The Extra's Rise - Chapter 453

Chapter 453: Deia Solaryn (3)
The eastern sky had barely begun to lighten when Lucifer arrived at the secluded courtyard. Dawn mist clung to the ground in wispy tendrils, giving the training area an ethereal quality as it emerged from darkness. He had deliberately arrived early, using the quiet moments to center himself through a series of breathing exercises.

When Deia appeared, she moved with the silent grace of someone accustomed to navigating their world unnoticed. Her crimson hair was tied back simply, her training clothes practical rather than ornamental. She paused briefly upon seeing him already there, a flicker of surprise crossing her features.

“You’re punctual,” she said by way of greeting.

Lucifer smiled, the expression warming his face in the cool morning air. “A habit my instructors spent years drilling into me. The first prince can never be late, even to his own execution.”

The quip drew a slight curve to Deia’s lips as she moved toward the weapon rack. “An execution seems an extreme consequence for tardiness.”

“My father would disagree,” Lucifer replied lightly, though there was an undercurrent of truth to his words. “Windward discipline is renowned for a reason.”

They selected practice swords—the same ones they had used yesterday—and moved to the center of the courtyard. This time, there was less ceremony to their preparations, a familiarity that hadn’t existed twenty-four hours earlier.

“Shall we begin where we left off?” Lucifer suggested. “That transition between your third and fourth forms?”

Deia nodded, her golden eyes holding his for a moment longer than necessary. “I spent the evening analyzing it. I believe I see the flaw now.”

She demonstrated the sequence, moving deliberately to highlight the particular moment Lucifer had exploited. Her form was already different—more fluid, the hesitation all but eliminated.

“You adjusted quickly,” he observed, genuine admiration in his voice.

“When one trains alone, one learns to be one’s own harshest critic,” she replied. She reset her stance, repeating the sequence with subtle variations. “My father has little time for swordplay instruction these days. His duties consume him.”

There was something in her tone—not bitterness exactly, but resignation. Lucifer picked up on it immediately.

“It must be challenging,” he said carefully, “carrying the Solaryn legacy largely on your own.”

Deia’s movements paused fractionally before continuing. “My father believes a woman’s role is primarily to continue the bloodline, not to lead.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed deeper feelings. “My training is… tolerated, not encouraged.”

Lucifer’s brows furrowed slightly. “That seems shortsighted, given your obvious talent.”

“Tradition often is.” She launched into a more complex series of movements, her practice blade whistling through the air. “The Lord of the Southern Sea Sun Palace has always been male. The Red Sun’s power passes through the male line, or so the old texts claim.”

“And yet your Gift manifests as impressively as any I’ve seen,” Lucifer countered, moving to mirror her stance. “Perhaps the old texts deserve reexamination.”

They began to spar lightly, their blades meeting in a controlled rhythm that allowed for conversation between exchanges. It was less a competition than a dialogue expressed through movement.

“What of you?” Deia asked after several minutes of practice. “The first prince of the Northern Continent, training at Mythos Academy. That seems… unconventional.”

Lucifer parried a thrust, his God’s Eyes activating briefly to track a particularly quick sequence. “My father believes in practical experience over sheltered training.” A half-truth that came easily to his lips. “And Mythos offers opportunities to test one’s abilities against peers from across the globe.”

“Against people like Arthur Nightingale?” Deia inquired, her tone casual but her eyes watchful.

Something flickered across Lucifer’s expression—a complexity not often visible beneath his natural charm. “Arthur is… exceptional.”

“You admire him,” she observed.

Lucifer’s blade lowered slightly as he considered his response. “He represents something I’ve struggled with for years,” he admitted, surprising himself with his candor. “The expectation of heroism.”

Deia lowered her sword as well, sensing the conversation had shifted to something more significant than their training. “Heroism?”

“The prophecies speak of a Second Hero who will rise,” Lucifer explained, his verdant eyes distant. “For as long as I can remember, that destiny has hung over me like a storm cloud due to my talent from a young age.”

“And Arthur challenges this expectation?” Deia asked perceptively.

