Ashes to Ascend

Six Months Later

The Dominion Institute was colder now. Sharper. More lethal.

The season had shifted, but it wasn't just the weather—everything had changed. The air that once crackled with uncertainty now burned with honed tension. Every step across the obsidian courtyards echoed with the sound of evolution.

And Nyra Vale had become a storm.

She moved through the northern training wing with a silence that made even second-years wary. Taller now—her body forged by torment, blood, and defiance—Nyra's form had matured into something hauntingly lethal. Her once-fluid movements were now carved with precision. Her skin held a war-glow that shimmered beneath the morning haze, her black hair longer and twisted into controlled chaos, streaks of deep violet more vibrant than ever. Her silver-gray eyes had hardened into polished blades.

The chains still hung from her cuffs, now intricately engraved with runes—retractable, but ever present. A symbol of her past. A threat of her present.

No one called her a slave anymore.

Now they whispered another title:

Hellcat of the Institute.

"She survived the Flesh Gauntlet with one broken rib and a dead stare."

"Her Crownfire heals and burns at the same time. That's not magic—that's madness."

"I heard her shadows killed a man before she touched him."

Nyra ignored them all. She had long since stopped acknowledging the rumors. Her only concern was the war she trained for.

Behind her, Riven strode lazily with hands in his pockets, taller now, his dark auburn hair grown longer and tied back. His build had thickened with lean muscle, but the smirk on his face still held its familiar mischief.

"Half the class either fears you or wants to screw you," he muttered. "Possibly both."

Seraph walked beside him—quiet, graceful, deadly. Her silver-ombre hair swept across her back like mist. Her movements were silent, each step calculated. Her duality was stronger now. Where Seraph brought calm dread, Nyx brought unhinged carnage.

"We should take bets," Nyx purred from within, surfacing briefly. "Who cries first in the next match? Or who loses a limb?"

"You're twisted," Riven said fondly.

"You love it."

Nyra rolled her eyes. "You two flirting again?"

"You're one to talk," Riven fired back. "You and Ruin eye-fuck each other across every courtyard. Subtle, sure. But not invisible."

Seraph gave Nyra a side glance. "It's true."

Nyra didn't reply.

They entered the Combat Hall—a cavernous dome lined with reinforced stone, rune-inscribed walls glowing faintly in the early morning. The air buzzed with ancient magic and the scent of sweat, fire, and steel.

Waiting near the far pillar, arms crossed, was Voss.

Kierian Voss had grown into a blade of his own. His frame had broadened—shoulders squared, posture tighter, every movement honed for war. His black hair now curled at the nape of his neck, and the scar across his knuckle looked freshly reopened.

Nyra's gaze flicked toward him. Their eyes locked.

He didn't smile.

But the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Morning, Hellcat," he said, voice low and even.

"Ruin," she replied.

He stepped forward—close, but not enough to touch. "You look like war."

She stared up at him, her voice soft but dangerous. "Then pray you're not in my way."

The tension between them flared—and then diffused just as quickly as Master Kael Veyne's voice erupted across the chamber.

"All of you. Inside. Now."

The Combat Instructor stood at the center of the room like a tower of storm-forged stone. Scarred arms crossed, his battle-leather uniform tight over muscle and memory.

"No weapons," he barked. "You will spar with abilities only. If your magic cannot defend you, you do not belong here."

Riven muttered, "Again?"

Kael's eyes snapped to him. "Speak louder, Caelum. I'll give you a solo round with me."

Riven shut up.

Students formed rows.

Kael's gaze scanned the elite.

"Today, I want blood. Precision. No theatrics. You've had six months to learn control. Let's see what the scars taught you."

His eyes landed on Nyra.

"Vale. You first."

She stepped forward, chains clicking, power simmering beneath her skin.

"And choose your partner."

Nyra's gaze swept the room.

Her silver eyes stopped on Voss.

Then slowly moved to Celeste.

She smirked.

"I want the Princess."

A hush swept over the Combat Hall as Nyra took her place at the center of the arena, her chains rattling softly as they coiled around her forearms, licking with the faint shimmer of shadow. Across from her, Princess Celeste stepped forward—frost curling at her heels, her expression as cold and composed as ever.

Six months had not dulled the animosity between them.

If anything, it had sharpened.

