Such is the peril of grief.
For in losing someone you love, you don’t simply lose them.
You lose a part of yourself too.
Tabitha Wysteria.
‘Faster.’
Alina tightened her grip on the staff, adjusting her stance with precision. Before her stood two warriors, poised and waiting. The moment they moved, she launched forward, striking first and giving them no chance to breathe.
Though the floor beneath her was not sand, she had longsince taught herself to move with the same speed and agility regardless of the terrain. The ground no longer mattered. Only the rhythm of combat.
Her staff cracked against one warrior’s skull, a clean strike to the phoenixian’s temple, but the second slipped past her guard, swept her legs from beneath her, and drove her to the floor. A blade kissed the hollow of her throat.
She swore, low and vicious.
A single clap echoed from across the chamber, sharp as flint. Alina turned her head, ignoring the two warriors who immediately retreated, falling back into disciplined stillness along the far wall.
With a sigh, Alina rose, brushing dust from her clothes. She returned her staff to the rack, movements clipped, controlled.
‘You’ve grown strong,’ Mareena Noor said, stepping into the room wrapped in flowing white silk, gold chains shimmering at her throat. ‘The last time you stood in this palace, you could barely lift your arms without wincing.’
Alina’s back stiffened at the memory. She turned away, studying the weapons lined neatly on the wall. Her hand hovered before selecting a set of short blades, perfect for throwing.
‘You ought to rest,’ Mareena said gently, worry threading through her voice. ‘You’ve been here nearly a week, and all you do is train.’
Alina didn’t answer. She stepped into the centre of the training chamber, blades in hand. The room was vast and sunlit, built for the Phanax—the elite phoenixian warriors tasked with guarding the realm. To her right, a series of towering columns cast long shadows across the stone. Weapons gleamed from wall-mounted racks, and behind the columns, a wide pool lay still and inviting, waiting for warriors to cool their battle-warmed bodies once training had ended.
But Alina didn’t look at the water.
She only saw the space before her, and the blades in her hands.
Alina positioned herself, took aim, and released the first blade. It whistled through the air before striking a small circle on the far wall with a satisfying thunk.
‘Alina.’
‘What?’ she snapped, turning sharply to face the phoenixian princess.
It was difficult not to be drawn in by the vision before her.
Mareena Noor, in all her quiet splendour, was perhaps the most beautiful mortal Alina had ever seen, with skin the warm hue of sunlit bronze, hair like silk swept from midnight, and eyes the colour of blood.
But Alina’s heart was far too fractured to care. The only fire that still stirred within her was the fire of vengeance.
Something flashed in Mareena’s expression. Hurt perhaps, but she quickly buried it, stepping back with grace.
‘Nothing,’ she said softly. ‘I only hoped you might join my family for dinner this evening.’
Alina said nothing, simply threw another blade.
She glanced at the third, rolling it between her fingers until its tip pricked her skin. A bead of blood bloomed, sharp, red, and alive, but she felt nothing.
She wasn’t sure she could feel anything anymore.
‘Thank you,’ she said suddenly, the words dry in her mouth. ‘For the invitation. And for... opening the doors of your home to me. I won’t remain here long.’
‘You may stay as long as you wish, Alina Acheron.’
