Chapter 219 219: Sparring

Zaeryn met her gaze."And?" he asked. "What's the verdict?"Viora didn't rush to answer. She studied him with a clinical intensity that made him feel like a slide under a microscope. He could practically feel the Vitae humming beneath her skin, a low-frequency vibration that set his own unnatural reserves on edge.

After two agonizing seconds, she spoke. "I have only just met you. And a single conversation is hardly enough to judge a lifetime's worth of secrets."

"Fair enough." Zaeryn offered a tired smile. "For that, you'd actually have to know me. So let's start there. Have a seat, sis."

He gestured to the armchair, the fabric feeling coarse under his palm as he sat. He tried to project a casualness he didn't feel, leaning back. His slight nervousness had nothing to do with her Tier 2 status and everything to do with the label. Sister.

It was easy to see that Viora didn't like him. Her gaze was detached, scanning him with the same cold efficiency a soldier might use to check a weapon for defects. He felt like a specimen on a tray, an uninvited variable she was trying to solve.

Normally, Zaeryn wouldn't have given a damn. He'd survived by being the guy who didn't care about opinions, drifting through life with a shrug and a 'whatever.' But looking at Viora, that old armor felt paper-thin. He realized, with a sudden and uncomfortable clarity, that he needed her to like him.

It wasn't just a sentimental craving for family. It was deeper. In this world, he was an anomaly, a freak of nature that shouldn't exist. To Athea, he was a political secret; to Ysmeine, he was a precious responsibility. Viora was the only person who existed in the same orbit of power and blood that he did, but without the baggage of having raised him.

Viora regarded the chair for a moment before moving forward with a casualness. She sat and then faced him, her eyes meeting his.

"So," Zaeryn began, the silence stretching long enough to become uncomfortable. He searched for a bridge, something that wasn't thanks for not killing me. "You're a Warlady. That's... impressive."

"It is," Viora said. "And it's also against Athea's wishes."

Zaeryn didn't expect to hear that. "Really? I would've thought 'decorated military commander' was exactly the kind of daughter she'd want to parade around."

"Wrong. She thinks I'm wasting potential." Viora's tone carried an edge of old frustration. "In her mind, I'm better suited to positions befitting a princess. She wants me behind palace walls, managing politics and attending formal functions, rather than on the front lines where I can actually make a difference."

"What kind of position did she have in mind?"

Zaeryn felt a sudden, sharp kinship. He knew what it was like to be managed by Athea's grand designs.

"A diplomat," Viora said, as though the word tasted bitter. "Or a seat on the Imperial Council. She wants me to trade my blade for a gavel. To sit in comfortable chambers debating policy while others bleed for the empire."

As she spoke, Zaeryn could tell that she was really annoyed by Athea.

She let out a short breath that might have been a laugh in someone less controlled. "Safe. Prestigious. Suffocating."

Zaeryn found himself genuinely surprised. The High Council was the pinnacle of power in this world, most people would do anything for that kind of influence.

"The High Council isn't exactly a consolation prize," he said carefully, looking into her eyes. "That's real power."

"It is," Viora acknowledged, her eyes still looking into his. "But it's a particular kind of power. Influence. Persuasion. Manipulation. That's our mother's domain, not mine. I feel better knowing I'm making a real difference by fighting the vorthaks. Although I wish I was out there more with countless sisters in battle," she finally diverted her gaze away from his.

Zaeryn let out a surprised laugh. "Sounds like we have something in common then. We're both disappointments to her, just in different flavors."

Viora looked at him again, but this time when she was looking at him something shifted in her expression, a slight thaw.

"I'm not sure you're a disappointment to her at all," she said quietly. "I think you're exactly what she hoped you'd be. I think she cares about you, more than you know. Also she hid you to preserve your life. She tries to redirect mine to preserve it. Our mother's love seems to come with very specific terms and conditions."

"Yeah." Zaeryn's expression darkened briefly. He found it hard to believe Athea cared about him.

He shook his head, pushing past the thoughts. "So if you're defying her by staying on as a Warlady, I'm assuming you're good at it? Or is this elaborate rebellion for its own sake?"

A flicker of something that might have been amusement crossed Viora's face. "I'm a Tier 2 Warlady commanding a Vanguard. I don't rebel without results." She paused, then asked with what seemed like genuine curiosity, "But enough about my defiance. What was your life like? Growing up hidden away?"

"It was good. Sometimes I'm glad Athea exchanged me," Zaeryn admitted. "Ysmeine and Aeris made sure that I didn't feel like I was missing anything."

"This Ysmeine," Viora said, noting the way his expression softened. "She sounds like she mattered to you, judging by the way you are speaking of her.

"She did. She does." Zaeryn's voice warmed. "She raised me."

Viora watched the affection in his face, the unguarded fondness in his tone. "You care about her deeply."

"Of course I do," Zaeryn said simply. "She was there when someone couldn't be."

For a moment, Viora was silent. When she spoke again, her voice had lost some of its sharp edges. "At least you're capable of genuine attachment. That's... reassuring, actually."

Zaeryn frowned slightly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Viora didn't rush to answer, seeming to study him even more. "Your condition is unusual. I'm sure everyone who knows has told you that before. In the extremely rare recorded cases, like only a handful of them, of males accessing Vitae, usually through forbidden magic or accidents, the results were... diminished. The strain typically damages higher cognitive and emotional function. It leaves something more instinct than intellect."