Celeste was taller now, her form elegant but lethal. Her blonde hair was pinned back in intricate braids wrapped with thin bands of silver magic, and her dueling robes shimmered with woven enchantments. She didn't blink as she summoned her ice-mirrored illusion field—dozens of copies rippling out around her, each a perfect match. The frost clung to the air, laced with barbed tension.

Nyra cracked her neck slowly.

Her fire answered the challenge.

Amethyst Inferno spilled from her palms in slow, rhythmic pulses. Her eyes glowed faintly, her shadow magic slithering across the floor like living oil, hungry and unpredictable.

Kael raised one scarred hand. "You are not to kill each other."

A pause.

Then his smirk surfaced. "But break whatever you like."

He dropped his hand.

The fight exploded. 

Celeste moved first.

She didn't waste time. A spiraling gust of freezing air exploded from beneath her feet, carrying shards of illusionary frost that mimicked spears—fast, silent, deadly. Nyra didn't dodge. She stepped forward, shadows coiling around her like armor. The illusion spears hit her but passed through as her body rippled with phantom distortion.

Celeste blinked. "Still hiding behind tricks?"

Nyra's voice was cold. "You think what I do is trickery? You still don't get it."

She snapped her fingers.

A pulse of Amethyst Inferno burst from her chest, spiraling outward like a heartbeat. It clashed with Celeste's second attack—a shimmering frost wall meant to blind and bind. Fire and ice collided, vaporizing on impact, blanketing the arena in searing mist.

From the crowd, Seraph watched, eyes narrowed. "She's not even pushing yet."

Riven stood beside her, arms folded. "Neither is the princess. This is just the warm-up."

Inside the mist, Nyra vanished. A moment later, she reappeared above Celeste, shadow magic roaring to life beneath her boots as she flipped mid-air. She landed hard behind her sister, palm already lit with flickering violet fire.

Celeste spun, frost coiling around her hands. She caught Nyra's arm in mid-strike, both forces surging against each other.

The stone beneath them cracked.

They broke apart, breathing hard.

Celeste's illusions split again—three new versions of her rippled across the floor, each casting identical magic circles.

Nyra didn't hesitate. Her eyes gleamed gold.

Her beast sense activated.

She turned, ducked, rolled, and lunged at the real one, unleashing a burst of shadow tendrils from her shoulders. Celeste screamed in fury as the tendrils grabbed her by the waist and flung her across the arena.

She landed hard, her body skidding across the obsidian tiles. Blood splattered across the floor as her elbow cracked against stone, the sound wet and sharp. Her cry echoed through the chamber, but she rose, trembling.

Nyra advanced.

Her flame now crawled up her arms like living things, coalescing into clawed fingers and a burning mask over her eyes. Her shadow tendrils lashed at the ground with anticipation.

Celeste formed spikes of ice from her blood, forcing her own essence into weapons as she launched them like daggers. One scraped Nyra's side, slicing through flesh, blood spraying across her hip. Nyra hissed but didn't stop—her fire consumed the pain.

They met again in a brutal clash. Nyra's fire scorched Celeste's skin, peeling frost back like paper. Celeste's ice burned Nyra's muscles with frostbite where it made contact. Both girls bled. Both bore bruises. Their screams became wordless snarls, feral and primal.

Nyra caught Celeste's arm in a shadow snare, wrenched her forward, and slammed her knee into the princess's ribs. Bone crunched. Celeste spat blood.

But even then, she struck back, her other palm flashing with a point-blank explosion of frozen light.

Nyra flew backward and skidded across the arena, steam rising from the burn down her side.

She pushed up onto one knee.

Celeste limped forward, breathing ragged. "I'm not that girl you beat before."

Nyra rose to her feet. Fire curled from her lips. "No. You're worse. You should've stayed on your throne."

The final charge was deafening. Shadow and frost collided, explosions ringing out as the very floor shook beneath them. And then—

Nyra emerged from the mist, dripping blood from her temple, a slash across her thigh. But she had Celeste by the collar, one hand curled with fire at her neck.

Celeste choked, her limbs quivering, ice melting off her skin.

Kael's voice cracked the air. "Enough!"

The fire died.

Nyra dropped Celeste.

The princess hit the floor hard.

Students stood frozen, some pale, others whispering.

"She was going to kill her."

"She didn't even flinch."

"She looked like death."