Lucifer laughed softly, the sound tinged with self-deprecation. “Arthur embodies everything a hero should be, without even trying. He fights for others instinctively, sacrifices without hesitation, faces impossible odds with unwavering determination.” He shook his head. “Meanwhile, I…”

“You doubt your worthiness,” Deia finished for him when he trailed off.

His eyes met hers, startled by her insight. “Yes. Though it’s not something I typically discuss with diplomatic counterparts.”

“We’re hardly operating in official capacities at the moment,” Deia pointed out, gesturing to their training attire and the private courtyard. Then, more softly: “And sometimes it’s easier to share truths with someone who hasn’t known you your whole life.”

There was understanding in her voice that resonated with him. A shared experience of expectations and doubts.

“My siblings are ten years younger than me,” Lucifer said, resuming a basic stance to continue their practice. “Twins—a boy and a girl. Sometimes I wonder if they’ll face the same pressures.”

Deia matched his stance, their swords meeting in a gentle clash. “You feel protective of them.”

“Fiercely,” he admitted. “They deserve to choose their own paths, not have destiny thrust upon them as I did.”

“Choice is a luxury many of us in positions of power rarely experience,” Deia observed, her movements flowing more naturally now, as if their conversation had somehow freed her body as well as her words. “My father is ready marry me off and groom my first son to inherit his position since I was a child. Despite my Gift being stronger, despite my dedication to our traditions.”

“Because you’re female,” Lucifer said, not as a question.

“Because I’m female,” she confirmed, her blade flashing with sudden intensity before she regained control. “And because I’ve begun to question aspects of our isolation that he considers sacrosanct.”

This admission—clearly not something she shared lightly—hung in the air between them. Lucifer recognized the significance of her trust.

“What aspects?” he asked carefully.

Deia executed a complex maneuver before answering, her miniature sun flickering into existence above her shoulder, casting her face in crimson light. “My father believes our isolation protects us. That the outside world would destroy what makes the Southern Sea Sun Palace unique.” The tiny star pulsed with her emotions. “But I’ve studied our history. We weren’t always cut off from the world. We once had diplomatic ties, trading relationships, cultural exchanges.”

“It’s difficult to stand in the shadow of a legacy you can’t fully see,” he said softly.

“As difficult as standing in the light of a prophecy you don’t feel worthy of,” she returned, understanding flowing between them.

Their sparring had evolved into something more like a dance, their movements synchronized despite the weighty conversation. The Yin-Yang Body Gift activated around Lucifer, its black and white mana swirling in harmony with Deia’s miniature sun as they circled each other.

“Do you believe in destiny, Lucifer Windward?” Deia asked suddenly, her blade coming to rest against his in a perfect cross.

The question caught him off guard, but he answered honestly. “I believe in choices. Even within the constraints of prophecy or tradition, we always have choices.”

“What if the choices before us lead to betrayal—either of others or ourselves?” Her voice had grown quieter, more intense.

“Then we choose what we can live with,” he replied, his verdant eyes holding hers steadily. “And hope for understanding from those who matter.”

Something shifted in Deia’s expression—a softening, a vulnerability rarely permitted to surface. For a moment, she wasn’t the daughter of the Southern Sea Sun Palace’s lord, but simply a young woman carrying burdens too heavy for her shoulders alone.

Impulsively, Lucifer lowered his sword completely and reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against hers where they gripped her weapon. The contact was brief, almost imperceptible, but the gesture spoke volumes.

“Today is your final day here,” Deia said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“What happens after you leave?” The question carried layers of meaning—about the investigation, about what might be discovered, about this unexpected connection between them.

Lucifer’s smile returned, though tempered with something more serious than his usual radiance. “That depends on what we find today… and on what choices are made afterward.”

Deia nodded, understanding the unspoken complexities. She stepped back, resuming her practice stance, but something had changed between them—a trust had formed, fragile but real.

As dawn fully broke over the palace, casting long golden rays across the courtyard, they continued their dance of blades. But now, with each exchange, they shared not just techniques but pieces of themselves—two souls finding unexpected resonance amid a palace of secrets.