Chapter 12 Kieran
KIERAN
Afternoon sunlight spilled through the glass ceiling of the Placement Hall, washing the training yard in gold.
After nearly two days of training, the strangeness of being back here had started to fade.
The room still carried memories of failure and loss, a reminder of what had nearly broken me.
Now, standing here again, it finally felt like something we could claim as our own—a space steady enough to focus on what came next.
Noah sat off to the side, a small fortress of open books surrounding him, ink smudged across his fingers. He’d moved his work from the archives to here, apologizing that he’d gotten lost in research the day before and promising to stay nearby in case anything useful turned up.
I stood near the left edge of the room, stretching my legs and shaking the stiffness from my limbs before we started again.
A few feet away, Steele examined his rune blade, his concentration so intense the room felt charged.
This morning I’d awoken determined to make today better, offering Steele words of positivity and support over coffee to ensure yesterday’s frustration stayed where it belonged. I thought it had worked.
We’d been training for hours, testing rune combinations that refused to hold for more than a heartbeat.
Steele had burned through his patience, and though I tried to stay encouraging, my words only reached so far.
He was a man allergic to failure, the kind who dissected every mistake until it bled clarity.
A sharp sting pulsed along the inside of my left wrist, a deep burn flickering just beneath the skin, where his last attempt had rebounded.
I flexed my hand, willing it to fade. The ache was familiar, too much like those first days of trying to connect with the stars.
Only now I had no real control–with Steele’s power taking the lead, I was just along for the ride.
I knew the others were frustrated, watching us struggle while there was nothing they could do to help. There wasn’t much they could do except offer support and observe. Right now, though, we were all on a short break between rounds of the intensive training we’d been doing.
Ronan claimed a patch of shade near the wall, summoning shadow creatures while Niz circled above in his smaller wyvern form, chasing them in lazy loops, still sore from losing an hour-long match against a shadow phoenix.
Unlike a normal phoenix, the shadow creature’s feathers didn’t blaze with ordinary fire.
Its black plumage smoldered with low embers as it moved in quick, precise arcs.
It conjured spheres of shadow-ash and blasts of white-hot flame to hurl at its enemies, and one of those struck Niz on the shoulder and sent him sprawling.
Though, to be fair, that loss was partly my fault. He’d looked over when a hiss of pain escaped me, his distraction giving the creature just enough of an opening to finish the match.
Gabe had been running different courses throughout the room most of the morning, sprinting across obstacles and forcing himself through the drills as if under fire.
I had watched in between sessions with Steele as he vaulted over large distances and slammed through targets.
Only now did he pause, leaning against one of the pillars to catch his breath, gaze flicking between Steele and me.
Concern was etched in every line of his tense posture and pinched brow, his arms crossed tightly as if he was physically restraining himself from stepping in to help.
Across the yard, Bastian had taken to the higher platforms—the training equipment used for placement tests—moving through it with easy precision.
He handled the obstacles with ease, using his magic to steady himself or rise on blood-forged platforms instead of his wings. It was hard not to be impressed.
That wasn’t all he’d been doing, though. He’d started shaping things from blood—not just weapons, but smaller, strange things. Minutes ago, he’d formed a heart in his palm, each beat pulsing in time with mine before he released it and let it splatter into nothing on the stone.
Who said romance was dead?
I had to admit, the wild edge that usually burned through him was quiet for once.
Even the air around him felt steadier. His calm might’ve had more to do with the latte I made this morning—specifically, the blood I’d stirred into it.
A small experiment that was possibly going to become a daily habit.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the night before and the awareness it had carved between Bastian and me, burning and softening in equal measure. Afterward, we’d gone downstairs for a relaxing evening, the others already gathered around the kitchen island.
For a few rare hours, there had been nothing but laughter and easy conversation, the kind that made the world outside these walls feel distant. Later, when I finally drifted off, I’d woken to find his arm draped loosely around my waist, his breath slow and even against the back of my neck.
As if hearing my thoughts, Bastian floated down, black wings extended, from the two-story platform where he’d been training and sauntered over.
“How are you doing, Darling?” he asked, voice a low drawl. “Steele behaving himself?”
