The training hall was dimly lit, providing just enough illumination for Lucian and Iralis to see each other clearly.
Iralis stood empty-handed, while Lucian gripped a training sword he had taken from the rack. Their gazes locked, and Lucian's eyes narrowed as he stared at the masked figure of the girl, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words.
"What do you mean by that?" Lucian asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice.
"Fighting you normally wouldn't be fair," Iralis replied calmly. "It'd be a waste of our time. So instead, I'll make it easier for you: if you can graze my mask even once, I'll consider it your win."
Lucian's frown deepened. Her words were meant to sting, and they did.
"Is this your attempt to mock me?"
Though Iralis's expression was hidden behind her mask, Lucian could almost see the smug grin she likely wore beneath the black steel.
"No," she said coolly. "It's pity. Nothing more."
Lucian sighed, his frown fading into a more neutral expression.
"So, a jab at my pride then," he said softly. "It's good then, that I don't have such a thing… protect that mask."
Without warning, Lucian surged forward, his sword raised and ready to strike. He closed the distance between them in an instant, his hand coming down with full force—only to meet nothing but the dark platform beneath them.
Iralis had vanished, her figure dissolving into shadows as Lucian's blade sliced through empty air.
The dull thud of his sword striking the floor echoed in the silent training hall. Lucian's eyes darted around, searching for any sign of her presence. But the shadows surrounding them seemed to dance and shift, as though mocking his attempts to track her.
'She's Using Vashara's abilities?' Lucian thought, straightening his stance.
He knew this from his memories as Celestial. Vashara, the Goddess of Shadows, was the fourth god, and those she sponsored were granted the ability to influence and meld with light's absence.
Perhaps he now understood Iralis's confidence. He looked up at the dimly lit hall and knew such a place was the worst to battle a Vashra sponsored like her.
He turned his head slowly, trying to anticipate where she might reappear. "A bit early to be hiding, isn't it?"
A soft laugh drifted from behind him, making him whirl around in an instant. Iralis emerged from the shadows at the edge of the hall, her form materializing effortlessly as if she'd always been part of the darkness.
She stood there, unarmed and calm, as though Lucian's efforts were of no concern to her.
"Really?" she said, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. "You should've known better than to think I'd stand still for you."
Lucian clenched his jaw. He launched himself at her again, his sword arcing towards her mask in a wide, sweeping strike. But just as before, Iralis melted into the shadows, vanishing before his eyes. He stumbled forward as his blade met nothing but air once more.
"You're too predictable," she taunted from somewhere in the darkness. "You won't even get close like that."
Lucian paused, taking a deep breath as he calmed himself. He realized charging blindly wouldn't work—she was using Vashara's gifts of shadow manipulation far too effectively. Instead, he had to think, to strategize. She could meld into the shadows, slipping through them like water, but she wasn't invincible.
"Predictable?" he murmured to himself, scanning the room again. He couldn't see her, but he knew she was watching, waiting for his next move.
This time, instead of attacking, he closed his eyes and listened. The hall was silent except for his own breathing, but he focused on the faintest sound, the smallest disturbance in the air. He let the shadows around him guide his senses.
Her ability did not mean she could teleport through shadows. She could just move through them unnoticed and leave an afterimage of sorts where she once was. Lucian realized he needed to stop attacking where she had been and instead anticipate where she would go.
Then, in a flash, he lunged to his left, his sword sweeping through the air. He heard a hiss of surprise as his blade sliced through the edge of a shadow, catching the fabric of Iralis's cloak. But just as quickly as he touched her, she vanished again, slipping away before he could follow up.
He had gotten her, but she was far from slow.
"Well done," Iralis's voice echoed from the far side of the hall. "You've improved. But it's still not enough."
Lucian didn't respond. He steadied himself, breathing slowly as he reassessed his strategy. He'd touched her cloak, but not her mask. He would need to be faster, more precise.
The shadows around him shifted again, and he knew she was about to strike. Lucian tightened his grip on the sword, his muscles coiled like a spring, ready to react. When she appeared this time, he was ready—but so was she.
Iralis's hand shot out from the shadows, striking towards his sword arm. Lucian barely had time to parry the blow, her speed and agility forcing him to retreat. She was relentless, each of her strikes pushing him onto the defensive. Every time he thought he saw an opening, she was gone, back into the shadows.
Soon, it began to feel less like a duel and more like a game. One of endurance, patience, and perception. Lucian could feel the sweat beading on his brow, but he refused to let it distract him. He had to outthink her, anticipate her moves. There was no other way.
They continued this dance, Lucian chasing shadows and Iralis effortlessly avoiding his every attempt. His frustration grew, but he refused to let it consume him. He needed to focus—he could sense that she was testing his limits, pushing him to adapt.
Then, as the night wore on and fatigue began to set in, Lucian saw it. A flicker in the darkness that almost went unnoticed, a subtle shift that was just a fraction too slow. He reacted instantly, his sword slicing through the air with pinpoint accuracy. This time, when his blade touched the mask, he felt resistance—real resistance. For the briefest moment, he thought he had won.
But as the mask crumbled away into nothingness, he realized it had been another shadow, another decoy meant to deceive him. Iralis's soft chuckle echoed through the hall, low and mocking.
"Almost," she said, reappearing behind him. "But not really."
Lucian lowered his sword, his breath coming in steady but heavy gasps. He turned to face her, his expression calm but determined.
"Let's go again," he said quietly, raising his sword once more.