The mansion was silent except for the soft drip of water from Elias' coat and the steady hum of the city beyond. He sat cross-legged in the training room, eyes closed, breathing measured. The wound in his chest ached, a sharp reminder that his body had betrayed him once—and could again.
But this time, he would not allow it. Not again.
He traced the pain with his mind, feeling its rhythm, its pulse, its subtle warning. Every heartbeat was a code, every tremor a lesson. Slowly, deliberately, he forced himself to confront it: the pressure, the weakness, the fracture that had almost killed him. He visualized every strike, every movement, every fight he had survived.
This was not physical training. This was mental. Internal. He had survived because he refused to accept death, and now he needed to master the part of him that had faltered. Sweat mixed with rainwater on his brow, his breathing deepened, and he let himself feel the fire building inside.
When he finally opened his eyes, the room seemed sharper, clearer. Stronger. Ready.
---
Meanwhile, miles away, a storm of a different kind raged.
Varekk leaned against the cold stone wall of a deserted warehouse, the faint light casting long shadows. Across from him, Seraphina's eyes glinted with malice, the rain-drenched air wrapping her like a cloak.
"You always were pathetic," she hissed, circling him like a predator. "Couldn't protect anyone. Not your master, not your friends, not even yourself."
Varekk's jaw tightened. His hands clenched into fists, but he didn't move. He had learned long ago that she thrived on provocation.
"And now you're here, trying to act like a hero," she continued, smirking. "The great protector of the Obsidian Order. Tell me… do you feel that weight? The shame? Or is it still buried under all your excuses?"
Varekk's eyes narrowed, his teeth gritted. "You… you don't get to talk," he said through a low growl.
"Oh, I think I do," Seraphina replied, stepping closer, her voice a razor. "I know every failure. Every misstep. And you? You're still… weak. Still someone who watches and waits. Pathetic."
The corner of Varekk's mouth twitched, a mixture of rage and despair. He had held so much in. His loyalty. His pain. His guilt. But the words she spoke dug too deep, unearthing a truth she didn't expect to surface.
"You think you know pain?" he said, voice low but trembling. "You… killed him. You killed him."
Seraphina froze. Her eyes flicked to him, calculating. "What are you talking about?"
Varekk's voice sharpened. "Silas… you loved him. And you… you stabbed him. Betrayed him. Left him for dead."
The words hung between them, heavier than the storm outside. Seraphina's smirk faltered, replaced by something colder, sharper—a calculation, a warning.
Varekk's hands didn't shake, but his eyes burned with a truth she hadn't anticipated: Elias knew. The secret she had buried, the betrayal she had justified in her mind—now laid bare, and the consequences were not yet fully realized.
For the first time, Seraphina's confidence wavered. The mocking grin faltered, replaced with the first hint of fear.
"You…" she hissed, a whisper edged with ice. "You… how…?"
Varekk didn't answer. He didn't need to. The tension spoke for itself. Every word, every pause, every glance carried the weight of what had been done—and what was now at stake.
The storm outside continued to rage, but inside that warehouse, the real storm had only just begun.