Angel of Ruin

12. Sariel

12

SARIEL

I pace the training grounds, my wings twitching with irritation. Where the hell is she? Lyra's been avoiding me for days, and I'm sick of it. I've got a job to do — even if it's a self appointed one at this point — and she's making it impossible.

"Sariel." A voice catches my attention. It's Zephyr. "The human girl you've been training. I just saw her heading to her room from the cafeteria."

I nod curtly and stride off, my jaw clenched. It wasn't hard to get the overseers to keep an eye out for her. Not when growling out her name like I have been promises punishment, and that only excites all of them.

When I find her, she's huddled in a corner with a few other candidates, laughing at something. The sound grates on my nerves.

"Lyra," I bark. She jumps, her blue eyes widening as they meet mine. "Training. Now."

She hesitates, glancing at her companions. I don't give her a chance to protest, grabbing her arm and practically dragging her to the private training room.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" I snarl, shoving her inside. "You think you can just skip out on training?"

"I-I wasn't?—"

"Shut up." I cut her off. "You want wings? You want to be one of us? Then you train. Every. Damn. Day." I grit my teeth. "And you train with me like you are supposed to."

I see the hurt in her eyes, the confusion. Good. Let her be confused. Let her hate me. It's better this way.

"Now, show me what you've learned," I demand, circling her like a predator. "And don't disappoint me."

For the next few hours, I push her harder than I've ever pushed any candidate. I make her run until her legs give out, lift weights until her arms shake, perform complex maneuvers until she's dizzy and gasping for air.

"Again," I command each time she falters.

She doesn't complain, doesn't beg for mercy. There's a fire in her eyes that both impresses and infuriates me. Why won't she just give up?

"Come on, little nexari," I spit, even as she completes a particularly difficult sequence. The venom in my voice hasn't been there since we first met. "Is this really the best you can do?"

I see the tears forming in her eyes, but she blinks them away, gritting her teeth and pushing on. Something twists in my chest, but I ignore it. This is necessary. I have to distance myself from her.

As the session finally ends, Lyra collapses to the floor, her body trembling with exhaustion. I stand over her, my face a mask of indifference.

"Same time tomorrow," I say coldly. "Don't be late."

I turn and walk away, my wings rigid with tension. It's only when I'm alone in my quarters that I allow myself to feel the weight of what I've done. I tell myself it's to prepare her for the trials, that I'm doing her a favor by being so harsh.

But deep down, I know the truth. I'm scared of how she makes me feel, of the way she's wormed her way under my skin. And I'll do whatever it takes to keep her at arm's length, even if it means breaking her in the process.

I stand at the edge of the training grounds, watching Lyra push through another grueling session. She's different from the other humans - stronger, more resilient. The sight of her determination stirs something inside me that I can't quite name.

"Again," I bark, trying to keep the edge in my voice. But it's getting harder each day.

Lyra nods, her face set in concentration as she tackles the obstacle course once more. Her movements are fluid, graceful even. I catch myself admiring the way she moves, the fierce look in her eyes.

Fuck. This isn't supposed to happen.

I turn away, pacing the length of the field. I need to focus. I'm here to oversee these trials, to ensure the humans fail. Not to... whatever this is.

But my eyes keep drifting back to her. The way she helps up a fallen competitor, offering words of encouragement even as she fights for her own survival. It's a kindness I've never seen in our world, a strength I didn't think humans possessed.

"Time," I call out, my voice rougher than I intended. Lyra jogs over, her chest heaving with exertion but a small smile playing on her lips.

"How'd I do?" she asks, looking up at me with those damn blue eyes.

I struggle to maintain my cold facade. "Barely adequate," I mutter, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.

She sees right through me. Her lips press into a firm line, suppressing the smile. She never smiles around me anymore. But instead of taking the bait, instead of fighting me like she normally does, she just shrugs. "I'll take that as high praise coming from you, Sariel."

The sound of my name on her lips sends a jolt through me. I clench my fists, willing myself to stay detached, aloof. But it's getting harder with each passing day.

"Don't get cocky," I snap, but there's no real heat behind it. "You've still got a long way to go before you're anywhere near xaphan standards."

