Angel of Ruin

8. Sariel

8

SARIEL

I stand at the front of the training room, watching as the remaining humans filter in. Only a quarter of them are left after yesterday's trial. More than I expected, but still pathetic.

My eyes land on her the moment she walks through the door. Lyra. The human who's been occupying my thoughts far more than she should. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and cuts on her hands from yesterday's ordeal.

"You." I point at her. "Come with me."

Confusion flashes across her face, but she obeys, following me to a separate training area. I'll show her how weak she truly is. Prove to myself that this human isn't worth my attention.

"We're going to spar," I announce, taking a fighting stance. "Show me what you've got, little nexari. Let me see those claws."

Lyra hesitates, then mirrors my stance. Her form is decent, I'll give her that. But it won't be enough.

I lunge forward, expecting to catch her off guard. But she sidesteps, quicker than I anticipated. Interesting.

We trade blows, and I'm surprised by her agility. She may be exhausted after pushing herself so hard yesterday, but she's not letting it slow her down. Each time I think I have her pinned, she slips away.

"Not bad," I grudgingly admit. "But can you handle this?"

I sweep her legs out from under her, expecting her to hit the ground hard. Instead, she rolls with the fall, popping back up to her feet in one fluid motion.

"I can handle anything you throw at me," she says, a fire in her eyes that wasn't there before.

For the next hour, I push her to her limits. Hand-to-hand combat, endurance drills, even basic magical theory. And damn it all, she keeps up. She's a quick learner, absorbing everything I show her with an eagerness that's almost... admirable.

By the end, we're both breathing hard. Lyra's covered in sweat, her blonde hair sticking to her forehead, but there's a triumphant smile on her face.

"How was that?" she asks, her voice steady despite her exhaustion.

I cross my arms, refusing to let her see how impressed I am. "Adequate," I say. "For a human."

But as I watch her walk away, head held high, I can't deny the truth. This little nexari might just have what it takes after all.

I can't believe I'm doing this again. Training a human. But here I am, day after day, pushing Lyra to her limits. And damn it all, she keeps surprising me.

"Again," I growl, circling her as she picks herself up off the mat. She's breathing hard, sweat glistening on her skin, but there's a fire in those blue eyes that won't quit.

She lunges at me, faster than before. I dodge, but she anticipates, changing direction mid-strike. Her fist grazes my jaw. It's not enough to hurt, but it's more than any human's managed before.

"Better," I admit grudgingly. "But not good enough."

I grab her arm, twisting it behind her back. She gasps, body tensing against mine. For a moment, I'm back in that hallway, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingers.

"You're still telegraphing your moves," I murmur, my lips close to her ear. She shivers, and it's not from fear. "It's easy to tell what you are thinking, and anything you face in these trials will use it against you."

"Then teach me," she challenges, voice low and determined. "Show me how to be better."

I release her, stepping back. "Fine. Watch closely."

Over the next hour, I demonstrate techniques, guiding her through the motions. Each time I touch her, correct her stance, I feel that spark. It's maddening. She's human. She shouldn't affect me like this.

But as the days pass, I find myself looking forward to our sessions. I push her harder, watching the way she reacts, how she adapts to each new challenge. And every time I pin her down, I don't want to let up.

One evening, after a particularly intense sparring match, we're both breathing hard. Lyra's pinned beneath me, her chest heaving, eyes wild with adrenaline. For a moment, neither of us moves.

"Not bad, little nexari," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. "You're learning."

She grins up at me, all fierce determination and unexpected beauty. "Does this mean you'll stop going easy on me?"

I laugh, surprised by her audacity. "Trust me, I haven't even started."

As I help her up, my hand lingers on hers longer than necessary. That night in the hall flashes through my mind again, and I want to push her – but not just in the ring.

Fuck, I want more of her, and the idea jolts me. I've never craved a woman like this, especially not from a human.

I step back, trying to regain my composure. "Same time tomorrow," I say gruffly. "Don't be late."

As she walks away, I can't help but watch her go. This human is becoming dangerous, in more ways than one. And the worst part is, I'm not sure I want to stop it.

It's a thought that stays with me through the night even as I try to shake it, and that's why when I arrive at the training room earlier than usual the next morning, my mind is already racing with plans for today's session.

I need to distance myself from this human. I need to put her in her place, remind myself why humans can never truly become xaphan. Why I shouldn't even care because it's pointless, this training is pointless.

