Chapter 60: Chapter 60 – The Blood That Reacts

Chapter 60 – The Blood That Reacts

POV: Liora

By the next morning, the silence between me and Kael felt deliberate.

Not the kind that comes from distance or distraction, but the kind that settles in after something shifts and neither side knows how to approach it anymore. Ever since I found out I was pregnant, the bond between us had changed in a way I couldn’t fully explain. Before, it had always been there, steady and undeniable, a constant awareness at the back of my mind. I could feel him even when he wasn’t near, sense his emotions in ways that didn’t require words.

Now... there was nothing.

No pull. No quiet pressure. No awareness of where he was or what he was feeling. It was like something had cut that connection cleanly without leaving a trace behind.

At first, I thought it was just me. That maybe I was too focused on everything else to notice it properly. But the longer it stayed like this, the harder it became to ignore.

It wasn’t weakened.

It was gone.

I rested my hand lightly against my abdomen without thinking, my fingers lingering there as the thought settled deeper.

Was it because of them?

I didn’t have an answer. And right now, I didn’t have time to search for one.

Kael hadn’t come to see me the entire day before, and for once, I didn’t mind it.

It gave me space.

It gave me time.

And more importantly, it gave me the chance to do what I had already decided I wasn’t going to stop doing.

Training.

I left my room earlier this time, before the fortress fully settled into its usual rhythm. The corridors were quieter, the guards less alert in that brief window before everything shifted into place for the day. No one stopped me. No one questioned where I was going.

Either they weren’t paying enough attention yet, or someone had decided I wasn’t worth stopping.

I didn’t know which one was worse.

Mira was already in the lower training room when I arrived, though this time she looked less surprised to see me.

"You’re back," she said, straightening slightly as I stepped inside.

"I said I would be."

She exhaled quietly, not quite annoyed, but not pleased either.

"I was hoping you’d reconsider," she said. "Rest properly. Give your body time."

"I gave it time," I replied. "Now I need control."

Her gaze moved over me again, assessing, searching for signs that I was pushing myself too far before we even started.

"You’re still not stable," she said. "Yesterday proved that."

"I’m still standing," I countered.

"That doesn’t mean you’re ready."

"It means I don’t have a choice."

She held my gaze for a moment, then shook her head slightly.

"You keep saying that like forcing yourself into this is going to fix the problem," she said.

"No," I replied quietly. "But doing nothing definitely won’t."

That seemed to be enough for her to stop arguing, even if she didn’t agree.

"Same rules as yesterday," she said. "Controlled movements. No pushing beyond what your body can handle."

I didn’t respond to that.

Because we both knew I wasn’t here to stay within limits.

We started slower than before, repeating the same foundational movements. Balance, stance, controlled shifts. The kind of training that looked simple but required more awareness than strength.

At least, it should have. Something felt different almost immediately. It wasn’t pain, It wasn’t weakness but something else entirely.

At first, I thought it was just my body adjusting again, reacting to movement after everything it had been through. But as I continued, the feeling became more distinct.

Heat.

Not sharp or overwhelming. Subtle. Controlled. But unmistakable.

It spread slowly beneath my skin, starting from the familiar places I tried not to think about too often. The scars.

They weren’t visible to anyone else the way I felt them, but I knew exactly where they were. Every mark. Every burn left behind after I healed someone, after I gave something of myself that didn’t come back the same way.

Each one was a cost.

Each one stayed.

And now, they were reacting.

I shifted my stance again, trying to ignore it, but the sensation followed the movement instead of fading. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t unstable.

It was responsive. Like something inside me was paying attention.

"Focus," Mira said, snapping me out of it.

"I am."

"You’re not," she replied immediately. "Your weight is off again."

I adjusted without arguing this time, but the distraction didn’t disappear.

If anything, it grew stronger.

The heat spread further, connecting one point to another in a way that didn’t feel natural. It wasn’t the same as before, when my body reacted instinctively to injury, trying to force healing whether I wanted it or not.

This felt... aware.

I took another step, shifting forward the way Mira demonstrated, but this time the movement didn’t stop where I intended it to.

It pushed further.

Too fast.

Mira reacted instantly, stepping in to correct my position, but I was already moving past the control point.

"Liora—"

I didn’t hear the rest of what she was about to say because for a split second, something else took over.

Not fully.

My hand moved before I decided to move it, the motion sharper than anything we had practiced. If Mira hadn’t pulled back when she did, I would have hit her not by accident but with force. The realization hit just as quickly as the movement ended.

I froze.

The room went still.

Mira stared at me, her expression no longer just cautious, but alert in a way that meant she had noticed something was wrong beyond simple imbalance.

"That wasn’t part of the drill," she said slowly.

"I know."

"Then what was it?"

I didn’t answer immediately, because I didn’t have one.

I could still feel it under my skin, that same controlled heat, only now it felt closer to the surface, like it had been waiting for that moment to react.

"I lost control," I said finally.

"That wasn’t just losing control," Mira replied. "That was precision without intent."

The way she said it made my chest tighten slightly. Because she was right. It hadn’t been random. It had been exact. I forced my hand to relax at my side, ignoring the lingering tension that hadn’t fully faded.

"It won’t happen again," I said.

Mira didn’t respond right away.

Instead, she stepped closer, studying my face more carefully now, like she was trying to see something she hadn’t noticed before.

"Look at me," she said.

I did.

And for a moment, neither of us spoke.

Something in her expression shifted, not fear, but recognition mixed with something she couldn’t quite place.

"What is it?" I asked.

She didn’t answer immediately.

"Your eyes," she said after a second.

"What about them?"

"They changed."

The words sat between us, heavier than they should have been.

"How?" I asked.

"I don’t know," she admitted. "It was only for a second, but it didn’t look..." She paused, like she was trying to find the right way to say it. "It didn’t look entirely human."

I didn’t react outwardly, but something in my chest tightened because I had felt it too. Before I could say anything else, Mira stepped back suddenly.

Not in fear. Not in retreat. But like something inside her had told her to move and then, without warning, she dropped to one knee.

The movement was so abrupt that it took me a second to process what had just happened.

"Mira—what are you doing?"

She didn’t answer right away.

Her posture was rigid, controlled, but there was something else there, something instinctive that didn’t match her usual behavior.

She looked just as confused as I felt.

"I don’t know," she said slowly. "I didn’t decide to do that."

"Then why—"

"I felt it," she cut in. "Something... pushed. Not physically. Just enough that my body reacted before I could stop it."

The words settled heavily, I didn’t move neither did she. Because we both understood what that meant, even if we weren’t saying it out loud yet.

After a moment, she stood again, brushing it off like it hadn’t just happened, but the tension didn’t disappear.

"Training ends here," she said, her tone more serious now. "Whatever that was, it’s not something you should be pushing further."

I didn’t argue.

As I turned to leave, my mind didn’t settle on the movement I had lost control of, or even Mira’s reaction. It stayed on the feeling that had come with it.

That awareness.

That response.

That... presence.

I stepped out into the corridor, my thoughts steady but heavier now, more certain in a way I hadn’t been before.

This wasn’t just instability.

It wasn’t just my body reacting to stress or injury or everything that had happened over the past few days.

This was something else.

Something that had been there before I understood it. Something that was no longer staying quiet.

I slowed slightly, my hand brushing faintly against my arm where I knew the scars lay beneath the surface, even if no one else could see them the way I felt them.

They weren’t just marks anymore. They were responding. Connecting. Changing.

I exhaled slowly, the realization settling fully into place as I continued walking.

This isn’t just power.

The thought came without hesitation this time.

Something inside me is waking up.