Page 13 of Angel of Ruin

"Fuck," I mutter, watching as she clears another section. Why won't she just give up?

I increase the difficulty, causing platforms to vanish and reappear at random. Lyra adapts quickly, her eyes scanning constantly for the next safe spot. It's... impressive. Not that I'd ever admit it.

As she reaches a particularly treacherous gap, I can't help but lean forward, curious to see how she'll handle it. She pauses, chest heaving, clearly exhausted. For a moment, I think she might finally break.

But then those blue eyes lock onto mine across the arena. There's a fire there, a determination that sends an unexpected thrill through me. She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and leaps.

I find myself holding my breath as she sails through the air. By some miracle, her fingers catch the edge of the next platform. She dangles precariously, muscles straining as she pulls herself up.

A strange mix of emotions churns in my gut. Frustration at her continued survival, yes, but also... admiration? No, that can't be right. She's just a human, nothing more than entertainment.

Yet as I watch her press on, that unwavering optimism shining through despite everything I've thrown at her, I can't deny the grudging respect growing within me. She's lasted longer than any human should have been able to.

I shake my head, trying to clear these traitorous thoughts. It doesn't matter how resilient she is. In the end, she'll fail like all the rest. She has to.

But as Lyra conquers another obstacle, determination etched into every line of her face, a treacherous part of me wonders: what if she doesn't?

I watch, transfixed, as Lyra navigates the treacherous aerial course. She's just cleared a section of swinging blades, her lithe form twisting and ducking with surprising agility. Sweat glistens on her brow, her chest heaving with exertion.

Ahead lies a chasm, a yawning void filled with swirling mists that play tricks on the mind. Floating platforms drift lazily through the fog, their positions ever-changing. It's a challenge that's broken many before her.

Lyra pauses at the edge, her eyes scanning the shifting landscape. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the leap. But just as she's about to jump, a cry rings out.

Another candidate, a scrawny boy with trembling limbs, clings desperately to a crumbling ledge. His fingers slip, millimeter by agonizing millimeter. He won't last much longer.

I lean forward, curious to see what Lyra will do. The smart choice would be to ignore him, to press on and secure her own success. That's what any xaphan would do.

But Lyra hesitates. I can see the conflict in her eyes, the way she glances between her goal and the struggling human. Then, to my utter disbelief, she turns back.

With quick, sure movements, Lyra retraces her steps. She reaches the boy just as his grip fails, catching his wrist in the nick of time. The sudden weight nearly pulls her down too, but she grits her teeth and hauls him up.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I mutter, incredulous. She's throwing away her chance, risking everything for this worthless stranger.

Yet I can't look away as Lyra guides the boy across a narrow beam, her hand steady on his back. She speaks to him in low, encouraging tones, her focus entirely on his safety.

When they reach the chasm, Lyra doesn't hesitate. She points out safe paths, timing their jumps perfectly. Her movements are sure, graceful, as if the mists don't affect her at all.

It's... impressive. Infuriating, but impressive.

Maybe the little nexari has claws after all.

They reach the other side, both panting but alive. The boy collapses in exhaustion, but Lyra remains standing. Her eyes find mine across the arena, chin lifted in defiance.

I feel a surge of... something. Anger? Admiration? I can't quite name it. But as I watch her turn to face the next challenge, that fierce determination still burning in her eyes, I realize I've severely underestimated this human.

The trial isn't over yet, though. There are still plenty of opportunities for her to fail, to prove she's just like all therest. But a traitorous part of me wonders if she might actually succeed.

And I'm not sure how I feel about that.

7

LYRA

Iforce my trembling legs to take another step, willing myself not to look down at the dizzying drop below. The wind whips my hair around my face as I inch forward on the narrow beam, my arms outstretched for balance. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a reminder of how precarious my position is.

The next platform looms ahead, tantalizingly close yet impossibly far. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. "You can do this, Lyra," I whisper to myself.

I leap, my stomach lurching as I sail through the air. For a terrifying moment, I think I've misjudged the distance. My hands slam into the edge of the platform, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth surface. I hang there, legs dangling in empty space, muscles screaming as I pull myself up.