Devouring Hollow Hearts || ONC'24

》Chapter Ten《

Her bruised knees hit the cavern floor with the weight of another morning's training.

Chyrie swallowed roughly with each labored breath as she looked between the sweaty strands of her auburn hair. They framed her face in short, chopped threads that brushed over her brow and poked into her eyes.

They hadn't been trimmed back since her capture.

Beyond her sodden hair, Xiran's looming frame cast a faint shadow in the forgelight. He, too, fought to control his breathing. From the way he eyed her anvil — as if it would make the perfect brace to prop himself with and not a tool for hammering tools flat — she knew he felt the way she looked.

Chyrie frowned, noticing the tense look pulling at his face. He crossed his arms and skirted her collapsed frame, avoiding her gaze.

"What?" She rasped out.

"I cannot instill muscle memory in three days' time."

Xiran pressed his hands into the anvil and leaned over, dropping his head.

A disgruntled dragon puffed in the corner, Dailes flicking his tail in agreement.

"I've trained three generations of warriors, but never in less than a week," he murmured. Xiran exhaled sharply, stretching his neck to relieve a phantom tension. "It is impossible..."

Her hands shook, clenching around newly formed callouses. Chyrie felt the weight of his words, torn between his absence of faith and the truth bleeding out between them. She wasn't meant to train two months until her eighteenth year, nor slave away in the mines she loved to protect. Only pour over the scripts of scholars and shadow her mother through the halls of Emberlin's sweeping hallways and cavernous architecture.

The history of her people had become muddled with sweat and adrenaline, masked by an endless tunnel of fear.

Similar to the former Captain, she was sure.

"I only need to survive," Chyrie managed to say. "Anything further is a blessing."

Xiran hummed a distant response, standing upright only to lean himself against the thick slab of steel. His arms crossed over his chest.

"You'll need to do much more than survive if you intend to save your brother or your kingdom," he replied. Aquatic irises pinned her. "Even if each of you are paired with a different sentinel, even if your court is not as deprived and exhausted as you, you'll need strength to repair the damage."

"Anryth may have taken me from Emberlin, but he's bound by the same oath I am," she said. Chyrie sat and locked her legs beneath her, considering. "Do you think he'll fight as fair as he claims?"

"I've no reason to believe it, nor should you."

She bit her lip.

His tone chilled, only adding to the brutality of his words. So cold and true, she would consider believing them if not for the hesitation.

Xiran seldom spoke as they sparred, offering minor tips in the spare moments between matches. He preferred a more physical variety of communication, one that often left Chyrie breathless and confused.

She couldn't wrap her head around his charity or the kindness behind those intense strikes.

Dodging was her friend within these walls, but once Anryth came for her, she would need more than agility to beat him.

"Do you think I might win?"

No sooner had her tongue dried out than when Xiran's sealine gaze lifted from beneath dark hair, piercing focus and curiosity honing down on her knelt frame. His shifting movements allowed him to close the gap between them with fluid grace, where he observed.