Hidden in the folds of the canyon wall, where shadow wrapped around stone like old bandages, Elysia stood. Silent. Unmoving.
She had followed the command. Stepped away. Vanished from the battle.
But her eyes hadn't left him.
Not once.
From the moment Damien raised his hand—flat, final—she knew something was different about this fight. Not in the level of the threat, but in how he wore it. How he walked into it with no aura, no technique, no visible power.
Just intent.
She watched as the creature lunged—watched as Damien moved.
And something inside her shifted.
'This isn't normal,' she thought, breath steady, expression blank. 'He is not normal.'
It should have been impossible. Not because of rank. Not because of strength. But because of everything else.
A month ago, this boy—this master of hers—was nothing more than excess. Soft. Lazy. All inherited status and no spine beneath it. She remembered his weight. His tone. The lazy arrogance that wasn't earned, just performed.
