She had been spending hours in her gym. Ear buds in, music fueling her.

‘These trials make us who we are, who we are, we are
We're motivated by the scars that we're made of
These trials make us who we are, who we are, we are
We take our places in the dark
And turn our hearts to the stars’


The moves Fawkes had shown her months and months ago were still used, her body used to each movement. Each done with a fluid and ease of learned movements.

About an hour in, she began to remember the Briar Wolves, the teeth and claws ripping her flesh open. The blood that had poured from her body, the pain still fresh in her mind. How Sonnie and Circe had to save her, defeat the Briar Wolves. How she was unable to defend herself.

She had been weak.

She had failed.

‘Hear me from the bottom
Forged in regret, I'm the silversmith’


And her blood began to boil as the word failure replayed over and over. And she started throwing more and more punches at the heavy bag, tapped hands hitting harder and harder.

Over and over.

The rage and anger fueling each punch.

‘The steel in our hearts will be monuments
Today, they'll hear the violence
We'll rise from the dark like Lazarus

A scream began to form in her mouth, but before she let it out, she stopped. Eyes wide as she noticed the heavy bag was torn open.

Looking at her hands, a mixture of white from the tape, and red from the repeated hits, her scales were different.

They were raised up along her hands and arms, the usually smooth surfaces, were razor sharp. And poking through the tape. A finger gingerly touches one of them and she winces as it cuts her finger.

If they hurt her, then they could hurt others.

A cold smile spreads across her lips.