Rayne's ribs still ached from yesterday's sparring, but that didn't stop her from moving.

Not today.

The southern wing of Araksa was colder than the rest of the fortress, draped in silence and forgotten dust. Old tapestries hung like warnings, faded by time, their threads depicting half-lost legends-goddesses with bleeding eyes, wolves with golden fangs, moons split in two. Rayne didn't know whether to feel safer or hunted in this place. But Kael had been right about one thing: no one came here.

Except her.

And Erya.

Rayne crouched, muscles tight, sword balanced in her hands the way Kael had shown her, yet this time, it wasn't Kael watching her.

It was Erya.

The elderly warrior moved as if she had been created out of fire and shadow. Scars from every war she had survived crawled down her neck, and her black hair was braided around her skull. She didn't wear court colors, only black leather and a cloak of dark fur. Rumor had it she'd once trained the king's elite before vanishing into exile. Now, she trained Rayne.

"Again," Erya said coolly.

Rayne struck. Forward, twist, pivot.

"Slower. You're rushing."

Rayne gritted her teeth and tried again.

The sword felt less foreign today. Her limbs remembered more. Her instincts were beginning to whisper-not scream. That was progress.

"I see Kael's brutal methods haven't killed you," Erya remarked, stepping behind her.

"Not yet."

"Shame. I had coin on you collapsing."

Rayne paused. "You bet on me?"

"Of course. Survival is its own game." Erya smiled without warmth. "But I don't waste time on corpses. So prove me right, girl."

Rayne lunged again-this time smoother, faster.

Erya nodded once, stepping into her own stance. "Now block."

She moved like lightning. Her blade was a blur, and Rayne barely lifted her sword in time. Steel clashed, echoing through the empty wing and pain bloomed in her forearms.

"You think the court will bow to your pretty eyes or Kael's protection?" Erya hissed, pressing harder. "They will gut you in your sleep the second you falter."

"I know," Rayne gasped, holding the block.

"Good. Then stop fighting like prey."

Erya stepped back. "You've lasted longer than expected. You're still weak but not useless."

Rayne lowered her weapon, panting.

A shadow shifted near the hallway's edge. Rayne stiffened, but Erya didn't flinch.

"You said we were alone," Rayne whispered.

"We are," Erya replied. "He's just a ghost."

Rayne turned.

Kael stood just outside the threshold, half-shrouded in mist. He didn't speak. Just watched.

Erya didn't bow. "She needs more than brute force."

"I know," Kael said. "That's why I brought her to you."

Rayne's eyes flicked between them. "You two know each other."

Kael's mouth curved faintly. "Everyone in Araksa knows Erya."

Erya snorted. "Only the ones still breathing."

Kael stepped forward, eyes hard on Rayne. "Word's spreading about last night. You survived the assassins. Now the court is divided and some want your death, others want your bloodline revealed. The King remains silent. Which means the worst is coming."

Rayne gripped the hilt tighter. "What do I do?"

"Keep training," Erya said before Kael could answer. "And keep listening. This kingdom is a nest of knives. You can't stop the blade you don't see coming."

Kael nodded. "Your trial bought you time. Use it."

Rayne looked between them, heart thundering, mind spinning.

She'd come here chained, broken, unsure whether she was even real.

Now, she was being trained like a weapon.

And something told her... this was only the beginning.

-------

Rayne's legs ached, but she followed Erya deeper into the lower halls.

They passed no guards. No servants. Just bare stone corridors and the air got colder the farther they went. Erya didn't speak. She only handed Rayne a piece of dried meat and kept walking, boots clicking in rhythm.

"What is this place?" Rayne finally asked, chewing slowly.

"Used to be training grounds for the king's hunters," Erya replied. "Now it's where traitors vanish."

Rayne stopped chewing.

Erya glanced back. "Eat. It's still good meat. You'll need your strength."

Rayne forced herself to swallow.

After a long descent, they reached a heavy wooden door banded in black iron. Erya pushed it open.

Inside was a circular chamber-wide, hollow, and dim. Dust floated through narrow shafts of moonlight cutting down from slits above. The floor was worn and stained, the scent of sweat and old blood lingering.

"Your real training begins here," Erya said simply.

Rayne blinked. "What was the other training?"

"Survival." Erya drew two wooden staffs from the wall and tossed one to her. "Now we train you to fight like a Moonborn."

Rayne caught the staff awkwardly. "That is something I have no idea what."

Erya circled her. "You don't have to know. You just have to become."

And then she struck.

Rayne barely dodged. The staff cracked against the floor where her foot had been. Erya ducked and swept her legs from under her as she spun, swinging back awkwardly.

Air clattering from her lungs, Rayne fell hard to the ground.

"Too slow," Erya said. "Again."

Rayne climbed to her feet, gripping the staff tighter.

They moved again-Erya swift and silent, Rayne forced to rely on reflexes she didn't trust. For every three hits Erya landed, Rayne blocked one.

But that one was enough to make her grin.

Erya saw it. "Good. You're learning."

"I'm getting angry," Rayne panted.

"Same thing."

They trained until Rayne's muscles screamed and her arms trembled. Finally, Erya stepped back.

"You've got something wild in you," the older woman murmured. "Not just your blood. Your rage."

Rayne lowered the staff. "Is that what I need to survive?"