As she walks in, I don't give her a chance to speak. "Today, we're testing your magical aptitude," I announce, gesturing to the array of objects I've set up. "Each item requires a different type of manipulation. You have one hour."

I watch Lyra approach the first object, a small silver orb. Her brow furrows in concentration as she reaches out to touch it. The orb glows faintly, reacting to her presence.

"This one's designed to test your ability to sense and manipulate energy, able to be used by even non-magic wielders," I explain. "Try to make it float."

Lyra closes her eyes, her fingers hovering just above the orb. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, to my surprise, the orb wobbles slightly.

"Interesting," I mutter. She shouldn't be able to affect it at all.

Moving on, Lyra faces a bowl of water. "Change its temperature," I instruct.

She places her hands on either side of the bowl, her face a mask of determination. Minutes pass, and I'm about to tell her to give up when I notice a thin layer of frost forming on the surface.

My eyes narrow. This shouldn't be possible.

The next item is a small flame dancing on a candle wick. "Extinguish it without touching it," I say.

Lyra stares at the flame intently. Her breathing slows, becomes measured. The flame flickers, wavers, and then - impossibly - goes out.

I stare at her, speechless. This human, this impossible human, has just done what should have been beyond her capabilities.

Each object has some conduit properties, designed for lower level magic. None of them are powerful but for her to utilize any of them…

"Impressive," I mutter, then immediately regret it as her face lights up.

"Really?" she asks, breathless and grinning.

I scowl, trying to stamp down the warmth in my chest. "For a human," I add quickly. "Don't get cocky."

But as I watch her practice, refining her control over each spell, I can't deny the truth. She has potential. Real, undeniable potential.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. If she continues like this, she might actually complete the trials. But then what? The wings were never meant to be given. She'll die trying to claim a prize that doesn't exist.

I could tell her now. End this charade before she gets herself killed. She's just one human - who would even notice if she disappeared?

But as I open my mouth to speak, I catch sight of her face. She's smiling, proud and hopeful, as she perfects a particularly tricky spell. Something in my chest tightens.

"Sariel?" she asks, noticing my hesitation. "Is everything okay?"

I swallow hard, the words dying in my throat. "Fine," I manage. "Keep practicing."

As I watch her return to her tasks, I realize I'm in deeper trouble than I thought. Because a part of me - a part I didn't even know existed - wants to save her.

These trials are meant to kill humans. They give them false hope so they will keep looking up to the xaphan, they give the xaphan and demons something to do to unleash their blood thirst on something that shouldn't matter.

But now the thought of Lyra suffering in the trials — the thought of her dying — makes me uneasy. They were never meant to give her wings, and for a moment, I waver on if I should tell her now before she gets killed. I could get her out. She's one human, and one human disappearing wouldn't raise any questions.

"Let's move to physical training," I bark and she follows, always ready.

I watch Lyra as she practices, her face scrunched in concentration. She's getting better, damn her. Each day, she surprises me with her progress. It's infuriating. And impressive.

"Again," I bark, pushing her harder. She needs to be ready. She has to survive.

The thought hits me like a punch to the gut. When the fuck did I start caring whether this human lives or dies?

But as I watch her execute a perfect defensive maneuver, I can't deny the pride that swells in my chest. She's learning. She might actually have a chance.

And that terrifies me.

Because the trials aren't meant to be survived. They're a cruel joke.

But Lyra... she's different. She's got something, a fire that won't be extinguished. And for the first time in my centuries of existence, I find myself wanting to protect someone other than myself.

"That's enough for today," I say gruffly, trying to shake off these unwelcome feelings.

Lyra looks up at me, her blue eyes shining with determination. "Already? But I can keep going. I need to be ready for the next trial."

The next trial. The words twist in my gut like a knife. I know what's coming, the horrors she'll face. And suddenly, I don't want her anywhere near it.

"You need rest," I snap, harsher than I intend. "You're no good to anyone if you're dead on your feet."

She flinches at my tone, and I hate myself for it. But it's better this way. Better to push her away than to admit how much I've come to care.

"Fine," she huffs, her fire flaring up like it always does. My little nexari has claws and she never lets me forget it.

As she gathers her things to leave, I find myself wanting to say something, anything, to keep her here. To keep her safe.

But I remain silent, watching as she walks away. The door closes behind her, and I'm left alone with my thoughts.

What the fuck am I doing? I'm supposed to be overseeing these trials, not getting attached to a human. But the thought of Lyra facing the next challenge, of her possibly not surviving... It fills me with a feeling I've never experienced before.

Regret.