Cassian did not retreat.
He adjusted.
That was what made him dangerous.
The first clash had not moved him physically, but it had shifted something in the air between us. He no longer looked at me like a fragile inconvenience. He looked at me like an anomaly.
His aura tightened instead of expanding wildly. The pressure became focused, sharp rather than crushing, like the difference between being buried under stone and being pinned by a blade.
System:[Breath seven.]
I felt each second like it was carved into my bones.
Cassian's palm came again, this time not toward my face, but toward my shoulder joint. A calculated strike meant to dislocate, not kill. He did not want to destroy me. He wanted to display control.
I twisted, barely avoiding the full impact, but his knuckles clipped my upper arm. Pain shot through me like lightning. My fingers went numb for half a second.
I used the momentum instead of resisting it.
Lucian's memories were full of failed sparring sessions, of collapsing too early, of losing air too quickly. My body remembered weakness. But weakness could be repurposed if you understood it.
I staggered deliberately, drawing him forward.
Cassian stepped in to capitalize.
That was when I moved.
I pivoted on my heel and drove my elbow toward his ribs, not with refined technique, but with commitment. It landed. Not deep. Not damaging. But solid.
His breath shifted.
A flicker.
It was small, but it existed.
The attendant near the wall inhaled sharply again. I heard it. Cassian heard it too.
Cassian's expression darkened.
"You are not supposed to touch me," he said quietly.
"Then stop standing where I can reach," I replied.
The words came easier than they should have. I felt heat spreading through my veins, responding to the rising pressure like fuel to flame.
System:[Breath twelve.]
Cassian's aura flared outward, and this time he stopped holding back.
The weight hit me like a physical wall. My knees buckled. My back arched involuntarily as the spiritual force pressed down on my shoulders.
Lucian would have fallen here.
I felt the memory of that collapse, the humiliation of it, like a ghost trying to drag me down with it.
And then something else rose.
It wasn't rage.
It wasn't pride.
It was refusal.
I tightened every muscle I had and forced my spine straight.
The heat in my chest surged violently, and for a split second I felt something tear inside me—not physically, but spiritually, like a barrier cracking.
My vision sharpened.
Cassian's aura, which had previously felt like a single oppressive mass, now appeared layered. I could see fluctuations in its flow, subtle tremors where his control wavered between offense and restraint.
Lucian (internal):System. What am I seeing?
System:[Dreadmoor ocular inheritance responding to stress. Visual perception of spiritual fluctuations increased by 4%.]
The world slowed.
Not in time.
In understanding.
Cassian shifted his weight slightly to his left before striking again. The aura around his right shoulder tightened first. The pressure near his core pulsed half a breath before each movement.
I saw it.
And I moved before he finished.
His strike grazed my cheek instead of breaking my jaw.
Pain blossomed, warm and bright, but I was already stepping inside his guard, driving my palm toward his sternum.
This time I aimed lower, toward where his spiritual core would be.
He caught my wrist mid-strike.
His grip tightened like iron.
For a second our eyes locked.
And I saw it clearly.
He was not afraid of losing.
He was afraid of the change.
"Enough," he said.
System:[Breath nineteen.]
He shoved me backward with a burst of force that I could not fully counter. My back hit the edge of the bed. The frame cracked under the impact.
Air fled my lungs.
Cassian advanced.
His killing intent sharpened, no longer a training pressure but something closer to genuine violence. It wrapped around me like barbed wire.
My body trembled under it.
Not from fear.
From stimulation.
The demon heat inside me responded eagerly, pushing back against the aura as if it recognized it as prey.
Lucian (internal):System. What is this feeling?
System:[Demon blood resonance increasing. Combat stimulus converting external pressure into internal refinement. Warning: continued escalation may result in partial seal fracture.]
Seal fracture.
That sounded important.
And dangerous.
Cassian grabbed the front of my robe and lifted me slightly off the ground, eyes burning.
"You think standing up makes you equal?" he asked.
"I think standing up makes me visible," I answered.
The words were steady, even though my heart hammered against my ribs.
System:[Breath twenty-six.]
Cassian's grip tightened further.
He was strong.
Far stronger than me.
But he was no longer entirely in control of the narrative.
The attendant in the corner had not moved. His eyes were wide, fixed on us. Fear and disbelief warred across his face.
He would talk.
Servants always talked.
Cassian noticed it too.
His jaw flexed.
If he crushed me now, if he broke my arm or shattered my ribs, it would still be a victory. But it would not be clean. It would not be dismissible. It would not be a sickly brother collapsing under mild training pressure.
It would be the Third Son exerting real force against someone barely stabilized.
Politics lived in details like that.