Zaeryn knew what she meant. There had indeed been maybe two recorded instances where men tried to gain Vitae using forbidden ways, and they never succeeded, only ending up as "Ferals", mindless husks who had to be put down like rabid animals when their humanity burned away. He felt a sharp prickle of resentment. She wasn't looking at a brother; she was looking for the beast the textbooks promised her.

She met his eyes. "I half-expected to find someone more weapon than person. Instead, you're sitting here speaking about gratitude and attachment. It's not what the literature would predict."

Zaeryn felt a flash of resentment but caught himself. She wasn't trying to insult him, , she was recalibrating expectations based on incomplete data.

"Sorry to defy your expectations by having a personality," he said, keeping his tone light despite the tension.

"Don't be." Viora's response was immediate, and surprisingly earnest. "It means you're not what I feared you might be. That matters."

The air between them shifted slightly, some invisible barrier lowering by inches.

"Your ability," Viora continued, her tone more curious now than clinical. "You can mimic others' Vitae signatures. That's what aunt Calyra said?"

Who's aunt Calyra? Zaeryn wondered. Though he didn't think much of it because he had a question to answer. "Yeah," Zaeryn confirmed. "But there are conditions."

"Such as?"

"I need to be bonded to them," he explained, watching her carefully. "It's not just proximity or observation. It requires a genuine connection."

Viora absorbed this, her expression thoughtful rather than alarmed. "So your power is inherently relational. It requires trust, or at least intimacy of some kind."

"Essentially."

She was quiet for a long moment, processing. When she spoke again, her voice carried a note of something that might have been respect.

"That makes you more complicated than I anticipated." She leaned back slightly, her posture fractionally less guarded. "Not just a weapon or an experiment. Someone who needs... people."

"Yeah, that's one way to put it," Zaeryn said.

"Interesting." The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like the first breath after surfacing from deep water.

"I'm still deciding what I think of you," Viora said finally, with the bluntness of someone unused to softening truths. "But you're not what I expected. That's worth something."

"I'll take it," Zaeryn said, and found he meant it.

Viora stood, smoothing her uniform with precise movements. But she didn't turn toward the door. Instead, she looked at him with renewed focus, her posture shifting into something more alert, more alive.

"I want a spar," she said.

Zaeryn blinked. "A spar?"

"Show me what a 'biological impossibility' looks like in action." There was a challenge in her voice, but also something else—genuine interest. "I want to see how my little brothers power manifests in combat. Words only tell me so much."

Zaeryn felt a small smile tug at his lips. It was the first time she called him brother. Did that mean she was accepting him as family? Well, maybe not yet, but he could see that she was becoming less cold every minute.

"Alright," he said, rising to his feet. "Let's go."

They walked through the corridors and out toward the pool area. The early morning air was perfect, and the water reflected the sun. Viora glanced around, her tactical assessment mode clearly activated.

"I thought you'd have a dedicated training facility for this," she said, surveying the space. "Especially here."

"The outside works fine," Zaeryn replied with a shrug. "We don't have anything specialized."

Viora stopped, genuine surprise crossing her features. "Nothing? But where does Kayla Noctis train? I would have assumed the legendary Kayla would require—at minimum—a proper facility."

"She has her own place, where I assume she has her own training facility," Zaeryn explained. And then his mind shifted to the fact that Viora knew who she was and his expression shifted too, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. "And, you know her… who Kayla Noctis is?"

"I don't know her personally. But I do know of her," Viora corrected, and there was an unmistakable note of admiration in her voice. "Kayla Noctis is an inspiration. One of the greatest combatants of our generation. Her technique, her efficiency in the field, I've studied her engagements." She paused, recalculating. "Until this morning when mother told me about it, I didn't realize you were raised by a woman whose sister is the Kayla Noctis. That's... significant context I was missing."

"Oh, okay. So you are like an admirer of her?" He asked.

"Not exactly, but I won't deny that she's an inspiration to me. In the same way she is to everyone else."

Zaeryn's frown deepened. He felt an old, familiar irritation rising in his chest.

"Uh-huh," he said, sounding unimpressed. "Everyone seems to worship the ground she walks on. Personally, I don't get the appeal."

Viora's eyes sharpened with interest, her head tilting slightly. "You don't like her." It wasn't a question. "What happened?"

Zaeryn stepped onto the tile surrounding the pool, the humidity pressing against his skin. "Nothing happened. I just don't see the point in putting people on pedestals. Especially when they're as cold as ice."

Viora didn't look offended. If anything, the edge of his resentment seemed to intrigue her. "A hero is rarely a comfort to those in their shadow," she noted. She stepped back, a thin glaze of frost instantly coating the tiles beneath her boots. "But let's see if any of that 'appeal' rubbed off on you. Ready?"

Zaeryn took a breath, letting the Vitae in his marrow begin to stir. "Whenever you are."

What happened next wasn't something Zaeryn expected. He was waiting for her to charge at him with confidence or use one of her unknown abilities,maybe superspeed to attack him, and he would gracefully use his own speed to react to whatever she threw at him.

However, as he watched her carefully, she barely moved. Only with a sharp, flicking motion of her wrist, the pool behind him heaved.

A massive, viscous whip of water rose from the depths, turning into a serrated blade of ice mid-swing.