The courtyard fell into a stunned hush as Sylvia stepped fully into view, the late afternoon sun catching on her form like a deliberate spotlight. She moved with that same effortless grace she’d always possessed, fluid and predatory, every step a quiet assertion of control. But today, something was different.

She wasn’t dressed in her usual sleek mission blacks or the elegant robes she favored for court. No. She had clearly come straight from training, or perhaps she had changed deliberately the moment she heard about the commotion.

Sylvia wore what could only be described as training gear designed to torment.

A tight, sleeveless black crop top clung to her upper body like a second skin, the material thin and slightly glossy from sweat. It ended just below the swell of her breasts, leaving the smooth, toned expanse of her midriff completely bare. Every subtle shift of her breathing made the fabric stretch across her chest, outlining the firm, rounded shape of her breasts and the faint imprint of her nipples pressing against the cloth. The top was cut high enough that the underside of her breasts became teasingly visible whenever she moved her arms.

Below that, she wore matching black shorts, dangerously short, riding high on her long, athletic legs. The material hugged the generous curve of her ass so tightly it looked painted on, the hem barely covering the lower swell of her cheeks. With each step, the shorts rode up just a little more, revealing smooth, pale skin and the subtle definition of muscle carved from years of brutal conditioning. A thin sheen of sweat glistened along her exposed skin, making her legs look slick under the sunlight.

Her silver-white hair, identical to mine, was tied up in a high, messy ponytail that swayed with every movement, a few loose strands clinging to the elegant line of her neck and collarbones. A bead of sweat traced slowly down her throat before disappearing into the valley between her breasts.

She looked lethal.

She looked obscene.

The soldiers who had been watching the fight suddenly found it difficult to breathe normally. Several shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting away only to snap back as if pulled by force. Even the five masters on the ground stared up at her with a mix of awe and poorly hidden hunger.

Sylvia’s gaze never left me.

A small, knowing smile played on her lips as she stopped a few paces away, one hand resting casually on her hip. The motion pulled the crop top tighter across her chest, making the strain more obvious.

"Brother," she purred, her voice low and honeyed, just sweet enough to feel dangerous. "You’ve been hiding things from me again."

Her violet eyes swept over me slowly, deliberately, as if she were already imagining stripping me bare right here in front of everyone. When her gaze dropped lower, lingering openly on the bulge in my pants, her smile deepened just slightly.

Rosaline’s expression tightened beside her. She noticed. Of course she did.

Sylvia stepped closer, her hips swaying with a rhythm that didn’t feel accidental. The movement made her shorts ride even higher, exposing the lower curve of her ass more clearly. A faint, musky scent drifted toward me, sweat mixed with something warmer, something far more intimate.

"I heard you broke through," she continued softly, tilting her head as her ponytail slipped over one shoulder, exposing her neck. "And that you handled five masters without breaking a sweat. Impressive..."

She licked her lips slowly.

"But I’m not five weak little masters, Aristarkh."

Her voice dropped further, intimate, meant only for me.

"I want to feel it. All of it. How strong you’ve become... how much you can take... how much you can give."

The air between us thickened.

Heat coiled low in my stomach as my mind betrayed me, dragging me into vivid, filthy thoughts. Pinning her down right here. Tearing those shorts aside. Burying myself inside her while Rosaline watched. Or forcing both of them to their knees, side by side, their tongues clashing as they fought over me.

Sylvia’s eyes darkened, as if she could see everything. Her thighs pressed together subtly, drawing my attention to the way the fabric clung to the shape beneath.

Rosaline finally spoke, her voice cool, though something sharper edged through it.

"Good. Then the two of you will fight. However, Sylvia, you will reduce your strength to the cursed master level."

I sensed it. Of course I did. The fact that I still couldn’t fully grasp her presence made it obvious.

She wasn’t at the master rank. Not even the rank above it.

I realized it slowly.

She was far stronger than I had anticipated.

’And she isn’t even in the top twenty strongest?’ The thought alone stirred something deeper. Curiosity. Anticipation.

Those monsters... what were they like?

In a month... how much would my strength grow?

Would it even begin to measure up?

I couldn’t picture it yet.

A laugh slipped from my lips, low, filled with quiet excitement.

’Interesting...’

Barely a week in this world, and already...

I was starting to love it.

My blood stirred, roaring faintly beneath the surface.

Sylvia’s eyes sharpened the moment she heard that laugh, as if something inside her had locked onto a threat.

Rosaline took a step back, then vanished.

Her voice thundered across the training grounds.

"Everyone! Step back. You might be injured in the clash."

She didn’t need to say it.

The soldiers were already moving, boots brushing against the grass as they retreated, tension crawling under their skin.

They could feel it.

Of course they could.

Even though this was technically a master-level fight...

It wasn’t one they could compare to.

These were monsters.

The true elites of the Targaryen Clan.

The best it had to offer.

The air tightened.

Coiled.

And then, without warning, Sylvia disappeared.

My pupils shrank.

Before I could react, she was already in front of me.

A drop of sweat flicked from her skin onto mine. Her breath brushed lightly against my face, warm and steady.

Everything slowed.

Her eyes locked onto mine. Her lips parted slightly.

"It seems you haven’t learned the first rule of the Targaryen Clan, brother... Always be on guard around your enemy."

She moved to take advantage of the moment. The instant I had let my guard slip.

But then—

Her expression shifted.

Because I smiled.

’Infinity...’ I muttered.

Her hand stopped.

Just before touching me.

Frozen in place.

This was my technique. Infinity.

A simple concept.

The distance between us... turned into an illusion. Stretched into something endless. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Unless one could cross infinity, touching me became impossible.

I watched her composure crack, just for a second, as understanding hit.

’What are you going to do, sister?’ I thought, watching her retreat quickly, putting distance between us.

Afraid.

Not of me entirely.

But of what might come next.

"No, sister..." my voice spread calmly across the field, reaching every ear, "it seems you were the one who forgot the rules of the clan."

Author’s note: What do you guys think of the previous Chapter? Do you like the fight scenes and would you prefer more of it or just pure smut all the way... and don’t worry... Hold your horses! I’m planning something big for the mother and son duo. Hehe. perverted saint signing out...