I should’ve known better than to accept a sparring match with Zephira.
The training grounds had barely opened when she shoved a steel practice blade into my hand. "If you want to wield power, Architect, learn to keep your footing first."
Yuria and Seraphina sat on the sidelines, exchanging bets. Lilith just looked amused.
"Ready?" Zephira asked.
I didn’t answer in time.
She lunged.
Steel met steel with a crack. My arms shook. She was fast—faster than any demon I’d sparred with before. Her strikes were relentless, fluid, as if she didn’t breathe between swings.
"Your stance is garbage," she barked, sweeping my leg.
I hit the ground hard, stars bursting behind my eyes.
"You’re thinking too much," she continued, circling. "Stop waiting for power to save you. Fight like your life’s already lost."
I got up. Again. And again. Every time, she knocked me flat.
But on the fifth round, I felt something click—my instincts aligning with the shard’s pulse. I parried her next strike, twisted under her guard, and managed to land a hit on her hip.
She stopped. Blinked.
Then grinned.
"That’s more like it, Architect."
From the sideline, Yuria threw both hands up. "I won! Pay up, ice queen!"
Seraphina rolled her eyes. "Beginner’s luck."
But I could see it in their faces. Pride. Trust. I wasn’t just surviving anymore.
I was growing into my place.