ALENA
Snow filled the mountain crevasse, hiding sharp, jagged rocks beneath its deceptive blanket. From her perch atop a flat slab of stone, Alena watched thin rivulets run through the snow, icy veins collecting droplets that trickled down the mountainside.
Winter had come to an end.
A golden eagle cried in the distance, its dark form a speck in the vast blue sky. Every morning, Alena came to these rocks, eyes fixed on the narrow trail leading down to the valley.
The path would open soon. The path that would lead her back to San and Kaixo.
But not yet.
The snow still clung stubbornly to the pass, as if the mountain itself wasn’t ready to let her go.
Slinging the bow across her shoulders, she turned from the precipice and made her way back towards the settlement. Cold wind threaded through her hair, catching strands against her lips. As she walked, the priestesses gave quiet nods, theirwoollen hoods drawn up against the chill. She returned the gesture, though her mind was elsewhere.
The Grey-Eyed Maiden hadn’t returned—not since their first encounter the day after Alena had arrived. While Phoebe had seemed concerned at first, she’d concluded the goddess likely had other pressing matters.
“She’s immortal,” Phoebe had said with a shrug. “They don’t perceive time and space like we do. But she’ll be back.”
Alena wanted to believe her, but spring was coming, and the Maiden had yet to reappear.
The stone path through the settlement was slick with melting snow and churned mud. Alena followed it past the clustered huts until she reached the furthest one, where Phoebe sat sharpening a sword Alena had often trained against all winter—a Rasennan blade as short as its Megarian counterpart, but broader, with an elongated triangular tip.
“Can we descend yet?” Phoebe asked without looking up. Only Alena ever came this close; the other priestesses still kept their distance, wary of the battle-hardened Amazon.
Alena stretched her hands over the small campfire, coaxing warmth back into her numb fingers. “Not yet. But soon.”
The thought made her chest tighten. After almost half a year on the mountain, training daily until her body ached, it was nearly time to leave. She yearned to find San and Kaixo again and tried not to dwell on the worst. Even with the coin they’d paid the elderly farmers, winter had been harsh, with freezing nights and abundant snow.
“We’ll head down as soon as it’s clear,” Phoebe said, rising and sliding the whetstone into her belt pouch. “Until then, we keep training.”
She tossed the sword to Alena, who caught it by the pommel and gave it a quick spin, testing its weight.
“Time you tried the mighty Noric steel the Rasennan legions love so much,” Phoebe said, fastening a cloak over her shoulders. “The Rasennan sword was designed for thrusting and stabbing. Paired with a shield, it’s deadly in tight formations.” Her gaze flicked to Alena’s face, unreadable. “Your sister and the Black Helmets will be using it.”
A pang struck Alena’s chest. Up here, the world below felt distant and muffled, reduced to the scraps of news Phoebe’s contact in Tiryns managed to send, and even those were rare.
No word of Katell.
No word of Leukos.
All she knew was that the Megarians had reached Tiryns safely, the alliance with the rebels held, and they’d be heading there next to join the others, then continue to the Western Lands.
There’d been no mention of a wedding.
Alena told herself it was a good thing, perhaps it hadn’t occurred yet, yet any thought of Leukos still hollowed her out.
I wouldn’t trade the time we shared for all the Gifts in the world.
Her heart ached at the memory, pain as sharp and fresh as if no time had passed. She would never forget the look on his face the last time they were together—how he’d gazed at her as if she were his entire world, as if walking away had torn a piece of his soul.
She followed Phoebe further up the winding path to their usual training spot—a narrow plateau with a ring of ancient standing stones at the far end, their surfaces weathered and cracked with age.
Alena had quickly learned they held power.
Old magic,Phoebe had said.
Within the circle, Gifts vanished. The moment Alena crossed the threshold, the Huntress’ magic disappeared as if blown outby a sudden gust of wind. Training there meant relying solely on physical strength and skill with the blade.
