The sun was sharp and bright above the demon castle courtyard, framed by open archways that let wind rush through like the breath of a sleeping god.
Red-silver banners whipped overhead, embroidered with runes of peace and power, their edges shimmering with protective enchantments.
Stone pillars stretched toward the sky, and around them, soldiers trained in precise formations—moving like blades drawn and sheathed in rhythm.
Kaelith was not among them.
She was in the middle of the ring.
And she was winning.
"Your form's slipping," she said, casually ducking a strike from her opponent and sliding behind him in a smooth pivot.
"I'm adapting!" the soldier grunted, bringing his sword back around with a vertical cut.
She blocked it with a flash of motion, the clash of steel ringing out. Her blade caught his just below the hilt. She leaned in.
"Adapt faster."
With a twist of her wrist and a firm kick to his knee, she sent him stumbling. The moment he lost balance, her sword swept forward, stopping just shy of his throat.
Silence.
The soldiers around the sparring ring clapped once then again, louder. A murmur of impressed voices followed.
Kaelith stepped back, offering her hand to the winded demon.
"Thanks for the warm-up," she said with a small, smug grin.
"You're terrifying," the man wheezed, taking her hand and pulling himself up. "In a very regal, almost charming way."
"I'm trying to be approachable."
He laughed. "You're not succeeding."
"Then I'm doing it right."
She sheathed her blade in a fluid motion, sweat clinging to her collarbone and the curve of her neck, her red-streaked white hair sticking to her skin in defiant strands. Her combat tunic was damp, her arms tingling with effort—but she felt alive.
Strong.
Whole.
Her time in the Celestian realm was going to begin , but already she could taste it: independence. Discipline. Movement without shadow.
This was what she'd wanted.
"I thought I told them to ease up on you, not throw you into the deep end," said a familiar voice behind her.
Kaelith froze mid-stretch, then slowly turned—grinning even before she saw the speaker.
"Auntie."
Lara stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed, smirking like a pirate queen on leave.
She looked entirely out of place here—crimson leathers, low-cut battle corset, mismatched gauntlets, and curved demon blade strapped across her back like a threat.
Her black braid was half undone, and her eyes gleamed with chaos barely restrained.
Kaelith opened her arms and stepped forward.
Lara met her halfway in a dramatic, sweeping hug that lifted Kaelith an inch off the ground.
"You're becoming stronger each day," Lara said, setting her down and inspecting her niece with theatrical approval. "Soon you'll be able to beat your instructors and your mother."
"I already beat one of those."
"Elysia?"
Kaelith raised an eyebrow.
Lara laughed. "You wound me, child."
"Mother said you only ever fight when there's a crowd or a woman watching."
"She's not wrong," Lara said proudly. "You get far more style points that way."
They walked side by side through the edge of the training grounds, passing rows of recovering soldiers and enchanted water basins where warriors cooled off. Some saluted. Others glanced away, pretending not to listen.
Kaelith nudged her aunt's arm. "So, how many hearts have you broken this week?"
"I don't break them," Lara said with mock indignation. "I gently unlace them, leave a note, and sometimes a gift basket."
"With what? Wine and trauma?"
"Don't knock the classics."
Kaelith snorted. "If I turn out like you, Elysia's going to cry."
"Elysia already cries every time you wear anything with a cutout."
"I wore a high-slit dress once."
"She threatened to ban tailors in three realms."
Kaelith laughed, the sound breathless and sharp. Lara always brought this out of her—this sense that the world could be fun, not just fragile.
They reached the shaded alcove near the garden steps, where a small table had been set up with a pitcher of enchanted ice water and redberry slices floating within.
Lara poured herself a glass and sipped, watching Kaelith out of the corner of her eye.
"So…" she said slowly, like a cat stretching out its claws. "How would you feel about getting a bodyguard?"
Kaelith groaned immediately. "Please don't start. I've just convinced Malvoria I can do this on my own."
"You didn't convince her. You wore her down like rain on rock."
"She said yes."
"She said 'yes, with conditions.'"
Kaelith narrowed her eyes. "And you're one of the conditions?"
"Oh no," Lara said sweetly. "I'm the solution."
Kaelith crossed her arms. "I don't need protection."
"Technically, no," Lara agreed, "but we all sleep better when there's someone close by who can stab people on your behalf."
Kaelith sighed. "Fine. Let me guess you've got some loyal family guard, probably named Tharn or Skullcrusher or something, huge guy, carries twelve swords and no personality?"
"No."
Kaelith blinked.
Lara grinned.
"I found someone better."
Kaelith eyed her suspiciously. "Define 'better.'"
"Well," Lara said, counting off on her fingers, "she's a professional, a combat specialist, very experienced, and—oh yes—completely your type."
Kaelith froze. "What."
"Scarred, broody, hates mornings, fights like her soul's on fire, and has arms that could lift a horse."
"Aunt Lara—"
"She threatened to kill me twice in the same sentence."
"Lara—"
"She's the woman you swear you'd hate but end up in bed with after a particularly emotional political banquet."
Kaelith looked like she was about to combust. "You can't just assign me a walking crush!"
"I'm assigning you a bodyguard," Lara said innocently, sipping her water. "The crush part is entirely up to your emotionally repressed self."
Kaelith groaned into her hands. "This is my worst timeline."
"I ran her through the records. She's one of the only people who survived a multi-general assault alone. She's not scared of you. She's not scared of your legacy. And she's not going to melt the first time someone sneezes a death threat."
Kaelith peeked between her fingers. "What's her name?"
Lara's smile was all teeth.
"Imeena Cromwell."