Nyxara
—Same Day, Nyxara's Bedroom—
I've really got to stop waking up like this. I groaned as I sat up. I was barely out of the bed when Líma appeared out of the shadows of the room. I practically jumped back into the bed. "Fuck! Don't do that, Líma. I told you to be unhinged with others, not with me."
Huffing, I slid off the bed again. Glaring at Líma, I held out my arm for Líma to take. Líma took it, then paused, waiting for instructions. Her perceived submission settled something inside me. My frustration and irritation subsided somewhat but didn't go away completely. I tried to keep my voice calm. "Help me to the bathroom, please. Even though you cleaned me up, I still feel icky. While I'm showering, get me some food. I'm feeling ravenous."
Líma supported me into the bathroom, seated me at the vanity, then proceeded to prepare the shower. "How are you feeling, Mistress? Sore, achy, in pain, exhausted?" I took off my nightwear while doing a self-assessment.
"A bit sore. Not painful. Not really tired or exhausted. I feel like I'm warming up. Like my body is recalibrating to optimal performance. So my overall assessment is I'm feeling pretty good. I wonder if the closer to 100% sync I get, the less affected by the symptoms I will be? Please send a message to Aspen asking this. By the way, why are you the only one here? These past few times, someone has always been by my side when I woke up." Líma was opening her mouth when I interrupted her.
"Not that I think it is necessary for them to be here or anything." I hurriedly said before jumping into the shower and closing the door. It seemed to take Líma a moment to adjust to my abruptness. "After Master Aspen examined you, the scans indicated that putting you immediately to sleep and letting your body work through the flare-up was a good move." You will likely have a few more minor physical flare-ups before the ritual, but afterwards you shouldn't have them anymore. So congratulations on you almost being completely healed from the physical aspects of the Velintra are in order."
I watched Líma through the glass, clap her hands a few times with such a blank expression I couldn't help giggling. "You are doing exceptionally well, so it was suggested by Branch Madam Zira that they not hover this time. I can notify them if you need them. Do you need them, Mistress?"
I hadn't noticed when I first woke up how quiet the room was—no familiar voices, no warm weight nearby. Subconsciously, I was relieved when Líma appeared. I understand why they aren't here now. I've been asking for space. I can feel how fast I'm improving, even if the flare-ups have been looking pretty intense this past week.
Now the scans show what we have all been working towards. My body is lighter, steadier, the worst physical symptoms of the Velintra are over. Still, a small ache settled in my chest, the kind that came from crossing something important alone. Part of me wishes they'd been here when I opened my eyes; another part was grateful I didn't have to meet their worry or relief that I endured another flare-up. Wanting them and wanting the quiet for once, I let both be true.
"No. I'm good for now. I'm going to finish up in here then come out to eat. I'm feeling in the mood to run some drills afterwards. Feeling restless." Líma curtsied then exited the bathroom to carry out her tasks. I finished my shower then brushed my teeth. My mouth had such a weird taste in it I had to wash it out.
After putting on the workout clothes Líma left for me, I ate my late-night meal in my bedroom sitting area. Once done, I told Líma I would be in the family training facility and to come get me if I wasn't back in 4 hours. Líma agreed to my request, saying she would do some self-maintenance while I was gone.
I jogged to the facility, getting a good warm-up in. Once I was inside, I looked for a suitable room. As I curiously went down a hallway I hadn't been down before when I heard someone working out in one of the middle rooms. Cracking the door open, I saw a man around my age doing unarmed drills. There was a strange energy in the room. One I hadn't felt before. Despite him not being aggressive with his movements or body language, the room felt … claimed.
He moved with deliberate grace. Each step placed just so, as if every step mattered. His feet did not drag. They did not rush. They arrived exactly where he intended. I watched entranced as he shifted his stance, rolled a shoulder, adjusted his balance by a fraction that seemed too small to matter—except it did. The air changed. Not magically. Physically.
He threw a strike. It wasn't fast or showy. What it was—a show of mastery. This was the kind of movement that didn't waste energy because it already knew its purpose. He flowed into a pivot, a step, a counter that would answer an attack from an opponent. This confirmed my suspicion that he wasn't merely doing attack drills.
He was practicing control of his body.
No flourish. No repetition for endurance. No explosive finish. He cycles through motions the way someone checks doors and windows—not because they expect a threat, but because it is simply instinctual at this point.
For one strange second, I had a premonition that if I stepped into the room fully, the atmosphere of the space would change. Not violently, but this atmosphere of meditative readiness would shift to combat readiness. Because I would have entered his claimed space uninvited.
I exhaled, slow and quiet, and only then realized I'd been holding my breath. Instead of feeling apprehensive, I felt a strange giddiness to test myself against this man. Nyx. Keep your cool. This man must be someone special to be allowed to work out in the private family training facility. He is obviously above your fighting ability. In fact, Keir just cleared you to take off the training wheels, so wanting a spar with this man would be ridiculous. That didn't stop me from opening the door completely, waiting for him to acknowledge me.
This was my home after all, so I doubted he would purposefully ignore me.