34 - Awkward

**Lysandra**

"Why is he staring at me like that?" I thought, my stomach twisting into knots. Ravok's piercing gaze pinned me in place, as if he were trying to unravel every secret I had without saying a word. The intensity of his eyes made the air around us feel heavy, almost suffocating.

“I needed to unwind,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice sounded more defensive than he probably intended. It was weird seeing him like that.

“Clearly. Sheesh. Remind me to never offend you,” I replied, my tone sharp and teasing 

He didn’t say anything more, just kept watching me with that same unwavering stare. 

I took a step closer to him, feeling self conscious as he watched my every move. “Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost or something.” 

“Just tired,” he muttered, but he seemed absent minded. The quiet stretched on, thick and uncomfortable, until I had to look away. 

When I was getting ready for training earlier, I hadn’t thought much about who else might be in the yard. I was too focused on blocking out the whirlwind of thoughts that had been consuming me all day. Thoughts of Drakar. 

He had a way of creeping into my mind at the worst times, stirring emotions I didn’t know how to handle. He kept me sane and drove me mad all at once. The dragon. The enigma. The man who somehow managed to infuriate and ground me in equal measure. 

But now, as I stood there in the training yard, it wasn’t Drakar occupying my thoughts. It was Ravok. 

Training had always been my escape, the one place where I could drown out everything else. Every swing of a blade, every calculated movement, felt like I was piecing myself back together. Here, I wasn’t just Lysandra—I was someone stronger, someone whole. 

But walking into the yard today, I was met with a sight that shattered my focus entirely.

Ravok was there, alone, his fists slamming into a training dummy with brutal precision. His movements were sharp, controlled, yet fueled by something wild and untamed. Each strike landed harder than the last, the force of his blows echoing in the otherwise silent yard. 

I couldn’t look away. 

His muscles rippled with every punch, sweat glistening on his skin under the faint light of the late afternoon sunset. He looked otherworldly, as if the air around him shimmered with power. A faint blue glow seemed to emanate from him, wrapping around his frame like an aura.

His shirt had long since given up, the fabric hanging in tattered shreds that clung to his shoulders. His back was completely exposed, the muscles flexing and shifting with each strike. Sweat dripped down his spine, catching the light in a way that made him seem almost... ethereal. 

I stood frozen, caught between awe and unease. There was something almost dangerous about him, something that made my heart race for reasons I couldn’t explain.

“Hello! Earth to Ravok!” I called out, scared he was going to hurt himself. It was an irrational fear, considering he was a demon and had the power to heal himself. 

He didn’t respond. His fists kept flying, his focus unbroken. It was as if I wasn’t even there. 

Finally, he paused. His chest heaved as he turned to face me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of us said anything. The silence was heavy, charged with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. 

Then after a full five minutes of awkward silence, he spoke. 

“You may leave,” he said at last, his voice flat and cold. 

“Hunh? What? Why?” I asked, taken aback. 

“Training is canceled for today,” he said, turning his back to me as if the conversation was over. 

“Wait, hold on a second,” I protested, stepping closer. “You can’t just cancel training without a reason. What’s going on?” 

He didn’t answer immediately. His shoulders tensed, and I could see the muscles in his back tighten as he stood there, staring at the destroyed dummy.

“It’s not your concern,” he said finally, his tone clipped. 

“Not my concern?” I repeated, incredulous. “You’re acting like a lunatic out here, tearing apart training dummies like they insulted your mother, and you’re telling me it’s not my concern?” 

His head turned slightly, just enough for me to catch the edge of his profile. His jaw was clenched, his expression tight, but he still didn’t look at me directly. 

“It's not, because it's not something you can understand,” he said, his voice firm.

“Then explain it to me,” I said, crossing my arms. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re either losing your mind or working through some serious anger issues.”

He exhaled sharply, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to compose himself. 

“I said, leave,” he repeated, his tone firmer this time. 

“No,” I shot back, refusing to back down. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.” 

His eyes finally met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker there—pain, maybe, or regret. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask he always seemed to wear.

“This isn’t a conversation you want to have,” he said, his voice low and guarded.

“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But you don’t get to make that decision for me.” 

He didn’t respond. The silence between us stretched on, heavier with each passing second.

“Fine,” I said finally, throwing up my hands. “Be mysterious and brooding. See if I care.”

I turned to leave, my frustration boiling over. But just as I reached the edge of the yard, his voice stopped me. 

“Lysandra.”

I froze. The sound of my name from his lips sent a shiver down my spine. Not in the way Drakar did. Just weird, and grieving.

I turned back to face him, surprised to see a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. 

“Be careful,” he said softly, his voice almost pleading. 

“Of what?” I asked, my confusion deepening. 

“Everything,” he replied, his expression unreadable once more. “That's today's lesson.” He finished.

What the fuck did that even mean!?

I didn’t know what to say to that. His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, which confused me. But he didn't look like he was going to answer me if I asked him anyway.

I nodded slowly, my mind racing with questions as I turned and walked away. 

As I left the training yard, I couldn’t help but glance back over my shoulder. Ravok was still standing there, his fists clenched at his sides, his gaze fixed on the ruined dummy.

There was something sad about him that always made me pity him, and think of him as a puppy who needs care. But maybe I wasn't the one to deliver that care.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I wanted to understand him. To help him. Even if he can be a jerk sometimes.