Nyra turned, limping slightly, her silver eyes locked ahead. Her hands still trembled. Her blood soaked through her tunic. But her face?

Unbroken.

Voss stood where he had the whole time, watching.

She passed him. "Don't say it."

He didn't.

But his hand brushed briefly against hers.

Just enough.

Kael's voice called out again. "Seraph. Caelum. Arena center."

As the next pair stepped forward, silence reigned.

Not because of what would happen.

But because of what already had.

The floor still shimmered with magic residue as Seraph and Riven stepped into the arena.

Where Nyra and Celeste had left blood and heat, these two brought silence.

Not because they lacked the power—but because the crowd held its breath.

Seraph's presence was like a moonlit mist—graceful, measured, coiled. Her violet eyes shimmered faintly with power. The moment her foot touched the runed ring, it activated beneath her. Across from her, Riven tilted his head with a smirk, but even his eyes were calculating. This was no flirtation.

It was warplay.

Master Kael Veyne's voice thundered from the edge. "Abilities only. Prove to me you've evolved. Prove you're dangerous."

Riven cracked his neck and raised both hands. "I'm always dangerous."

Seraph didn't respond. But Nyx surfaced in her eyes with a glint of teeth. "Show me."

The room didn't exhale.

It detonated.

Riven surged forward first, vanishing in a veil of shadowmeld. His movement was impossible to follow—slipping between light and corners like smoke.

Seraph, calm as ever, raised her hand.

Moonfire ignited across the ground, spreading like petals of silver light. The moment Riven tried to step through them, they hissed and forced him back.

"I see you," she whispered.

Nyx bled into her form—her expression twisted, wild. The Moonfire became jagged, spinning in erratic arcs.

Riven used the distraction to leap overhead, hurling a poison mist downward, glowing green and thick as breath. Seraph spun, a dome of silence pulsing from her body—nullifying sound and disorienting magic.

He landed hard, senses warping. A flicker of pain. His ears rang with absence.

And then Nyx was there.

She slammed into him with a knee to the ribs, her aura sharp and unforgiving. Riven coughed, dropping to one hand—but spun and swiped with shadow-imbued claws, grazing her ribs.

Nyx laughed.

"Flirting with pain, pretty boy?"

"I like my girls savage," he grunted.

She tackled him.

The two rolled, fire and poison clashing. Her Moonfire burned holes in the ground. His blades reeked of paralysis. At one point, Nyx grinned down at him, sitting on his chest, her hand wrapped in flame.

"You going to give up, or do I have to melt your tongue?"

"You could just kiss me," he offered through a grimace.

Nyx paused.

Then slammed her hand into the ground beside his head. "Maybe later."

Seraph blinked back into control and stepped away, chest rising and falling.

Riven slowly stood, brushing off his tunic. His lip bled. So did his palm.

Master Kael stepped forward. "Acceptable. Barely."

Riven grinned. "You're warming up to me."

"You're lucky I don't break your spine myself."

They walked off together, shoulders brushing.

At the edge of the arena, Nyra stood alone. Watching. Silent.

Until Voss joined her.

"Impressive teamwork," he said quietly.

"They'll kill each other one day."

"They'll enjoy it."

A pause.

Nyra glanced sideways at him. "You ever think about... Love?"

He didn't answer immediately.

She tilted her head. "Or is it just another weakness to you?"

Voss was quiet. Then his voice came, low and unreadable. "Love is a battlefield. Some bleed for it. Others bleed because of it. I haven't decided which I'd rather be."

Nyra looked away, but her chest ached with something unspoken.

"You think about it too," he said after a long silence.

She said nothing.

But she didn't move when he stepped closer.

Didn't pull away when his fingers brushed lightly against hers.

"Maybe we're just circling the edge, waiting to see who bleeds first" Voss murmured.

Her breath hitched.

But she didn't let go.

The sparring ended, but the energy left behind refused to fade. The scent of ozone and scorched stone clung to the walls, mingling with sweat and blood. Students lingered in the aftermath, whispering among themselves, stealing glances at the elite few who had turned the arena into something closer to a battlefield.

Nyra sat alone against a pillar, a strip of bandage wrapped tightly around her thigh where Celeste's ice blade had grazed her. Her fingers absentmindedly flicked embers off the fraying cloth while her shadow tendrils coiled lazily at her sides. Her eyes were half-lidded, but they tracked every motion in the room.

