"Veil-Rush," Lady Nyshari announced, "is House Caelren's primary combat application training."
We stood in a massive underground chamber I hadn't seen before—easily four times larger than the training rooms from yesterday.
The floor was sectioned into geometric patterns, each segment glowing with faint silver light.
The ceiling vanished into darkness above, giving the unsettling impression of standing under an infinite void.
"Eight participants. Four fields. Constant rotation." Lady Nyshari gestured to the floor sections. "Traditional rules apply."
Which told me absolutely nothing, since I had no idea what "traditional rules" meant in a house that treated child-trafficking as a reasonable investment strategy.
"And for those of us returning from extended sabbaticals?" I asked, keeping my tone light. "A refresher would be appreciated."
Several of the heirs glanced my way with varying expressions—from amusement to disdain.
The aggressive one—Thorn, I'd learned during breakfast—openly scoffed.
"Still damaged goods, I see," he muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
Lady Nyshari's expression remained unchanged.
"Eirian, demonstrate with Thorn. Standard engagement."
Eirian stepped forward with his typical precise movements.
Thorn followed, practically bouncing on his feet, eager energy radiating from his entire body.
They positioned themselves on opposite sides of one floor section—a perfect hexagon perhaps twenty feet across.
Lady Nyshari raised one elegant hand.
"Veil."
Instantly, shadows erupted from the edges of the hexagon, forming a swirling, semi-transparent dome that enclosed the two heirs.
From outside, their forms became indistinct—visible as silhouettes but without clear detail.
"Rush."
The moment the word left her lips, the two figures inside the shadow dome exploded into motion.
Thorn charged forward with blinding speed, shadow essence trailing from his limbs like dark flames.
Eirian remained stationary until the last possible moment, then shifted—not a dodge, but a precise positional adjustment.
Thorn's attack missed by millimeters.
Eirian countered with a single shadow-enhanced strike to Thorn's exposed flank.
The entire exchange lasted perhaps three seconds.
The shadow dome dissipated, revealing Thorn hunched slightly, hand pressed to his side, and Eirian already returning to his starting position.
"Veil-Rush relies on split-second decisions," Lady Nyshari explained. "The shadow veil distorts perception. Combatants have only the brief engagement period to attack and defend."
Fascinating, actually.
The limited visibility forced reliance on essence sensing rather than visual cues.
The brief duration prevented complex strategies, emphasizing instinct and trained reflexes.
Perfect training for shadow users who might need to fight in low-visibility conditions.
"Each heir will rotate through all opponents," Lady Nyshari continued. "Four concurrent veils, continuous rotation until all matchups are complete."
She gestured to the floor, where four hexagons had begun glowing more brightly.
"Initial pairings: Eirian-Mirel, Kaelen-Yves, Tavia-Thorn, Risa-Zen."
This gave me the remaining names I hadn't known—Kaelen the charismatic one, Yves the scholar, and Tavia the quiet woman.
The complete set of Caelren heirs, ready to beat the hell out of each other for morning exercise.
And I was paired with the youngest.
Great. Either I'd get embarrassed by a child, or I'd hurt her and make seven powerful enemies.
Risa approached our assigned hexagon with that same cheerful bounce I'd noticed yesterday.
"Try not to get too confused in there," she said with a sweet smile that didn't reach her calculating eyes. "The veil messes with your head the first few times."
"I appreciate the concern," I replied dryly.
Her smile widened slightly.
"Oh, I'm not concerned for you. I just don't want Mother to be disappointed when I win too easily."
The kid had teeth.
I stepped onto my side of the hexagon, watching the others take positions at their own designated areas.
Eirian and Mirel faced each other with professional detachment.
Kaelen winked at Yves, who adjusted his glasses with a long-suffering expression.
Tavia and Thorn were already staring each other down with predatory focus.
Lady Nyshari raised her hand.
"Veil."
Shadow domes erupted around all four hexagons simultaneously.
