Sparks

The morning sun had barely crested the edge of Skyreach when Solene and Seraphyne stepped into the open corridors, hand in hand, their matching rings glinting in the light like little promises made solid.

They walked with quiet pride, the kind that needed no fanfare. Just a touch, a glance, and the certainty of something built through fire and forged in love. The ice-blue of Solene's ring shimmered like frost kissed by dawn, and Seraphyne's crimson gem burned softly against her hand, pulsing with quiet energy.

Their arrival at the training grounds didn't go unnoticed.

Nerys stood near the edge of the sparring circle, her sword strapped across her back. She caught sight of their joined hands and stilled. Her eyes fell to the rings, lingered a moment too long, then quickly turned away. Her jaw tensed, though she said nothing.

Nyxara, floating a few feet above with her usual impossible grace, tilted her head. Golden eyes flicked between the pair with a gaze far too observant. She didn't speak either, but her lips curled into a smirk that didn't reach her eyes.

Lira, ever the quiet observer, simply smiled.

That morning, the air felt heavier.

Nyxara descended slowly, staff balanced at her side, eyes sharp.

"Break's over," she said coolly. "I hope your hearts are rested, because your bodies won't be."

No ceremony. No warm-ups.

She struck first.

What followed wasn't training. It was a test. A brutal, unrelenting push beyond their limits.

Solene, Seraphyne, Nerys, and Lira fought back in tandem, but even united, they struggled. Nyxara moved like a storm given flesh—fast, elegant, and unmerciful.

When Solene hesitated for a fraction of a second to shield Seraphyne, Nyxara's blade kissed her side.

When Nerys tried to flank, she was met with a sweep that slammed her into the stone floor.

And when Lira loosed her arrows, Nyxara redirected them mid-air, sending one skimming past Lira's cheek, drawing blood.

"This is the real world," Nyxara said, voice like thunder, as she stood over them. "The enemies you'll face will not care for your love, your sorrow, or your promises. So neither will I."

Blood stained the stone by the end of it. Not fatal. But painful.

And oddly... motivating.

When the dust settled, all four lay in exhausted heaps, bruised and bloodied but still breathing. Solene rolled onto her back, looking up at the drifting clouds.

"She went harder today guess she's back to her usual self," she murmured.

Seraphyne, lying beside her, reached over and clasped her hand again. Despite the pain, she smiled.

"Maybe she's proud of us. In her own violent way."

Nerys sat a few feet away, not speaking, arms crossed, eyes on nothing. But the way her hand brushed over her own chest—where no ring sat—didn't go unnoticed.

And high above, Nyxara hovered once more, watching. Waiting.

Whatever came next, she would make sure they were ready.

---

Nyxara let the silence stretch for just a moment longer, then raised both hands and clapped sharply.

"Ding ding ding! Let's get ready to rumble!"

Her voice rang with a giddy excitement, undercut by a sly edge.

She floated down, her smirk widening as she came to hover just above the training platform.

Then she cocked her head at Nerys and Seraphyne.

"In all seriousness, Nerys and Seraphyne—get on the platform. Now."

Seraphyne blinked. Nerys narrowed her eyes.

Nyxara's gaze glinted knowingly.

"I can taste the unspoken tension radiating off you, Nerys. And as for you, Seraphyne..." she pointed. "There's something deep and unresolved under that calm. Something tangled. And strange enough... I sense it about myself, too. Toward both of you."

She chuckled lightly. "Must be something in the air. Or fate. Or past lives. Who knows?"

Then her smirk sharpened.

"So go on. Fight it out. Duel, spar, clash, whatever you want to call it. Do it for honor, or pride... or hell, fight for Solene's hand, since that's what we all seem to be circling around, right?"

She gestured grandly at the platform.

"I'll be officiating. Informally, of course. Don't hold back."

Seraphyne stood slowly, casting a glance at Nerys.

Nerys was already walking forward, her expression unreadable, her blade gleaming.

And somewhere in the watching stillness, Solene held her breath.

---

The platform shimmered as the two women stepped onto it, the magical field humming in anticipation. Neither spoke. Their eyes locked, not in hatred, but in understanding—of what was being fought for and what couldn't be spoken aloud.

Nerys drew first. Her blade sang as it came free, glinting in the sun. Seraphyne summoned her shadowflame, her aura igniting in ribbons of dark fire around her arms.

They moved at the same time.

The first clash was deafening—Nerys's blade met Seraphyne's conjured shield of flame, sparks and ash scattering in every direction.

Seraphyne ducked under the follow-up slash and retaliated with a precise, flaming jab. Nerys twisted to avoid it, countering with a sweeping kick that Seraphyne barely caught on her forearm.

For every blow one delivered, the other answered. Like a dance they'd rehearsed a thousand times, they anticipated each other's moves, turning strikes into counters, steps into feints.

Nerys slashed high—Seraphyne spun low.

Seraphyne launched a burst of shadowflame—Nerys deflected it with a tight guard.

They knew each other too well.

Every maneuver, every tactic, was one they had trained side-by-side. Neither held a clear advantage. Emotions boiled just beneath the surface, giving their blows weight beyond the physical.

Minutes passed. Sweat poured. Breathing quickened. Yet neither relented.

Finally, as both prepared their next strike, they launched at the same moment.

Seraphyne's shadowflame blade met Nerys's enchanted steel in a powerful cross-slash.

For an instant, light exploded between them.

And then, silence.

Both bodies fell backward, vanishing into the reforming shimmer of the arena's magic.

Dead.

Together.

A draw.

---

Their bodies reformed at the edge of the platform, breath ragged, clothes torn, magic still simmering on their skin.

Nerys stood up first, fists clenched.

"You just had to match me move for move," she snapped. "Is this what it's going to be? Constantly competing for her attention?"

Seraphyne shook her head, wiping blood from her brow. "I'm not trying to compete, Nerys. But I won't apologize for loving her."

"Loving her?" Nerys spat the words. "Then why did it take you so long to admit it? Why did you wait until after I gave everything to protect her?"

Seraphyne took a step forward. "Because I was afraid! Afraid she'd choose you. Afraid I wasn't enough. You think I haven't been watching? I saw how you looked at her every time she smiled at me."

Nerys's voice cracked. "Because she was mine first. We were everything to each other before you even stepped into her world."

"And now she's everything to both of us," Seraphyne snapped back. "Why can't you see that?"

"Because it hurts," Nerys shouted, the word shaking in the air. "Because every time she holds your hand, I feel like I'm losing her all over again."

Seraphyne stood silent for a beat.

Then, more softly, "You're not losing her. We're both afraid of the same thing."

Nerys turned away, her shoulders trembling.

And from the edge of the ring, Solene stood frozen in place—eyes wide, chest tight.

She had heard every word.