Elyandra's training under Dalia's implacable supervision became a daily ordeal, where her fragility was exposed without mercy and her strength was slowly forged in the fires of pain and repetition. The mornings began even before the sun broke the horizon. Long, relentless runs through the rugged terrain of the Valemortis estate, brutal sequences of hand-to-hand combat that left muscles trembling and bones aching, and agility drills that demanded surgical precision and sharp reflexes. Dalia observed everything with a cold, analytical gaze, correcting every posture and movement without ever offering a word of comfort or yielding to pity.
After the physical exhaustion came the magical training. Despite her affinity for shadows, Dalia guided Elyandra through the first steps of controlling divine magic with surprisingly effective teaching. She explained the principles of molding mana, the necessity of clear visualization, and unwavering intention, drawing parallels to how she herself mastered the shadows.
— Your inner light, Lady Elyandra, must be like a surging river under your command. Direct its flow, refine its form, concentrate its power.
The first stage was self-healing. Dalia inflicted small cuts and bruises on Elyandra, forcing her to channel her divine magic to regenerate tissue, stop bleeding, and alleviate pain. The sensation was different from the muscle aches of physical training—it was a cold, cutting, deliberate pain.
"She actually did it," Elyandra thought, looking at the impassive tutor before her. "She cut me. On purpose."
The memory of the dagger's metallic gleam, the speed of the strike, swirled in her mind. "There was no hesitation. No warning." Dalia's cold logic echoed—self-preservation, natural order—but the visceral experience was something else. A wave of revolt rose within her, the indignation of a noble accustomed to protection. "This woman is insane!"
But then came the memory of her own hand healing, of the contained surprise on Dalia's face. Something hesitant sprouted amidst the indignation. "It worked... somehow, it worked."
In the beginning, the process was slow and painful. The golden mana flowed hesitantly, the healing irregular. With constant practice and Dalia's relentless pressure, however, Elyandra learned to feel the flow, to mold it with precision, and to accelerate the regeneration. Paleness gave way to a healthy flush, the pain diminished more quickly, and her confidence in her ability to heal herself grew.
Next came centralized healing. Dalia would inflict non-lethal wounds upon herself, and Elyandra learned to direct her magic to heal another. This required even greater control: sensing someone else's vital energy, identifying imbalances, and restoring harmony. Dalia cut herself repeatedly, offering different points for focus.
"She's doing it again?" Elyandra thought, watching the blood flow with a mix of horror and growing acid humor. "This woman has a screw loose, she must. What kind of logic is 'I'm going to cut myself so you can learn to sew'?"
While the golden mana hesitated to begin its work, Elyandra's mind wandered with dark irony. "If there were a Geneva Convention for Magical Training, Dalia would be locked in a dark dungeon, fed on bread and water. 'Crimes against pedagogical humanity' would be the primary charge. And rightly so!"
The image of Dalia before an intergalactic tribunal almost made her let out a sigh. "Miss Dalia, does the accused plead guilty or innocent of repeatedly inflicting wounds on her pupil under the pretext of 'practical learning'?" The obvious answer would be a dry snarl and a look that would make judges from a thousand galaxies ask for a transfer.
The irony helped her endure the moment. But beneath the black humor, the realization grew: "I am stronger. Much stronger." The pain was still vivid, but her former fragility was giving way to a stubborn resistance. "I can take more hits. I heal faster. Maybe... there is a cruel logic to all this."
The training was not limited to the physical and the magical. Dalia dedicated time to unarmed combat, teaching lethal techniques, the human body's vulnerable points, and how to use agility and intelligence against stronger opponents. Her fists were like steel-clad hammers. Each strike was a painful and unforgettable lesson.
"My body still hurts just thinking about it," Elyandra thought, instinctively massaging her shoulder. "She didn't take it easy. No 'oh, be careful, you're a delicate noble.' It was punch, block, dodge, again and again, until I fell exhausted."
The first time Dalia knocked her down with a well-placed blow to the solar plexus was burned into her memory. The paralyzing pain, the air fleeing her lungs. "I lay there on the cold floor, thinking I was going to die. And Dalia? She just stared at me, waiting. 'If you can't get up, Lady Elyandra, how do you intend to survive out there?'"
The irony didn't escape her. Being beaten by her own tutor under the guise of self-defense had a touch of dark humor. "Sometimes I swear she's just taking out accumulated disappointment. 'Five more punches for not making the bed right yesterday'."
And the self-healing... in the beginning, it was slow and exhausting. Elyandra spent hours in her room, glowing like a sick firefly, trying to put the pieces back together. "Siris would have been horrified." The servant's kindness contrasted violently with Dalia's methodical brutality.
But the truth was inescapable: she was changing. Day after day, the fragile girl was being sculpted into something tougher, more capable. A true Valemortis.
