Before Iris could react, he pushed her forward. "Survive."
And so, Iris's true trial began.
The shove came without warning, and for a fleeting moment, Iris felt weightless—her stomach dropping as she tumbled through the cold air. Then, impact. She hit the icy ground hard, the force rattling through her bones as she rolled, scraping against frost-covered rocks. The sting of betrayal burned just as sharply as the ice against her skin, but there was no time to dwell on it. Shadows stirred around her, coiling through the mist. Low-level beasts emerged—Frostfang Wolves, Shadow Lynxes, and Ice Serpents, their eyes gleaming with primal hunger, sensing her momentary weakness.
Iris barely had time to react before the first wolf lunged. Her breath caught as its snarling jaws came too close, forcing her to throw herself aside. The impact sent her skidding across the icy ground, a sharp pain shooting up her arm as jagged claws raked her flesh. Crimson bloomed against the stark white of the snow, the sight momentarily dizzying her. Her heart pounded, her instincts screaming at her to run, but she couldn't—there was nowhere to go.
Pain seared through her body, but she forced herself to stand. The wolves circled her, their eyes glinting with merciless hunger. Their thick, silver-gray fur bristled as they moved, muscles rippling beneath their frostbitten pelts. Each exhale from their snarling jaws released wisps of cold mist, their fangs glistening with ice. Shadow Lynxes prowled at the edges of the mist, their sleek bodies blending into the dim light, while Ice Serpents slithered forward, tongues flickering like shards of frozen glass. The sheer number of beasts made her stomach tighten. The cold bit into her wounds, but she gritted her teeth, gripping her wooden sword tighter. This was no training session. This was survival.
She struck back with her wooden sword, aiming for the vulnerable spots—the throat, the joints—but the beasts were relentless. A Frostfang Wolf lunged, its silver-gray fur bristling as it leaped with terrifying speed. She twisted at the last moment, letting its momentum carry it past her before slamming the hilt of her sword against its skull. The beast crumpled with a sharp yelp, but another was already closing in.
From the mist, a Shadow Lynx pounced, its black fur flickering like liquid shadows. Iris barely managed to roll aside, feeling the air shift as razor-sharp claws slashed inches from her face. The Ice Serpents struck next, their gleaming, pale blue scales shimmering like frozen glass. One lashed out, its fangs grazing her shoulder, sending a burst of searing cold through her veins. Her breath hitched as crimson bloomed against her torn clothes, staining the icy ground beneath her. The pain was sharp, numbing, but she refused to falter.
Summoning her strength, Iris shifted her stance, recalling the Falling Moon technique. Her sword swept low, tracing an arc through the frost-laced air as she struck at the Lynx's legs, sending it sprawling. Without hesitation, she pivoted into the Phantom Step, her body blurring for a split second as she dodged another serpent's fangs. Her instincts sharpened, her movements becoming a dance of survival. Pain laced through her body, but she used it—let it drive her. Her mind no longer hesitated; she was adapting, analyzing every motion, calculating each strike like a warrior born of necessity. She was no longer merely fending them off. She was fighting back.
By the time she finally climbed out of the valley, her body was battered, her limbs trembling from exertion, but something had changed within her. No longer did she feel weak, no longer did doubt cloud her mind. She had fought, bled, and endured—and she had survived. The power within her, once sealed away, trembled on the verge of breaking free, the barrier cracking ever so slightly with each battle-worn breath she took. She could feel it now, a surging force coiling in her core, waiting for one final push to awaken completely.
As she stepped into the open air, the golden hues of dawn greeted her. The morning sun kissed the frost-covered peaks, painting them in hues of rose and gold. A deep breath filled her lungs, and with it, a newfound determination.
She clenched her fists, her heart thundering. She had fought, endured, and emerged stronger. The bruises and cuts on her body no longer felt like signs of weakness but proof of her resilience. Her power, once locked away, now pulsed beneath her skin, begging to be unleashed. One more struggle, one more push, and she knew the seal binding her strength would shatter completely.
Taking a steady breath, she whispered, "I won't obey fate. I will forge my own destiny."
A heavy pair of boots approached. Klaus stood there, his gaze unreadable as he looked at his daughter—battered, bloodied, but standing tall. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. "My little warrior princess, you have completed the first step in your training."
Without another word, he pulled out bottles of medicine, kneeling before her as he uncorked them. The sting of the salves against her wounds barely registered as he applied them with careful precision. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the emotions he refused to show.
Together, they made their way to the Phoenix Palace. Klaus's usual composed demeanor faltered as he looked at the bruises, cuts, and bloodstained fabric clinging to his daughter's frame. The sight struck deeper than he had expected, and for the first time in years, he wanted to cry.
Before he could say anything, Flavia strode toward them, her usually serene elegance cracking into something fierce. Without hesitation, she placed a hand over Iris's injuries, her power surging into her. In a second, the wounds vanished, her daughter's body restored as though the brutal battle had never happened.
Then, she turned on Klaus, eyes blazing. "How dare you bring my daughter back in this manner! What kind of father—"
Iris quickly reached for her mother's hand, her voice calm but firm. "Mother, it's alright. I needed this."
Flavia hesitated, her protective fury dimming just a little at Iris's steady gaze. After a long silence, she sighed, cupping her daughter's face with both hands. "You are far too much like your father," she murmured, but there was no anger left in her voice—only love.
The next moment, Iris changed into her academy uniform, the dark fabric hugging her frame as she fastened the silver clasps. Her sapphire eyes gleamed with confidence as she stepped into the carriage. She was ready.
Rey, already waiting inside, studied her with a smirk. "I guess you've changed a lot in just one night."
She met his gaze, her voice steady. "Yeah. A lot did happen."
As they reached the academy, towering figures loomed before them—Irathion, Fairy Lume, and other formidable mentors. The vast stadium stretched wide, its circular design allowing hundreds of students to watch. Murmurs filled the air as they spotted Iris, sneers and mocking whispers resuming. Rowan and Lioria, standing at the edge, watched her with worry. But Iris? She was ready.
No more fear. No more weakness.
She would not falter. She would rise.