Chapter 5 – A Strike of Defiance

The morning drills were brutal. Rows of disciples swung wooden swords in perfect unison, their shouts sharp enough to pierce the air. Lyra’s arms ached with every motion, muscles protesting the unfamiliar rhythm. Her blade felt heavier with each swing, sweat stinging her eyes.

“Focus your stance,” barked the instructor, pacing between the lines. “No one is excused—not even you, Lady Ying Yue.”

Snickers rippled through the younger disciples.

“Careful she doesn’t faint again.”

“She’s just dragging us down.”

Lyra grit her teeth. She wanted to snap back, but words wouldn’t silence them. Not here. If I speak, they’ll only mock me more. If I act… maybe they’ll stop.

A sharp cry split the air.

On the far side of the training grounds, a small boy—the youngest of the novices—crumpled to the ground as his sparring partner’s strike grazed dangerously close to his head. His wooden blade skittered out of reach.

The older disciple sneered. “Too slow. Get up, or I’ll knock you down again.”

The boy trembled, scrambling backward, eyes wide with fear.

Something inside Lyra snapped.

Before she could think, her feet carried her forward. She thrust herself between the boy and his opponent, raising her own sword with both hands.

“Enough!”

The wooden blades clashed, the shock jolting up her arms. Her knees almost buckled under the force, but she held. The courtyard fell silent.

The older disciple stared at her, stunned, then sneered. “You think you can stop me? You can’t even hold that blade straight.”

Lyra’s heart pounded, her breath ragged, but she didn’t move. “Then strike me instead.”

A ripple of gasps spread through the watching disciples.

The boy behind her whimpered, clutching her sleeve. Lyra tightened her grip, refusing to back down.

The older disciple raised his weapon again—

“Enough.”

Cassian’s voice cut through the tension like lightning.

He stepped forward from the shadows of the colonnade, his black robes trailing behind him. His gaze swept the scene once, then fixed on Lyra.

For a heartbeat, she feared he would scold her.

But he didn’t.

“Discipline means strength with restraint,” he said coolly, his eyes flicking to the offender. “Strike an opponent beyond their level, and you disgrace yourself.”

The older disciple paled, lowering his blade.

Cassian’s attention lingered on Lyra, unreadable. He said nothing more, simply turning on his heel and leaving the stunned courtyard behind.

Yet as he walked away, Lyra caught the faintest pause in his stride—barely perceptible, but enough to make her chest tighten.

The whispers began again, but they were different now.

“She blocked it.”

“She stood up for him.”

“Since when does Lady Ying Yue do that?”

Lyra exhaled shakily, her arms trembling from the impact of that single clash. Her body screamed with weakness, but her heart—her heart beat steady and strong.

For the first time, she felt it: she had endured, and she had acted.

And though Cassian’s back was turned, though his face revealed nothing, she knew he had seen it too.

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