The effect from inside was disorienting—the outside world becoming a dim, wavering impression rather than vanishing completely.
I could still see Risa's outline across the space, but details blurred, distances distorted.
My other senses heightened immediately—an automatic response drilled into me by months in the Veilroot.
I could hear Risa's measured breathing, sense her essence gathering.
"Rush."
She moved first—not directly toward me as expected, but sideways, her form seeming to ripple within the veil.
Spatial manipulation. Her specialty.
I dropped into a defensive stance, extending my shadow perception as Jirou had taught me.
The distortion grew stronger—the space between us seeming to stretch and compress simultaneously.
A disorientation technique.
I closed my eyes.
Relied on essence sensing rather than compromised vision.
Felt her approach from my left—a misdirection after her initial movement.
I pivoted, not where she appeared to be, but where her essence signature actually registered.
My counter-strike moved through empty air.
She'd anticipated my adjustment.
A flicker of essence behind me—too late to turn.
I dropped instead, shadow-enhanced reflexes taking over.
Her attack passed over my head.
I swept my leg in a low arc, shadow weight adding impact force.
A surprised yelp told me I'd connected.
The veil dissipated.
Risa stood a few feet away, rubbing her ankle, expression caught between shock and calculation.
"Point to Zen," Lady Nyshari announced impassively. "Rotate."
Risa's eyes narrowed as we moved to different opponents.
"Lucky," she muttered as she passed.
Next, I faced Yves—the scholarly heir who specialized in shadow constructs.
The veil rose. The rush commenced.
Immediately, three shadow tendrils shot toward me from different angles.
Not directly from Yves, but from constructs he'd positioned around the hexagon.
Clever.
I slipped between two tendrils, shadow-enhanced my speed, and drove directly toward his actual position.
Most construct users crumbled in close combat.
Yves proved no exception.
His barriers formed too slowly to block my approach.
A simple palm strike to his sternum ended the match.
"Point to Zen. Rotate."
Two victories. The other heirs were watching me now between their own matches.
Tavia approached for our match, her movements nearly silent.
The veil rose. Darkness thickened.
When the rush command came, she simply... vanished.
Not movement. Complete visual disappearance.
I extended my shadow perception to its limits.
Nothing.
Tavia had somehow masked even her essence signature.
I centered myself, slowing my breathing.
Sound. She had to make sound.
The faintest whisper of fabric to my right.
I turned, blocking instinctively.
Her strike connected with my forearm—not where I'd expected, but close enough to intercept.
She disengaged immediately, disappearing again.
We continued this dance for the full duration of the rush—her invisible attacks, my increasingly accurate defenses.
When the veil dropped, we stood three feet apart, both unscathed.
"Draw. Rotate."
Tavia nodded slightly as she moved away—the barest acknowledgment of respect.
Mirel grinned as we took positions for the next match.
"Let's see what you've really got, replacement," she said, loud enough for others to hear.
The veil rose.
"Rush."
Mirel charged like a bull, shadow essence condensing around her fists into massive, hammer-like constructs.
No subtlety. Pure power.
I sidestepped her initial charge—easy enough to predict.
But she pivoted faster than someone her size should be able to, her second strike catching me in the shoulder.
Pain bloomed. My arm went momentarily numb.
I rolled with the impact, using shadow weight to accelerate my recovery.
She pressed forward, confident she had me on the defensive.
Instead of backing away, I moved toward her, inside the effective range of those shadow hammers.
Jirou's voice echoed in my memory:
When outmatched in power, change the engagement distance.
I drove a shadow-enhanced strike into Mirel's solar plexus.
Not enough to seriously hurt her, but precisely targeted to disrupt breathing.
She wheezed, her rhythm broken.
A sweep to her lead leg. A palm strike to her shoulder.
She crashed down just as the veil dissipated.
"Point to Zen. Rotate."
Mirel stared up at me with newfound respect.
"Well shit," she said simply.
Kaelen approached next, his usual easy smile replaced with focused assessment.
