(Ceruledge POV)
Ceruledge liked to train when the mansion slept.
Not because he preferred secrecy but because silence removed excuses.
The outer practice yard lay beneath the hill, stone sunk deep into bedrock, reinforced for forces that didn't ask permission before being unleashed. No sensors were active. No projections. No adaptive terrain.
Just stone.
Ceruledge stood at the center, blades lowered, blue fire burning low along their edges. His posture was perfectly balanced, he was ready, and still.
He had not moved in nearly ten minutes.
Across the yard, Cyrus leaned against the railing, arms folded, breath visible in the early morning air. He hadn't announced himself. He hadn't needed to.
Ceruledge knew.
He always knew where Cyrus was.
The memory came unbidden.
Divide City. The sky split open. Dream-pressure collapsing inward. Cyrus stumbling, blood flooding down his temple.
Ceruledge's flames flared sharply, blue turning white-hot for half a second before snapping back under control.
That moment was burned into him, his inability to protect or save Cyrus.
Gengar could pull Cyrus out of shadows. Ditto could shield him. Ursaluna could anchor the ground itself.
Ceruledge what was his use? What was he good at?
Ceruledge was meant to end things. He was a finisher, but Darkrai... had not ended.
He lifted his blades.
The first strike cleaved the air with surgical precision. No wasted motion. The second followed immediately, cross-cutting the first arc. Heat rippled outward, scoring the stone but not cracking it.
Ceruledge stepped through the motion, pivoted, and struck again.
And again. And again. And again.
Each movement flowed into the next, each one clean, lethal, but restrained. He was not rage training. This was refinement his craft.
Cyrus watched carefully.
"You're over-extending," he said finally.
Ceruledge halted mid-motion. Blue fire stilled, blades lowering just a fraction.
Cyrus pushed off the railing and descended the steps into the yard. "You're compressing power which is great for a burst, but try cycling it. That works for short engagements."
He gestured at the scorched stone. "Strong and lethal, ...But it drains you fast."
Ceruledge turned his helm slightly in acknowledgment.
"Gen—"Gengar's voice echoed faintly from the upper level, observant but distant.
Ceruledge ignored it.
He re-centered, then raised his blades again, this time the flames were wider, flames burning brighter.
He struck.
The impact cracked the stone.
Heat surged outward in a shockwave, rippling the air hard enough that Cyrus had to brace instinctively.
Ceruledge followed through without pause, then the third strike, and the fourth, each one heavier, more forceful, less restrained.
Cyrus felt it then, Ceruledge was losing himself.
"Stop," Cyrus said sharply.
Ceruledge didn't.
He advanced, controlled, but escalating with each step eating distance, flames roaring louder now, power bleeding into the space around him.
Cyrus didn't move.
"Ceruledge."
Still nothing.
The next strike came down hard enough that the stone finally gave way, fissures spiderwebbing beneath Ceruledge's feet.
The flames spiked.... and then snapped inward violently as Ceruledge wrenched them back under control.
He dropped to one knee.
The yard fell silent except for the low hiss of cooling stone.
Cyrus was beside him in seconds.
"Look at me," he said quietly.
Ceruledge lifted his helm.
The blue fire burned brighter than usual, slightly unstable, compressed too tightly.
"You don't need to be stronger," Cyrus said. "You need to last."
Ceruledge's blades trembled.
Ceruledge slowly planted one blade into the stone to steady himself. Then the other.
The flames dimmed.
Cyrus exhaled. "You think if you're powerful enough, I won't ever get hurt."
Ceruledge remained still.
"That's not your burden," Cyrus continued. "I choose where I stand. You choose how you fight."
Ceruledge's head lowered.... only just slightly.
Acceptance, not submission.
Cyrus straightened. "Try again. But this time, spread it out, think wide area attack."
Ceruledge rose.
This time, when he struck, the flames didn't spike.
They flowed.
Each motion carried power forward instead of compressing it inward. The heat dispersed evenly, carving deep but stable scars into the stone.
Sustainable.
Deadly.
Ceruledge moved like a blade that understood its own limits—and respected them.
Cyrus watched, nodding once.
At the final strike, Ceruledge stopped short—blade hovering inches from the stone.
Control.
The flames dimmed to a steady burn.
Cyrus smiled faintly. "There that's better."
Ceruledge turned, standing tall once more.
He was still driven. Still lethal.
But no longer trying to outrun fear.
As the sun crept higher over the mansion, Ceruledge extinguished his blades and took position beside Cyrus... not in front.
A guardian, not a shield.
A power earned. a power controlled, and a power that would not fail when it mattered.