At the training ground, a chair floats in the air. A mortal has claimed it as her personal throne. Vaelith sits, legs crossed, sipping tea, the constant presence of her life except chaos, Elaris and Orvyn.

  Speaking of Orvyn.

  He is standing in the middle of the training ground, arms crossed, posture relaxed. But the air around him writhes and contorts as if it can't hold itself from his sheer presence. The recruits involuntarily gulp, watching this. One decides to passes out, clutching their weapon to their chest like a dramatic heroine waiting to be resurrected.

  Except one.

  The daughter of a goddess, whose beauty bewitches even the coldest warlords. The way she carries herself is a clear indication that she is used to people groveling at her feet. Naturally, she expects the same thing will happen from her new trainer as well.

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  She gave Orvyn a little curtsy and a charming smile. She knows elegance, she knows that winning heart comes from subtly, not from aggression.

  Orvyn stares at her, cocks his head, and wonders how long it would take for her to break her neck during the training regime.

  Elaris, who has spent a millennium with him, decides to share the same brain cell. His eyes drift to Vaelith, who still perches in the air like this is normal.

  "Ten celestial golds say that the woman break her neck at the vortex jump."

  The teacup pauses on her lips. "Twenty damned souls say that Orvyn will 'accidentally' trip her into the blood river to see if a daughter of a goddess cries a river of blood."

  Elaris pauses, inclines his head, weighing. The veil that drapes from his hat moves slightly. The veil completely covers his face and neck, but without seeing his eyes, Vaelith can feel his gaze.

  The gaze of someone realizing that, somehow, she knows Orvyn better than he does.