Cyra's eyes gleamed with excitement as King Zarius announced that her training would begin immediately. "When?" she asked, her voice quivering with anticipation. Without hesitation, King Zarius pointed across the vast, dimly lit hall directly at Lloyd. "Now," he answered, his firm tone brooking no argument.
Without missing a beat, Cyra teleported to Lloyd's side, her small form materializing beside him with a soft pop. Beaming, she chirped, "Lloyd! Father said I can start training with you now!"
Lloyd chuckled, his eyes crinkling. "I already knew, little sis. You seem pretty excited."
Cyra nodded vigorously, her ponytail bouncing with every movement. "I'm gonna be cool—no, even cooler than you!"
Lloyd laughed, his voice echoing through the cavernous hall. "Big words. How about a race to the training grounds first?" He smirked. "On foot."
"Ooh, you're on!" Cyra declared, determination lighting up her face.
They took off together, feet pounding the stone floor in rhythm. Lloyd’s long strides easily pulled him ahead, but Cyra sprinted with fierce energy, her tiny frame brimming with enthusiasm. Nearing the training grounds, Lloyd slowed to a jog, then a walk, letting her catch up.
He reached out, ruffling her hair with a grin. "Not bad. Maybe next time you'll actually beat me."
Cyra pouted, crossing her arms, but couldn’t hide the sparkle of amusement in her eyes.
King Zarius observed the exchange between Lloyd and Cyra with an air of detachment, his expression unreadable. Yet beneath his calm exterior, his mind was meticulously evaluating every detail. He watched Cyra’s eagerness, gauging her ability to adapt, to learn quickly, and to improve under pressure. Her first training session would reveal much — her instincts, her raw potential, and how far she could be pushed.
He expected mistakes — many of them — given that this was only the beginning. But beyond the inevitable errors, he sought something deeper: a spark of innate power that would distinguish her from ordinary hybrids.
His ambition was ruthless, some would say monstrous. He intended to mold Cyra into a force capable of standing at his side — a weapon, an extension of his will — and he expected her to reach that peak long before she reached the age of a millennium. The gap between their powers was immense, but he was prepared to break her limits, again and again, until she matched his vision. The cost — physical, mental, emotional — was irrelevant. What mattered was the result: a loyal, relentless prodigy forged in the crucible of his own ambition.
Lloyd assumed a fighting stance, his crimson eyes fixed on Cyra. “Let’s start with your attack speed. Don’t hold back — show me everything you’ve got.”
Cyra flashed a cocky grin, her mismatched eyes gleaming with confidence. “I won’t,” she said, mimicking his stance with playful determination.
In a blink, she teleported behind him, her small fist slicing through the air. But Lloyd was ready — he sidestepped with ease, her punch missing by inches. Undeterred, Cyra spun, aiming a quick kick at his legs, hoping to catch him off guard. Again, he vanished, reappearing behind her and giving her a gentle push that sent her stumbling forward.
“Too slow, Cyra,” Lloyd said calmly, offering his hand to help her up. “Speed is good, but without accuracy and positioning, you’re wide open. Anticipate your opponent. Control your movement.”
Cyra groaned in frustration, her brow furrowing. She launched another rapid sequence of attacks — teleporting, striking, dodging — but her form grew progressively messier. Her attacks became wilder, not from exhaustion, but from mounting impatience. She wasn’t tired — her body could handle this effortlessly — but her focus was slipping, her eagerness to improve causing her to rush, leading to her defeat as she fell... Literally.
From the shadows, King Zarius observed in silence. His eyes narrowed, disappointment flickering for a moment before his face returned to its usual unreadable mask. Lloyd, however, couldn’t help but chuckle softly, watching his little sister’s stubborn efforts with a mixture of amusement and quiet pride.
Lloyd’s eyes flicked toward King Zarius, searching for even a flicker of approval. But as expected, all he found was cold disappointment etched into his father’s face. A small pang of frustration pricked Lloyd’s chest. He had braced himself for this — after all, his father's standards were impossibly high — but part of him had foolishly hoped for at least a hint of encouragement, especially with this being Cyra’s very first session.
‘At least she might finally start taking me seriously now… hopefully,’ he thought, forcing a small smile for Cyra’s sake.
But as Lloyd straightened up, his thoughts began to swirl. The pieces of the puzzle refused to fit neatly, no matter how he turned them. Why was Father so eager to train Cyra so early? Was it simply because of her rare Nephalem blood, or was there something more? His mind drifted — again — to the strange coincidence of her birth and his mother's disappearance. The two events were forever tethered in his mind, like shadows dancing just out of reach. The timing was too perfect. Too deliberate.
And though King Zarius wore the mask of a concerned father, Lloyd couldn’t help but feel the void behind it. A void where true emotion should’ve lived.