Six months ago, she would've stalked off after a fight.

Now, she watched. Studied.

Prepared.

From across the courtyard, she caught sight of the new batch of first-years gawking—wide-eyed, nervous, whispering her name like a curse and a prophecy.

"She didn't even hesitate."

"I heard her chains used to be slave restraints. Now they're weapons."

"Is it true she burned through a pure-blooded noble last month? In front of the instructors?"

"Did you see the way Voss looked at her?"

Nyra tuned them out.

A moment later, Kael's voice snapped across the hall like a whip. "Clean yourselves up. Reflection hall. Ten minutes. If you limp in, you better have a limb missing."

Riven approached Voss near the far end of the training hall, both of them standing in the shadows beyond the bloodstained sparring floor. Voss leaned against a support beam, arms folded, his obsidian eyes following Nyra's movement in silence.

"You ever going to say something to her?" Riven asked.

Voss didn't glance at him. "I say plenty."

"You know what I mean," Riven muttered. "You two orbit each other like blades at a stalemate. What are you waiting for?"

Voss's jaw tensed. "Timing."

Riven gave a dry chuckle. "Right. You're either a genius or the dumbest assassin in this place."

Voss tilted his head. "And you? Still waiting on your girl to fuck you or stab you first?"

Riven snorted. "Funny thing about that… I haven't slept with her. Not Seraph. Not Nyx."

That earned him a slow glance from Voss.

"I know," Riven said, raising his hands before the question formed. "All these years, and not so much as an ass grab. It's not that I don't want to. Trust me. I do. But I don't think she's ready."

"And you're willing to wait."

"Yeah," Riven said quietly. "Because she's worth waiting for."

The silence between them turned heavier.

Voss looked back to Nyra. "Some of us aren't so sure we'll survive long enough to wait."

Riven followed his gaze. "Then make the most of what you get."

Moments later, Seraph returned, her expression calm but alert. She gave Riven a quick once-over before turning her eyes toward Voss and Nyra.

"Reflection hall. Five minutes."

They nodded and followed her.

Nyra stood as they passed, her silver eyes catching Voss's briefly. The connection sparked again, electric and unsaid.

"You going to keep dancing around this forever?" she asked softly.

Voss studied her, quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Maybe. Or maybe I'm waiting for the right moment. You'll know it when it comes."

Nyra narrowed her eyes. "The right moment for what?"

He didn't answer. Not really.

Instead, he smirked faintly. "You'll see."

"Ruin—" she started, but he was already turning away.

Her stomach twisted.

Not in fear.

But in something that left her questioning.

What the hell did he mean?

And why did it feel like a warning?

And left her there, heart pounding in silence.

The Reflection Hall pulsed with a strange quiet—neither restful nor peaceful. Just... heavy. The walls were black stone veined with dull red sigils that flickered like old embers, casting soft, eerie glows over the students assembled within. The floor was smooth obsidian, cold to the touch and lined with magic that absorbed sound.

It was meant for silence.

Meant for staring into yourself.

But Dominion never let you do anything without bleeding first.

The students stood in a wide arc facing the central pyre—a magical construct of flame and shadow. Here, they were to meditate on what they'd learned. Who they'd become. Who they'd broken. And who they might break next.

Nyra sat near the far end, her eyes locked on the dancing fire, though her mind was anywhere but still.

Around her, the room was too quiet. But the tension—unspoken, raw—hung thick in the air. The sparring matches had pushed more than muscle and magic. They'd drawn lines between who could survive and who would die first.

Her body ached. Her thigh wound throbbed with every shift. But the pain was grounding. It kept her anchored to the now.

From across the circle, Riven sat slouched with arms resting over his bent knees, eyes trained on the pyre but mind clearly wandering. Next to him, Seraph sat with unnerving stillness, her silver ombre hair spilling over her shoulders like a veil of ice. Nyx flickered behind her eyes like a smirk ready to claw through the silence.

Voss remained near the back wall, one shoulder braced against the stone. He wasn't seated like the others. He didn't pretend to reflect. He watched.

Always watched.

Kael's voice broke the silence.

"Speak only when it matters."

That was the only instruction.

The flames writhed.

No one moved.

Not until one student—a boy from the upper tier, blood dried on his brow—spoke with a cracked voice. "I learned I'm not fast enough. I thought I was. I thought... I mattered."

