“She'll recover,” Selen interrupts. “But she needs rest. I've made arrangements for her care.” There's something in the way she says it, a subtle emphasis onarrangements, that makes me think Selen’s involvement goes beyond simple handler duty. But her tone brooks no further questions.
“Now then,” she continues briskly, moving to stand behind her desk. “Champion Caelith will be joining our lessons. You’ve already heard the rumors that the tournament has been moved up considerably.”
Byron leans against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Zeriel with a quiet intensity, as if weighing every move he makes. Ellis lingers near him, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.
“But why join us?” Vex asks.
“Because,” Selen answers for him, “our lessons provide certain... advantages that may prove useful in the tournament.”She surveys the room. “And what benefits one of us can benefit all. Consider it practical experience.”
Nyx lets out a low whistle. “So we're helping train a champion now.”
Selen moves around her desk. “As a result, today's lesson will be somewhat different. We'll be going on another field trip.”
Zeriel frowns slightly at the word “another,” but he doesn't question it. I sense he's already cataloging everything, storing away any questions for later.
Selen moves to the now familiar cabinet against the far wall, unlocking it with a small key she produces from her pocket. Inside hang the familiar suits made of shimmering scales.
Selen begins distributing them, and I watch as Zeriel's expression shifts from skepticism to genuine surprise when she hands him one. It's larger than the others, clearly sized for someone of his build.
“What is this?” he asks, running his fingers over the strange material.
“Void-drake scales,” I murmur. “Body heat activates them. They make you invisible.”
He raises an eyebrow as he holds the suit up, examining it in the light, the scales shifting and catching the glow from the lamps.
“Weapons,” Selen says, her voice cutting through the murmurs as she extends her hand toward Zeriel. “All of them. They stay here.”
A tense moment passes as Zeriel stares at her outstretched palm.
“Why?” he asks, voice low and guarded. “You think I’m going to hand over every blade I’ve got?”
Selen’s expression remains unchanged, the open palm still waiting. “If you want my assistance, you’ll follow my rules,” she says simply. “You’ll learn to rely on more than just steel.”
Zeriel’s eyes flicker between her and the weapons hidden on him. Steel has always been the stand-in for what he lost, the crutch of a warrior fae stripped of his birthright. For him, it’s allhe’s ever trusted. The idea of reaching inward instead is foreign. But even he must know this isn’t about trust. It’s about pragmatism. And we don’t have time to argue.
He slowly produces a blade from his boot, another from his sleeve, and finally, a thin stiletto from somewhere near his collar. The collection is more impressive than I expected. Perhaps he’d stocked up with Blaise around.
The blonde gives a low whistle.
“Is that all?” Selen asks dryly.
Zeriel's mouth twitches. “For now.”
“So put on the suits quickly,” Selen instructs all of us, already gathering the void-drake-scale rope.
Half an hour later, we've stepped back out into the clearing. But unlike last time, no void-drake waits for us. The place is empty, bathed in early morning light.
Selen leads us through, then continues along a narrow path that winds away from the clearing, deeper into the wild territory beyond the Ironhold's walls. We walk for perhaps another hour, the terrain growing rougher, more primal with each step.
Finally, we reach what appears to be a small, partially sheltered ravine, its sides steep but navigable. Selen instructs us to descend, and one by one, we make our way down the rocky slope.
At the bottom, she gathers us close. “Remove your hoods,” she instructs.
I frown even as we comply, and notice Zeriel scanning the ravine, his posture alert, like he’s waiting for something to happen. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. Is it something about this location?
“Veyra, Zeriel,” Selen says, her voice suddenly carrying an edge. “Step forward.”
We step up to her, and I notice the others shift back, theirmovements subtle, but there's an unease in the air, as if they're also anticipating something.
