Page 33 of The Blood Rites

“I don’t want this place to change me,” I admit softly.

Kael leans slightly closer, his voice dropping lower, rough enough to send a shiver down my spine despite myself. “I didn’t hear you.”

I step back before I can think better of it. “It doesn’t matter.”

For a moment he simply watches me, his expression unreadable.

Then, quietly, “Why didn’t you protect yourself?”

Panic flashes through me so suddenly it almost shows on my face.

Because I cannot answer honestly. Because the moment anyone here learns what I truly am, whatever fragile safety I still possess will vanish.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Prince.”

The title is meant to sound mocking. It comes out weaker than intended.

Kael studies me for another long moment, unsettling in his stillness.

“You’re right,” he says, walking away. “Enjoy your training, Luceris.”

The way he says my name sends heat creeping embarrassingly over my cheeks. I turn away before he can see it.

The weapon racks gleam beneath the Dome lights, rows of polished steel laid out with clinical precision. I grab the nearest dagger mostly to give my hands something to do besides shake.

Marissa appears beside me moments later.

“You’re drawing all sorts of attention,” she whispers nervously. “Are you sure that’s safe?”

None of this is safe. Not this place. Not the trials waiting ahead of us. Certainly not Kael Noctaryn looking at me like he’s already decided something about me that I don’t understand.

“None of us are safe, Marissa,” I reply too sharply.

She flinches, and guilt floods me immediately.

“I’m sorry,” I say more gently. “I’ll protect you if I can.”

“I know you will.” The certainty in her voice twists painfully inside my chest. She is far too young to be here. Too trusting. Still naive enough to believe kindness alone can save someone.

I hand her a dagger from the rack. She takes it eagerly despite the fear lingering in her eyes, testing its weight with surprising confidence.

Good. Fear keeps people alive.

I take a short sword for myself and lead her towards the far side of the Dome where the training dummies wait in neat rows. Callen joins us without speaking, already slipping naturally into formation beside us.

We practice the way I learned at the barracks: repetition until movement becomes instinct.

Strike. Recover. Pivot.

Callen fights with brutal efficiency, every swing economical and precise. Around us, the other Offerings train in scattered groups across the Dome.

The Waterborn have an eerie grace, murmuring soft prayers like they are listening to voices none of us can hear. The Fireborn spar violently, sparks and bursts of flame flashing through the air around them as blades clash. The Airborn barely seem tethered to the floor, their movements unnaturally quick and light.

Yet it is the Earthborn who hold my attention longest. Their movements are steady and controlled, offence and defence flowing together seamlessly as chunks of stone rise and break apart around them. All of them balanced and certain.

My grip tightens slightly around my sword. Marissa and Callen’s bands have been off for more than a day now. I wonder if they are settling into any of their power.

I still have no idea what will happen when I finally allow mine to surface. Fear settles cold beneath my sternum. I spent years forcing my Mana into silence, years pretending weakness was safer than truth. Recently, every time my power has slipped free of my control, it has become something dangerous.