The laughter of the morning had vanished, replaced by urgency. Dorian's words hung heavy in the air: "The order has moved."
Lucien broke the silence, his voice firm. "Then we continue the training. If they're ready, we must be more than ready."
Iman nodded, her playful spark replaced by determination. "No excuses. We sharpen ourselves now."
Layla swallowed hard, her heart torn between the warmth of earlier and the shadow now looming. She glanced at Dorian, who gave her a look that was both protective and unyielding.
By afternoon, the courtyard rang with the clash of steel and the hum of effort. Sweat dripped, muscles ached, but none of them slowed. Every strike, every drill carried the weight of the Order's looming presence.
Lucien's blade cut through the air with precision, his steady as exhaustion pressed on him. "Again," he commanded, pushing the guards sparring with him harder. His determination was contagious.
Iman trained alongside Layla, her sword heavy in her grip but her resolve unbroken. Each swing grew sharper, each stance steadier. She refused to fall behind, even as her arms trembled. Lucien's eyes lingered on her, pride flickering beneath his stern expression.
Layla struggled at first, but Dorian's presence behind her was unyielding. His hand steadied hers, his voice low and firm. "Precision, not force. Trust yourself." With each strike, her movements grew cleaner, her confidence stronger.
Dorian himself fought with relentless intensity, his strikes echoing like thunder. Yet his gaze often flicked toward Layla, as if reminding himself why he fought so fiercely.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the courtyard fell into silence. The group stood together, breathless and worn, but stronger than they had been that morning.
Lucien lowered his blade, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. "This is only the beginning," he said grimly. "If the Order is moving, then so must we."
Dorian's jaw set, his voice steady and commanding. "Tomorrow, we train harder. Tonight, we plan."
The castle was quiet, shadows stretching long across the stone halls. After the planning was done and the others had retired, Iman found Lucien alone.
She stepped closer, her voice low but unwavering. "Lucien... I don't want to stay behind anymore. I want to fight as you do. As Dorian does. As Layla will."
Lucien's eyes softened, though his brow furrowed. "Iman..."
She met his gaze, her determination burning. "Make me a Vampire."
The words hung heavy in the air, more dangerous than any blade. Lucien's breath caught, torn between fear and love, between protecting her and honoring her resolve.
The night was silent, but the choice before them was louder than any battle.