King Zarius' voice sliced through the silence, commanding, “Let her rest for now.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode away, his footsteps echoing sharply through the vast chamber.
Lloyd watched his father disappear into the shadows, that familiar sense of unease creeping up his spine once more. He glanced down at Cyra, who was still sitting on the floor, not from exhaustion, but from pure frustration at her own clumsy performance.
"You heard Father," Lloyd said gently, trying to soften the mood. "Take a little break, alright?" Then, as if to casually excuse himself, he added, "I’ve got a few things I need to handle anyway."
He gestured toward the entrance where a servant waited quietly. Lynn stood with perfect composure, dressed in her usual sleek black dress trimmed with faint red. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a precise ponytail. Deep crimson horns curved elegantly from her forehead, while her sharp Death Eyes faintly glimmered in the dim torchlight. A slim tail swayed behind her as though moving to some silent rhythm, and her smooth, tanned skin caught the light with a warm glow.
"If you need anything, Lynn's here," Lloyd said, lowering his voice slightly. Then, with a faint nod, he turned and made his way out.
"A-alright," Cyra muttered softly without meeting his gaze, her eyes locked on the cold stone beneath her, her mind still replaying her earlier missteps.
Lloyd departed, leaving Cyra alone in the vast, dimly lit hall. She remained seated for a moment on the cool stone floor, not out of fatigue, but from frustration, her mind racing through every mistake she had made. Yet her Angelic vitality made true exhaustion nearly impossible — already, her muscles were primed and her energy surged anew.
Driven by a stubborn fire, Cyra sprang to her feet, eyes blazing with renewed determination. Without hesitation, she resumed her training, teleporting from one point to another in rapid succession. Each burst of movement sharpened her control, the rhythm of her reappearances growing tighter, faster, smoother. The faint hum of her teleportations echoed across the chamber like a pulse.
Shifting her focus, Cyra began practicing her strikes. She punched and kicked at the empty space, her limbs slicing through the air in controlled, deliberate arcs. With every motion, she visualized an invisible opponent standing before her — channeling her growing power into each strike. Slowly, her blows grew sharper, swifter, more precise.
Her mismatched eyes burned with fierce concentration — red and yellow glinting under the torchlight — as her mind locked onto a singular thought: 'I will not fall behind. I will become stronger.'
The soft bursts of teleportation and the crisp snap of her strikes filled the grand chamber, a steady rhythm of ambition echoing through the halls.
⋆30 minutes later ⋆
Lloyd returned to the training hall, eyes instantly finding Cyra. She was completely locked into her solo training — teleporting, punching, kicking — clearly trying to burn every move into muscle memory. He leaned against the doorway, watching her with a small smile. She was getting better. Rough around the edges, but better.
Then it happened.
"GAH—"
Mid-teleport, Cyra miscalculated her timing. She popped out of thin air — and smacked herself clean across the face with her own fist.
Lloyd froze for half a second. Then burst into laughter.
From across the hall, Lynn nearly doubled over trying not to laugh. She teleported over in a blink, gently steadying Cyra, who stood there blinking, rubbing her face.
"You alright, Your Highness?" Lynn asked, barely suppressing her grin.
"I'm not— wait... yeah, I am," Cyra mumbled, cheeks flushed. Her Angelic healing kicked in instantly, but the embarrassment? Not so much.
Lynn, satisfied she wasn’t actually hurt, teleported back — though she was still quietly giggling.
Lloyd strolled over, still laughing. "Wow. You just… you decked yourself."
"Shut up," Cyra muttered, shooting him a glare.
"Ah, come on, Cyra. You have to admit, it's pretty funny. I mean, who punches themselves in the face?" Lloyd teased, chuckling.
Cyra crossed her arms, pouting. "It was an accident. And it's not like I'm the only one who's ever made a mistake during training."
"Oh, but this was a spectacular one," Lloyd said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I mean, I've seen you teleport into walls, trip over your own feet, but this... this is a masterpiece."
Cyra's glare deepened, but Lloyd just laughed. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. But just for the record, you're really going to have to work on your self-control. You can't keep punching yourself in the face every time you get frustrated."
Cyra hmphed and turned away, refusing to talk to Lloyd for the rest of the training session. Lloyd shrugged, still grinning, and began to help her with her training, offering tips and advice on how to improve her technique. Despite her silence, Cyra listened intently, determined to master her skills and prove to Lloyd that she wasn't a total failure.
»»———————- ♔ ———————-««
King Zarius: "Lloyd, I expect to see improvement in Cyra's training. She needs to learn to control her powers."
Lloyd: "Yes, Father. Because nothing says 'control' like a little girl socking herself in the face."
354Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfZa7tPvHNP
[A/N]: Lloyd is just ✨. No one can tell me otherwise.
Thanks for reading! ^^
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