After a particularly grueling day, Elyandra dragged herself through the corridors toward her room. Her body still resonated with the impacts, but a faint golden luminescence pulsed softly over her skin as her divine magic worked to repair bruises and contusions. Each step was slow, cautious—a silent testament to the intensity of that day.
Dalia watched the girl walk away, a small and resolute figure bathed in flickering light, until she vanished from sight.
A deep, familiar voice broke the silence of the hallway.
— What do you think you are doing with my daughter, Dalia?
The tutor did not turn around. She would recognize that voice anywhere. Lord Valemortis.
— It is the most intense training I have ever formulated for any pupil, Lord Valemortis — Dalia replied, her voice firm and direct. — Even more so considering Lady Elyandra's age.
Lord Valemortis's tone carried serious concern, tempered by his noble authority.
— I did not bring her here for you to beat her day after day, Dalia. I confess it does not please me to see her in this state.
— It was Lady Elyandra who requested a more rigorous regime — Dalia countered, maintaining her upright posture and respect. — And she has shown surprising determination to endure it. I have no intention of depriving her of what she herself sought.
Lord Valemortis remained silent for a moment, his expression tense. He had observed, even if discreetly, his daughter's resilience. He knew her stubbornness.
— Let us put that aside for now — he finally said, changing the subject. — Dalia, have you identified the origin of those who attacked us? Has there been any progress?
Dalia's countenance darkened. Her eyes fixed on a distant point as she replayed the dead ends.
— No significant breakthroughs, Lord Valemortis. All the attackers were under a complex curse. Upon death, the bodies pulverized into ash within minutes, making any analysis impossible. Those we captured... ended their own lives before we could extract information.
She paused briefly.
— The circumstances of the attack, shortly after we left the Sorell estate... everything points to the Marquis. There are nuances, certainly, but the probability is high.
Lord Valemortis nodded slowly, a somber expression on his face.
— I have reached the same conclusion. But without irrefutable proof, we cannot move against him. It would be an act of war, with unpredictable consequences.
A heavy silence hung between the two. Dalia broke it with military firmness.
— I will redouble my efforts. I will find more clues. I will unravel this web, whatever the cost.
Lord Valemortis stared at her for an instant, a dark glint in his eyes.
— I hope so, Dalia. Time will not be in our favor from now on.
With a nod, he turned and headed to his quarters, leaving Dalia alone in the corridor, determination etched into every line of her face.
Weeks slipped away at a relentless pace. The proximity of the entrance exams for the Royal Academy hung in the air like a palpable expectation. In a surprisingly short span of time, Elyandra had reached a level of preparation that demanded every fiber of her being, but was undeniable.
On that quiet evening, Dalia sat in silent meditation, back straight, breath controlled. Beside her, Elyandra imitated her. Her small figure now displayed a more rigid posture, a refined noble bearing. Shoulders square, gaze focused, her presence emanating a composure uncommon for a child about to turn nine. It was almost impossible to recognize the fragile child of months ago in the girl with the serious face and determined gaze. Her movements were more decisive, her speech more weighted, her aura carrying a premature maturity—forged in pain and discipline.
In the midst of the silence, where only rhythmic breathing echoed, Dalia broke the stillness with a low, controlled voice.
— Your birthday is approaching, Lady Elyandra. It coincides with the week of your exams for the Royal Academy.
Elyandra kept her eyes closed for a moment before responding, her voice surprisingly calm.
— Yes, Dalia. I remember. It feels... distant, somehow.
— It is an important milestone — Dalia noted, without changing her posture.
— Siris always said she would make a special cake for me — Elyandra said, the memory tinging her voice with brief melancholy. — With many candles.
There was a brief silence.
— The exams will require focus and control — Dalia continued. — Do not allow memories to distract you from your goal.
— I know — Elyandra replied, her voice regaining firmness. — But it doesn't mean I should forget. It only means I must learn to carry these memories with me, without letting them paralyze me.
— A mature perspective — Dalia observed, a slight nuance of approval in her tone. — Use that same maturity in the exams. They will test not only your magic and physical skills but also your mental resilience and ability to make decisions under pressure.
— I am ready — Elyandra affirmed, her voice firm and determined, the golden light of her mana pulsing softly around her, even at rest. — I will do my best.
Night extended over the Valemortis estate, wrapping the landscape in a shroud of shadows and silence. In her room, Elyandra lay in bed, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. The day had been exhausting, every muscle crying out for rest, but her mind remained awake, buzzing with anticipation and silent determination. Dalia's words echoed, mixed with memories of Siris. A new strength resided within her—forged in pain and discipline—and Elyandra was resolute in showing everyone, especially herself, what she was capable of. The night was only a brief interlude before the approaching battle.