Elysia moved without thought.
Not because it was easy—but because she had no other way.
Teaching was foreign to her. Alien. An art form she had never needed to grasp.
She had been trained, not taught.
There had never been lessons. No gentle correction. No encouragement or guidance. Only command. Only punishment. Her world had been shaped in silence, molded under duress and precision. From the moment she was old enough to walk, she was made to crawl. To endure. To obey.
The Shadow Doctrine. That was what her lineage had called it. The art of serving not behind, but beneath—a protector whose presence was to be unseen and whose loyalty was absolute. And for that, they made sure to break them young.
Her first master was not kind.