He released me abruptly.
I dropped to the floor, catching myself on one knee instead of falling completely.
System:[Breath thirty-two.]
I exhaled slowly.
Halfway.
Cassian stepped back, rolling his shoulders as if bored.
"You are still weak," he said. "Do not mistake endurance for strength."
"I don't," I replied, rising carefully to my feet. "But endurance is where strength starts."
His gaze sharpened again.
"You speak like someone who believes he has time."
"I do."
The answer came without hesitation.
On Earth, I had never believed I had time.
Here, even with enemies and pressure and unknown forces in my blood, I felt something I had never allowed myself before.
Possibility.
Cassian circled slightly, studying my stance.
"You are at Ember Pulse," he said. "Your veins have not even ignited properly. You cannot form a stable core. You are one careless strike away from internal collapse."
System:[Breath thirty-eight.]
He wasn't wrong.
My limbs were already beginning to feel heavier. The initial surge of demon resonance was stabilizing into something less explosive but more steady.
The heat in my chest no longer flared wildly. It moved rhythmically, reinforcing instead of reacting.
Lucian (internal):System. Status?
System:[Spiritual vessel integrity increased to 41%. Ember Pulse stabilization improving under stress conditions.]
So this was what the mission meant.
I was not meant to overpower him.
I was meant to endure him.
Cassian lunged again, faster than before.
This time I did not try to counter.
I absorbed.
His palm struck my forearm. Pain flared, but I rolled with the impact, redirecting force instead of resisting it head-on.
The technique was crude, something pieced together from Lucian's fragmented training and my own instinct to avoid being cornered.
But it worked.
His blow glanced instead of crushing.
I retaliated with a low kick toward his knee.
He stepped back easily, avoiding it, but his eyes were no longer amused.
System:[Breath forty-five.]
Fifteen more.
Cassian's aura dimmed slightly.
Not from weakness.
From calculation.
He understood now that I was not collapsing. Not submitting. Not begging.
And he understood that continuing to escalate would only make the moment larger.
The attendant's breathing was audible.
Every second stretched like wire pulled tight.
Cassian moved again, this time feinting high and striking low.
His palm caught my ribs.
Something cracked.
Pain exploded through my side, sharp enough to blur my vision.
I staggered but did not fall.
System:[Breath fifty-one.]
Blood filled my mouth.
I swallowed it.
Cassian's gaze flicked briefly to the attendant, then back to me.
"Yield," he said quietly.
The word carried more weight than any strike.
Yield meant submission.
Yield meant reinforcing the hierarchy.
Yield meant becoming the Ninth Son they expected again.
I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand.
"No."
It was not loud.
It did not need to be.
System:[Breath fifty-six.]
Cassian stared at me.
The room felt smaller now.
Not because of pressure.
Because of focus.
Four breaths.
He could crush me in one.
He did not.
Three.
His aura receded another fraction.
Two.
He stepped back fully.
One.
System:[Breath sixty. Mission complete.]
The words settled into my mind with quiet finality.
System:[Mission reward granted. Ember Pulse stabilization increased to 70%. Demon blood seal loosened by 1%.]
Heat flooded my chest again, but this time it was controlled. It moved through my veins like molten metal being poured into a mold.
The trembling in my limbs faded.
My breathing evened out.
Cassian saw the change instantly.
He narrowed his eyes.
"What did you just do?" he asked.
"Stood," I replied.
He studied me for a long moment, then gave a short, humorless laugh.
"You survived," he said. "Do not mistake that for progress."
"I won't."
He turned toward the door.
Before leaving, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder.
"Father will hear of this," he said. "And he will not ignore it."
The door closed behind him.
Silence returned to the chamber.
The attendant remained frozen for a moment longer, then bowed deeply.
"Young Master," he said, voice unsteady. "Shall I call a healer?"
I shook my head.
"No."
He hesitated, then nodded and retreated quickly, closing the door softly behind him.
I stood alone in the wrecked room, ribs aching, cheek burning, blood drying at the corner of my mouth.
On Earth, a beating meant humiliation.
Here, it meant something else.
Proof.
Lucian (internal):System. How far am I from Vein Ignition?
System:[Projected advancement possible within weeks under consistent stress and resource acquisition.]
Weeks.
For a realm that normally took years.
I looked at my reflection again.
Crimson eyes met mine.
Not small.
Not invisible.
Unfinished.
I flexed my fingers slowly, feeling the heat settle into something steady and coiled.
Cassian had expected to confirm a corpse.
Instead, he had confirmed something far worse.
The Ninth Son was standing.
And this time, I had no intention of stepping forward into oblivion.
I intended to step upward.