No one answered.

Another student, a girl who had barely scraped through her match, whispered, "I want to be the kind of monster people run from."

A few nodded.

Then silence again.

Seraph's voice came next. Soft, steady. "I learned that pain isn't the enemy. It's the measure."

Nyx added a hushed growl, "And pleasure comes from breaking things just right."

Riven smirked. "Some things are worth waiting to break."

Kael said nothing.

Then, unexpectedly, Nyra spoke.

Her voice didn't rise.

"I've learned that fear isn't what stops you. It's what sharpens you. If you let it control you, you rot. If you use it right… it cuts deeper than any blade."

The flame in the center flared as if reacting.

From the edge, Voss finally stirred.

"She says that like she doesn't terrify half the court," Riven muttered.

"She terrifies more than that," Voss replied. "The ones who matter just hide it better."

He stepped forward, crossing the circle. His voice was quiet, but it carried.

"I've learned that silence is the best camouflage. The longer you stay still, the more they forget you're in the room. Until you remind them."

His eyes lingered on Nyra for a beat too long.

She met it.

Kael stepped into the circle then, ending the moment. His eyes passed over them all.

"You've survived six months. That's more than most who walk through these gates. But you haven't proven anything yet. Dominion does not reward endurance. It rewards control. Power. Intention."

He raised a hand, and the fire extinguished with a whispering hiss.

"Rest while you can. The next trial begins soon."

The students rose, slowly.

Nyra stayed a moment longer.

When she finally stood, she found Voss already waiting by the exit.

He didn't say anything.

He didn't have to.

Not when the look in his eyes asked questions she still hadn't learned how to answer.

The stillness of the Reflection Hall had passed, but the quiet didn't leave them.

Outside, dusk bled into night, and the stars were swallowed by Dominion's hovering wards, casting a perpetual twilight across the stone walkways. The scent of frost, scorched blood, and old ash lingered in the air as students filtered toward the dormitories—most limping, some silent, a few staring at their hands like they didn't recognize them anymore.

Dominion had that effect.

It stripped you bare.

Nyra leaned against the edge of the watchtower archway, overlooking the training fields now dim with afterlight. Her chains rested loosely around her wrists, still faintly warm from earlier, and the wind tugged at the loose strands of hair framing her face. Her expression was unreadable—sharpened by war, softened by something unnamed.

Behind her, she heard boots approaching, measured and heavy.

She didn't turn.

"You ever think," Voss said from behind her, "about who you were… before this place?"

Nyra was quiet.

"I don't remember much of her," she finally said. "She was soft. Weak. Starved. Terrified."

"And now?"

She turned to face him slowly. "Now she's a weapon. A storm. A problem no one wants to solve."

Voss's mouth twitched. "Hell of a thing to be."

She stepped closer, studying him. The air between them pulled tight.

"And you, Ruin? You remember who you were?"

He didn't answer right away. His jaw clenched. Then loosened.

"I remember fragments. Silence. Orders. A voice that wasn't mine telling me who I had to become."

Nyra's eyes searched his. "And now?"

"Now…" he exhaled. "I choose who I bleed for."

Their eyes locked.

Neither moved.

But everything inside them did.

The silence was a storm unto itself.

She reached out and brushed her fingers against the inside of his wrist—not soft, not hesitant. Just real. Measured. Grounded.

"I'm not ready," she murmured.

"I didn't ask you to be."

He turned to leave. But before he stepped into the shadows, he looked over his shoulder.

"When you are, I'll still be here."

She stayed there long after he vanished.

Not because she didn't want to follow.

But because for the first time… she didn't need to.

Back in the dormitory, Seraph sat on the ledge of her window, staring out at the towers below. Riven leaned against the opposite wall, watching her with a tired smile.

"You still thinking about the fight?" he asked.

"No."

He raised a brow.

"Yes," she admitted after a pause. "And what comes next."

Riven walked to her and sat on the edge of her bed. "You trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then no matter what Kael or the Academy throws at us next… we survive. Together."

She turned and kissed his cheek—brief, firm, real.

It was the first time.

He didn't move, just let the warmth linger.

"I'm holding you to that," she said.

Outside the window, storm clouds gathered far beyond Dominion's shields.

But inside, something stronger had begun to build.

Loyalty. Power. Fire.

And war would come for all of it.