Steele shot him a look sharp enough to cut but didn’t bother with words.
“He’s doing his best,” I said, brushing my hand over Bastian’s chest. “How are you feeling? Still holding?”
“For now,” he replied, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. “Then again, I’d never complain about an excuse to taste you, especially when it’s mixed with caffeine.”
His words sent a faint warmth up my neck, my cheeks betraying me before I could look away.
“Bastian!” Noah’s voice rang out from across the hall. “I think I may have found something about your affinity. How do you feel about the concept of creating blood constructs?”
Oh, Creator.
“Like blood soldiers?” Gabe asked, horror flickering across his face. Steele looked intrigued, because of course he did, as the commander of the fallen army.
Bastian lit up like a megawatt lightbulb, his grin instant and feral. He caught me by the waist, stole a quick kiss, then vanished across the training yard toward Noah’s pile of books.
I turned to tell Steele we should start again, but a sudden shadow fell over me. I spun to find Niz standing there, shifted into his human form and completely relaxed, like he hadn’t just materialized out of thin air. How did I miss him landing and shifting?
“I’m not sure that’s a very good idea,” Niz murmured, his gaze on Bastian and Noah.
“What—Bastian creating an army out of blood?” I sighed. “Yeah, could be a problem.” Tilting my head up, I offered him a small smile. “How are you doing? Did your parents make it back okay?”
“Yeah, I received word this morning from an envoy,” he said. “They took most of the wyvern council home after the summit. My mother and father are figuring out how to rebuild the trade networks and decide who to send out here regularly.”
“So some wyvern stayed behind?”
“A few,” he said. “Mostly soldiers who can help if a fight breaks out, as well as members of my command teams. Astor’s joint-post assignments along Alfemir’s walls are working for now, but it’s a delicate balance, and everyone’s pretending not to be terrified.”
Steele’s voice carried easily through the open space. “It’s necessary. If the upper triads move again, we’ll need a unified front.”
Niz shrugged, gaze tilting toward the light streaming through the glass. “Absolutely. But old habits die hard. My people won’t easily forget centuries spent hiding from those who hunted them, even with my parents’ influence and their push for change.”
“We need to make sure they’re comfortable working together,” I said, my brow creasing at the prospect of such a difficult feat. “Not just angels and wyvern, but the fallen too.”
“I don’t disagree,” Steele said with a nod before offering his own update. “The Rebellion’s in a good spot for now that they’ve fortified the main camp with help from Bastian. However, we’re preparing for units to move up here to assist, should the triads come.”
“So they’re ready to fight alongside those in Alfemir if needed?” Ronan asked, stepping closer to join the rest of us.
“Yes,” Steele said. “But they’re also ready to rebuild and to talk about what that means.
The council’s fractured on how to proceed, but many of them still have roots here.
Family lines, old homes, things they lost when they fell.
I never had a life in Alfemir, but I can understand the pull to reclaim one. ”
Gabe pushed off the pillar and spoke up. “It feels good knowing at least one threat’s handled. It’s strange being back here, though, speaking as someone who did have a life here. I know this was our goal all along, but training here now—like we never fell—it feels surreal.”
“I can imagine,” Steele agreed. “But we have to remember that winning the battle here doesn’t mean safety. We have to stay ready.”
“Good,” Niz muttered, tone dry. “Wouldn’t want life to get boring.”
Ronan gave a quiet chuckle. “You say that like you didn’t spend half the day napping and flying in circles.”
“I was meditating. Mid-flight,” Niz offered in a deadpan tone.
Gabe’s mouth twitched. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Steele actually laughed—a low, rare sound that rumbled through the space—and the moment made my chest loosen. For a breath, the weight of our world eased.
When Noah’s voice carried across the room, calm but purposeful, it pulled our attention back. “There’s only so many hours left in the day. You may want to get back to it.”
The shift was seamless. Energy moved through the space again, steady and focused, as everyone returned to their drills. Only Steele and I moved to the center of the room as the others settled back into rhythm around us.
“Let’s continue with some new sets of combinations,” Steele muttered, still sounding uncertain.