The veil rose.
"Rush."
He created three perfect duplicates of himself, all moving in different patterns.
Illusion manipulation—his specialty.
Unlike Tavia's invisibility, these weren't essence-masked.
I could sense which contained actual substance and which were mere projections.
I ignored the duplicates, driving straight for the real Kaelen.
He seemed startled by my direct approach, his defense forming a beat too slow.
My strike connected cleanly.
"Point to Zen. Rotate."
Five matches. Four wins, one draw.
The other heirs were openly staring now, conversations passing between them in quiet murmurs.
I caught fragments:
"—impossible for his level—"
"—mother said rehabilitation, not—"
"—different fighting style entirely—"
Thorn practically stomped to our assigned hexagon, his earlier disdain replaced with predatory focus.
"You're not Zen," he hissed quietly as we took positions. "I don't know what game Mother is playing, but you're not my brother."
The veil rose before I could respond.
"Rush."
Thorn attacked with genuine killing intent—shadow essence forming razor-sharp extensions from his fingertips.
Not training strikes. Lethal ones.
I shifted fully into combat mindset, Jirou's training taking over completely.
Thorn's speed was impressive, his technique refined through years of specialized training.
But he'd never fought someone trained by the Broker.
Never faced the brutal, efficient violence that had been burned into my muscles through months of merciless conditioning.
I didn't just evade his attack—I controlled the engagement entirely.
Redirected his momentum.
Created openings instead of seeking them.
When my counter-strike landed, it carried enough shadow weight to crack the floor beneath us.
Thorn flew backward, hitting the veil boundary with a dull thud.
The shadow dome dissipated.
Silence filled the chamber.
Thorn lay on his back, gasping for breath, staring at me with a mixture of shock and fury.
"Point to Zen," Lady Nyshari announced, her voice betraying the faintest hint of satisfaction. "Final rotation."
Eirian approached for our match.
His expression remained unreadable, but something in his posture had changed.
The casual dismissiveness was gone.
His assessment now was calculating, serious.
The veil rose one final time.
"Rush."
Neither of us moved immediately.
We circled, essence sensing, probing for weaknesses.
His shadow barriers formed and reformed around his body—perfect defensive positioning.
I recognized the trap. He wanted me to attack first, to reveal more of my capabilities.
Instead, I mirrored his patience.
When he finally attacked, it was with precision that surpassed any of the other heirs.
No wasted movement. No telegraphed intent.
Pure efficiency of motion and essence.
I defended similarly—the months of fighting Jirou's training constructs paying dividends.
We exchanged a series of strikes and counters, each testing the other's foundations.
When the veil dropped, we stood at guard positions, both unharmed.
"Draw. Session complete."
Eirian straightened, eyes never leaving mine.
"You've had unusual training," he said quietly.
Not a question.
"Rehabilitation takes many forms," I replied, matching his neutral tone.
His mouth tightened slightly.
"Indeed."
Lady Nyshari approached, the other heirs gathering around her.
"Performance assessments will be delivered at evening meal," she announced. "Heaven-Weave Synchrony training begins after midday rest."
As the heirs dispersed, I caught various reactions to my unexpected showing.
Risa looked annoyed, her earlier confidence punctured.
Mirel seemed almost pleased—appreciative of demonstrated combat skill.
Thorn glared openly, one hand still pressed to his ribs.
Tavia watched with that same quiet assessment, revealing nothing.
Yves scribbled notes on his crystal tablet, muttering calculations.
Kaelen maintained his easy demeanor, but his eyes had sharpened.
And Eirian...
Eirian observed everything—not just me, but the reactions of the others.
Processing. Analyzing. Planning.
I'd just disrupted the established order of House Caelren.
Made myself a potential threat instead of a disappointment.
Or perhaps made myself a more valuable asset.
Either way, things had just gotten significantly more complicated.
As I followed the others from the chamber, I caught a final glimpse of Lady Nyshari.
She was smiling.