Chapter 9 Aug 18, 2025 There was no truce. No glance exchanged. No whispered apology carved into the stone walls of the training hall. Just silence. Bastian Roen didn't speak to Mira. Not once. Not even when blades clashed between them during drills or when he stood five paces away in the sparring pit, close enough to smell the sweat on her skin. His eyes moved past her like she didn't exist-like she was a shadow slipping through smoke. If he was fire, then she, Mira thought bitterly, was the ash left behind. Fine. Let him pretend she didn't matter. She trained like she was starving. Not just for skill, but for worth, for proof she deserved her place here. Every bruise was earned, every drop of sweat a rebellion. Her curves, once mocked and whispered about, began to carve into muscle. Her thighs ached constantly. Her arms burned after every drill. But still, she kept pushing - not to become smaller, but stronger. Like pain was the only thing that kept her upright. She ran harder, struck faster, blocked with brutal precision until even the instructors paused to watch her. Even Liorith, sprawled along the stone ridge, tracked her with golden eyes, heat simmering beneath her scales. But not everyone admired her grit. "You know," Tessan said, sidling up with that practiced casualness that always felt like a trap, "you should be careful with all this training. Burn out's a real thing." Mira didn't look up. "Is that personal experience talking?" Tessan gave a soft, mocking laugh. "Just saying-wasting away might win you sympathy, but it's not a good look. You're starting to disappear." Mira turned, slow and steady. "Maybe you're just not used to people doing things for themselves." Tessan's gaze flicked briefly to where Bastian stood across the field, then back. "He's being nice. That's all it is. You really think someone like him is into... this new version of you?" Mira arched an eyebrow. "He doesn't seem all that interested in your version either." Tessan's smile tightened. "Keep telling yourself that. Just don't cry when he moves on." Mira didn't plan it. Her palm moved before her brain did. The slap cracked like a whip through the courtyard. Tessan's head whipped to the side. Her breath hissed. "You'll regret that." "Doubt it," Mira muttered, already walking away. "But hey-add it to the list." She didn't stop. Not until her muscles screamed and her lungs tasted blood. The sun dipped, torches lit the arena, and still she kept moving. She wrapped her hair back with trembling fingers and fell into line for night drills, ignoring the whispers from the other cadets. Then the bell rang. And Mira moved. She cut, blocked, pivoted-fighting like the silence between them had sunk into her bones and become rage. But she felt it before she saw it. A weight. A gaze. Him. Bastian. He stood behind the line, arms crossed, face unreadable. She didn't let it break her rhythm. Not until the instructor barked, "Switch!" She stepped back. He stepped forward. And just like that, they were alone in the ring. He didn't say anything. Just looked at her like she was both answer and mistake. "You've been busy," he murmured finally. "Better than sulking," she replied flatly. His expression didn't shift. He only came closer. "You slapped Tessan." Mira raised a brow. "Word travels." He nodded once. "Good." That caught her off guard. "You're not mad?" "She deserved worse." Silence twisted between them. "You've been avoiding me," he said. Her laugh was sharp. "You avoided me first." "I thought you needed space." "You kissed me." "And you pulled away." Mira's voice dropped. "Because I'm not interested in being your shameful secret." He flinched. She stepped in now, her words slicing low. "You look at me like I'm something you regret touching. Like you don't know how to clean me off." "I never-" "Yes, you did," she snapped. "And I let it happen. I wanted that kiss. I wanted it to mean something. But I won't be the girl you kiss in shadows and ignore in sunlight." His jaw clenched. "You're not." "Then what am I?" He opened his mouth-then shut it again. Coward. "You came into my room," she whispered, "and kissed me like it hurt to breathe. And then you disappeared. Like I was the one who crossed a line." He reached for her. Not fast. Not bold. Just enough to close the air between them. "Mira..." She shook her head. "Don't tempt me." But she was already tempted. The way he looked at her now-hungry, unspoken, regret etched into every line of his face-sent a dangerous heat crawling over her skin. Then he stepped closer. Closer still. And she let him. Their mouths crashed-no gentleness, no hesitation. His hands gripped her waist, dragged her flush against his chest as he kissed her like penance. Like punishment. Like apology and obsession and fury all tangled together. Mira gasped as he spun her into the stone wall of the empty training alcove, his mouth trailing fire down her throat. His fingers clawed at the belt of her tunic, tugging until the fabric loosened and slipped from her shoulder. Her breath hitched. Her restraint snapped. "Tell me to stop," he growled, lips brushing her collarbone, voice cracked and shaking. She grabbed his jaw, yanked his mouth back to hers. "Shut up." He obeyed. Her back hit stone as his hands roamed - over her hips, under her shirt, fingers brushing bare skin and dragging goosebumps in their wake. One hand cupped her breast through her thin shift; the other slid down, gripping her thigh, pulling it up over his hip. She arched into him, grinding against the hard length pressed against her center. "Fuck," he muttered against her jaw. "You're burning." "Then do something about it," she whispered, nails digging into his shoulder. He did. He kissed her like he'd drown if he didn't, teeth scraping her lip as his hips rolled into hers. There was no space between them now, just friction and heat and the sharp ache of wanting more. His hand moved beneath her tunic, fingertips skating along the inside of her thigh, teasing but not crossing the line. "You drive me insane," he breathed. "You know that?" "Good," Mira rasped, hips tilting up to meet him. "Now shut up and keep going." He groaned low in his throat and did exactly that - grinding against her, lips at her neck, hands everywhere. She clung to him, not to stay upright, but because letting go might kill her. And just when it felt like they might lose the last of their self-control-he stopped. Breathing hard. Forehead pressed to hers. Not finished. But wrecked all the same. Later-when the training yard emptied and the torches died-Mira sat in silence beneath the stables, skin still flushed, lips still swollen. Liorith approached quietly, curling beside her. "You're lucky," Mira whispered. "You don't have to understand any of this." The dragon didn't speak. But her head tilted, and then-her scales began to glow. Not from fire. Not from moonlight. But something deeper. Older. Mira sat up, heart pounding. "Liorith?" The dragon exhaled slow and low. Ancient magic stirred beneath her silver hide. Her pain had been seen. And something was awakening.