Lyra just nods, that determined glint back in her eye. "I know. But I'll get there."

And the worst part is, I'm starting to believe she might. This human, this infuriating, captivating creature, is showing strength I never thought possible. She's making me question everything I thought I knew about her kind.

A war rages inside me. I'm supposed to be cruel, to break her spirit. Instead, I'm fighting the urge to protect her, to see her succeed.

What the hell is happening to me?

Looking past Lyra, who is still waiting for new instructions from me, I watch the exhausted candidates, their bodies slick with sweat and trembling from exertion. A cruel smirk tugs at my lips. They think they're done for the day. How wrong they are.

"Line up," I bark, my voice echoing across the training grounds. "We're not finished yet."

Confusion and dismay ripple through the group. Lyra's eyes meet mine, a question in their depths. I ignore the way my chest tightens at her gaze.

"The second trial is approaching," I announce, pacing before them. "And you're all pathetically unprepared."

I snap my fingers, and a xaphan assistant appears with a box. Inside are silver bracelets, each etched with intricate runes.

"Put these on," I order, distributing them among the candidates. "They'll allow you to channel magic, even without innate abilities."

As Lyra slips hers on, I catch a flash of excitement in her eyes. It makes me want to crush that spark of hope even more. Magic is dangerous, deadly, and she won't survive it…

The idea makes me rage, makes me want to better prepare her but I squash it. No one is making it out of this.

"Now," I say, my voice low and dangerous, "let's see how you handle real power."

I demonstrate a simple spell, creating a ball of light in my palm. "Your turn," I command.

The humans fumble with the unfamiliar energy coursing through them. Most can barely produce a flicker. But Lyra...

Her brow furrows in concentration, and a small orb of light appears in her hand. It's weak, wavering, but it's there.

Anger and something else - pride? - war within me. I squash it down, focusing on making this as difficult as possible.

"Pathetic," I snarl. "Again. Bigger this time."

I increase the complexity of the spells, watching as the humans struggle and fail. Some collapse from the strain, magic burning through their unprepared bodies.

Lyra keeps going. Her light grows stronger, her spells more controlled. With each success, my challenges become more intricate, more dangerous.

"Shield yourself," I command, hurling a bolt of energy at her. She throws up a barrier just in time, the force of it knocking her back.

I don't give her time to recover. "Again," I growl, attacking relentlessly.

She meets each assault, her face set in grim determination. The other candidates have long since given up, lying spent on the ground. But not her. Never her.

I've thrown everything I have at her, and still she persists. What will it take to make her give up?

And why does part of me hope she never does?

Stopping before her, I watch Lyra struggle with a complex fire manipulation spell, one I've only given to her, her brow furrowed in concentration. Sweat beads on her forehead, and her hands tremble as she tries to shape the flames into a specific pattern.

The other candidates have long since given up before even reaching this level of skill, but not her. Never her.

A strange feeling twists in my gut as I see her falter, the fire flickering dangerously close to her skin. Before I can stop myself, I take a step forward, my hand outstretched to guide her.

What the fuck am I doing?

I freeze, my body rigid with shock at my own actions. This isn't right. I'm not supposed to help her. I'm supposed to watch her fail, to relish in her defeat like I do with all the other pathetic humans.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to stay put. My orders echo in my head - be harsh, weed out the weak, ensure their failure. It's what I've always done, what I'm good at. So why does it suddenly feel so wrong?

Lyra lets out a frustrated grunt as the flames dissipate once again. Her eyes meet mine, a silent plea for help that makes my chest tighten uncomfortably. I want to show her how to control the fire, to see her succeed where others have failed.

But I can't. I won't.

"I expected more," I snarl, injecting as much venom into my voice as I can muster. "Is this really the best you can do?"

I see the hurt flash across her face, quickly replaced by that stubborn determination I've come to expect from her. She grits her teeth and tries again, her fingers dancing through the air as she attempts to manipulate the flames.

I turn away, unable to watch anymore. What's happening to me? Why do I care if this human succeeds or fails? She's nothing to me, just another pawn in the xaphan's cruel game.

But even as I think it, I know it's a lie. Lyra has become something more, something I can't quite define.

And it terrifies me.