a ball of light in my palm. "Your turn," I command.

The humans fumble with the unfamiliar energy coursing through them. Most can barely produce a flicker. But Lyra...

Her brow furrows in concentration, and a small orb of light appears in her hand. It's weak, wavering, but it's there.

Anger and something else - pride? - war within me. I squash it down, focusing on making this as difficult as possible.

"Pathetic," I snarl. "Again. Bigger this time."

I increase the complexity of the spells, watching as the humans struggle and fail. Some collapse from the strain, magic burning through their unprepared bodies.

Lyra keeps going. Her light grows stronger, her spells more controlled. With each success, my challenges become more intricate, more dangerous.

"Shield yourself," I command, hurling a bolt of energy at her. She throws up a barrier just in time, the force of it knocking her back.

I don't give her time to recover. "Again," I growl, attacking relentlessly.

She meets each assault, her face set in grim determination. The other candidates have long since given up, lying spent on the ground. But not her. Never her.

I've thrown everything I have at her, and still she persists. What will it take to make her give up?

And why does part of me hope she never does?

Stopping before her, I watch Lyra struggle with a complex fire manipulation spell, one I've only given to her, her brow furrowed in concentration. Sweat beads on her forehead, and her hands tremble as she tries to shape the flames into a specific pattern.

The other candidates have long since given up before even reaching this level of skill, but not her. Never her.

A strange feeling twists in my gut as I see her falter, the fire flickering dangerously close to her skin. Before I can stop myself, I take a step forward, my hand outstretched to guide her.

What the fuck am I doing?

I freeze, my body rigid with shock at my own actions. This isn't right. I'm not supposed to help her. I'm supposed to watch her fail, to relish in her defeat like I do with all the other pathetic humans.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to stay put. My orders echo in my head - be harsh, weed out the weak, ensure their failure. It's what I've always done, what I'm good at. So why does it suddenly feel so wrong?

Lyra lets out a frustrated grunt as the flames dissipate once again. Her eyes meet mine, a silent plea for help that makes my chest tighten uncomfortably. I want to show her how to control the fire, to see her succeed where others have failed.

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