Thalia watched from the shadows as Damian sparred with one of the League’s best, his every movement precise and lethal. His training had become the center of her world—a relentless schedule she oversaw without fail. Each strike he landed was flawless, each defense near perfect, and yet there was a heaviness in her chest she couldn’t ignore.

He had grown so fast, each day shedding another piece of his childhood as she pushed him harder. Thalia wanted him to be strong, to be the perfect heir, but sometimes, in the rare quiet moments, she wondered what he might have been if their life had been different. She quickly pushed the thought away as weakness.

When Damian finished, his opponent kneeling in defeat, he turned to her, searching for her approval. Thalia stepped into the light, her face impassive. She offered him a curt nod, and a brief flicker of pride flashed in his eyes. It was the only reward she ever gave him.

“You’re improving,” she said, her voice cool and even. “But you still hesitate. Again.”

Damian’s expression hardened, his young face twisting with determination as he returned to his fighting stance. Thalia’s gaze remained steady, though her heart clenched. She told herself it was for the best—Damian had to be ready for the dangers that lay ahead. There could be no softness, no moments of hesitation.

“Don’t hold back,” she ordered. “Show me your strength.”

Damian obeyed, throwing himself into the fight with renewed ferocity. She stood with her arms crossed, cold and unyielding as he battled, every movement a reflection of the relentless discipline she had instilled in him.

In the end, when the session was over, she placed a hand on his head, just for a moment. It was the only tenderness she allowed herself—a silent gesture he barely had time to register before she withdrew.

“Go clean up,” she said, turning away before he could see the rare crack in her mask. “You’ll train again in an hour.”