Training began because silence had become too heavy.
The house felt different after the "test."
Quieter.
Sharper.
Like laughter carried responsibility now.
They didn't talk about it the next morning.
They didn't have to.
Everyone simply knew.
So instead of talking, they moved.
They started outside the city district, where abandoned stone met stubborn grass. The kind of place where noise didn't attract attention and strange things blended into the background of a city too big for its own good.
Liora chose the spot.
Because Liora was practical.
"Alright," she said, tying her hair back and rolling her shoulders, "rule one: you don't get to fall apart because people get clever. We expect clever now."
Aiden swallowed and nodded.
He still looked shaken.
Not heroic afraid.
Just… realistically afraid.
Which, honestly, made him smarter than most people alive today.
"Training," Liora continued, "is so that when fear hits, you know what your hands are supposed to do before your brain remembers how to panic."
"And if that doesn't work?" Aiden asked.
"Then you panic competently," she replied.
Seris snorted.
Aiden managed a weak smile.
Progress.
Training wasn't flashy.
It wasn't cinematic.
It wasn't even dignified.
It was sweaty, clumsy, frustrating.
Aiden learning to dodge.
To roll.
To take a hit without breaking.
To breathe when overwhelmed instead of reacting instantly.
Because reaction was what they were counting on.
"They want predictable," Seris said, watching him steady himself after another stumble. "So we make you… less predictable."
"Uncooperative," Liora clarified.
"Annoying," Seris corrected.
Ardent lounged lazily nearby, because of course he did, sipping something that might have been tea, might have been nightmare juice.
"And perhaps," he added smoothly, "less painfully kind on instinct. If you must help, do it intentionally, not compulsively. Compassion should not make you easy."
Aiden grimaced.
"That sounds awful."
"Welcome to adulthood," Seris muttered.
He laughed.
Just a little.
They trained until Aiden's hands shook.
Until breathing hurt.
Until even thinking hurt.
Liora didn't go easy on him.
She didn't enjoy it.
But she believed in him enough to make him hurt now so he didn't bleed later.
That counted for something.
They rested near sunset.
The city glowed far away.
The wind drifted with tired warmth.
The world still pretended it was stable.
Seris sat slightly apart.
Too quiet.
Too thoughtful.
Ardent noticed.
Of course he did.
He moved beside her with the elegance of someone who could command rooms simply by existing.
"You're thinking too hard," he said lightly.
"That's my job," she replied blandly.
"Ah," he nodded, "and here I thought your job was paperwork."
That earned him half a glare.
But only half.
She stared ahead.
"I enforce rules," she said quietly. "I preserve order. I believed… I have spent my life believing… that structure protects people. That systems matter. That stability is safety."
"That belief served your city well," Ardent said gently.
She laughed once.
It wasn't happy.
"It served the wrong people well. Those men… those council puppeteers… they didn't break the system to use a child. They used the system properly. Legal channels. Paid signatures. Ethical wording. Papered cruelty."
She clenched her fists.
"That wasn't corruption. That was compliance. That terrifies me more."
Ardent didn't respond immediately.
He let that sit.
Seris wasn't spiraling.
She was awakening.
Those are very different pains.
Finally he spoke, softly:
"And now you must decide whether you serve rules…
or whether you serve people."
She closed her eyes.
She didn't answer.
Because she didn't know yet.
And honest people don't lie to themselves about things like that.
Liora meanwhile sat with Aiden, handing him water as he slumped against a stone.
He drank gratefully.
Then sighed.
"I don't want to get used to this," he admitted.
She smirked.
"You won't."
"That sounds like a bad thing."
"It's the reason I don't worry about you turning into a monster."
He blinked.
"…is that a compliment?"
"A very expensive one. Don't waste it."
They sat quietly.
Wind moved.
Hope existed, but less brightly.
More… determinedly.
"Ardent wasn't joking," Liora finally said, glancing toward the fae. "When he warned them. When he said he would change them if they crossed certain lines."
"Does that… help?" Aiden whispered.
"Yes," she said honestly.
Then paused.
"…and no."
He didn't ask her to explain.
He didn't need to.
They both knew:
Ardent was terrifying in the same way storms are terrifying—
beautiful,
necessary,
but absolutely willing to drown you.
Aiden breathed out slowly.
"So we're waiting."
Liora nodded.
"Yeah. We're waiting."
For the other shoe to drop.
For power to make its next move.
For the game to get uglier.
For reality to stop pretending it would play fair.
Aiden stared toward the city lights.
He didn't want to be a hero.
He wasn't sharpening resolve.
He wasn't vowing revenge.
He just…
didn't want anyone to get hurt.
Which meant soon,
he was going to be hurting.
Because that's how worlds like this work.
Ardent looked at him quietly.
The tightening in the cosmos tugged just a little harder.
His time with them was shrinking.
He hated that more than he would ever admit.
"Train," he murmured softly to no one.
"Laugh while you still can."
Because the storm wasn't waiting anymore.
It was walking toward them.