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Chapter 8 - CH 8- Sisters at Odds

Morning in the Demon Palace was no gentler than night.

The sky outside Ethan's window glowed red with the eternal firestorm that churned across the demon realm. Horns sounded in the distance—some military drill, some ritual Ethan didn't dare ask about. He hadn't slept. Not after Selene's moonlit visit and the whispers she'd pressed into his mind.

Survival or loyalty, he thought blearily, splashing water on his face from a black marble basin. Why can't I ever just get multiple-choice questions with an "all of the above" option?

A sharp knock jolted him from his thoughts.

Before he could answer, the door swung open and Morgana marched in, armored again, every inch the warrior he'd faced in the arena. Her golden eyes scanned the room, lingering on him with practiced scrutiny.

"Dress. You're summoned to the training grounds," she ordered.

Ethan blinked. "Training? With who?"

Her mouth curved in a humorless smile. "Me."

His stomach dropped. "Oh, fantastic. Nothing wakes you up like imminent dismemberment."

She tossed a bundle of simple black tunic and trousers onto the bed. "Better you bleed here, under my supervision, than in some corridor when Kael's agents finally decide to silence you."

That didn't sound reassuring. But an hour later, Ethan found himself standing in the vast courtyard, sun—or whatever passed for it here—burning hot across obsidian tiles. Morgana stood opposite him, blade in hand.

"Pick up the sword," she commanded.

The weapon she'd given him was laughably oversized. He wobbled just lifting it. "Fun fact," he grunted, "this is heavier than my entire gym regimen back home."

"Good," Morgana said coldly. "Maybe it will finally teach you discipline."

What followed was less training and more public humiliation. Every time Ethan raised his sword, she knocked it aside with the ease of swatting a fly. When he tried to dodge, she anticipated every move, driving him back until he landed flat on his backside for the seventh time.

"Again," she barked.

He wheezed. "Are you sure this isn't just cardio disguised as torture?"

Her golden eyes glinted. "If you cannot last five minutes with me, you will not last five seconds when the daggers come in the dark. You are not safe here, mortal. Remember that."

Ethan dragged himself upright, sweat soaking his shirt. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw something soften in her gaze—not sympathy, but perhaps a grudging acknowledgment of his persistence.

Then the air shimmered.

Silver mist coiled across the courtyard, chilling the hot air, and Selene stepped forth as though she had been waiting for her cue. Her robes flowed like water, her eyes luminous in the sunlight.

"Sister," she said, her voice carrying effortlessly, "must you break him so soon after Kael tried?"

Morgana's jaw tightened. "This is necessary. If he does not learn to stand, he will die crawling."

Selene's gaze lingered on Ethan, still panting and clutching the too-heavy sword. "Or perhaps he does not need to fight as we do. Perhaps his strength lies elsewhere."

Ethan raised a shaky hand. "For the record, I fully support the 'elsewhere' theory."

Morgana ignored him. "Do not toy with him, Selene. I saw him in the arena. He is reckless, weak, untrained. His survival was chance, nothing more."

"Chance," Selene echoed, stepping closer, "or destiny?"

The tension between the sisters crackled like static. Demons lingering near the edge of the courtyard backed away, not wanting to be caught in their exchange.

Morgana's grip on her sword tightened. "Do not speak of destiny. You see too much in your clouds and shadows. He is mortal. He will break."

Selene's smile was faint, knowing. "And yet he has not. Not before you, not before Kael, not before Lilith. That alone is remarkable."

Their gazes locked, gold against silver, fire against moonlight. Ethan swore the heat of it could have melted the obsidian under his boots.

"Uh," he said weakly, "I'm still here, you know. Maybe we could not have a custody battle over my corpse?"

Neither looked at him.

Morgana stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "Do you seek to claim him, Selene? Is that what this is?"

Selene tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "Claim? No. I seek to understand him. But if you wish to keep him as your… project, then by all means."

The word project dripped with amusement, a deliberate barb. Morgana's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Ethan, sensing imminent disaster, raised his hands. "Ladies—sisters—demonic royalty—can we maybe not escalate this into some supernatural duel while I'm standing between you like a human pancake filler?"

Morgana snapped, "Silence."

Selene's lips curved. "Careful, sister. If you break him too soon, Lilith will not forgive you. She has taken a peculiar liking to this one."

That made Morgana stiffen. For the first time, Ethan saw real conflict in her gaze. She glanced toward him, jaw clenched, then sheathed her sword with a sharp motion.

"Enough," she growled. "The Queen decides his fate, not you. And not me."

She turned on her heel and strode from the courtyard, armor clattering with every furious step.

Selene watched her go, expression calm, then turned her luminous gaze back to Ethan.

"You see?" she murmured. "Even Morgana cannot decide what you are. Weakness, or possibility. It troubles her."

Ethan groaned, dropping the sword. "It troubles me, too. I'm just a guy who wanted pizza delivery, not a starring role in a demon family drama."

Selene's smile deepened, and for a heartbeat, it almost looked sad. "The thing about family dramas, Ethan, is that no one escapes them. Not even outsiders."

She melted back into mist, leaving him alone in the courtyard, sword clattering on the stone beside him.

Ethan sat down heavily, head in his hands.

"One tried to kill me. One keeps almost smiling at me. And the third keeps messing with my brain and dropping cryptic hints. Yep. Totally fine. This is fine."

But deep down, he knew it wasn't fine.

Something was brewing between the sisters, something bigger than him—and yet, somehow, he was tangled in it already.

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