I scowl, shifting my stance. “One day, I won’t.”
And for half a second, I swear I see it again. That almost-smirk, that small flicker of something in his expression before it smooths out again.
“One day,” he agrees. He raises his fists. “But not today.”
I clench my fists and shift my stance. The braces are heavy, throwing off my balance. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake the weight—not just the thick leather, but the memory of my father and mother.
“You ready?” Thane asks.
No.
Not even close.
But I nod anyway.
“Good,” he says. And then he moves. “Keep your hands up,” he says, circling me, his eyes steady, reading me.
I strike first—a quick jab, aimed at his ribs.
He deflects it with a simple shift of his forearm, redirecting my momentum as if I barely put in any effort at all. “Better,” he says, stepping to the side. “But predictable.”
I grit my teeth and try again, this time, feinting left before aiming a strike at his shoulder. It doesn’t matter; he orchestrates a series of moves and suddenly the world tilts.
The impact slams through my spine, the breath ripping from my lungs as I hit the mat. For a moment, I stare up at the ceiling, dazed, my pulse thudding in my ears.
Thane stands over me, a hand extended.
I grab it, letting him haul me back to my feet, the ache already settling in.
“Your footwork’s sloppy,” he says. “You’re focusing too much on your arms. You need your whole body behind your strikes.”
I shake out my arms, breath still uneven. I know he’s taking it easy on me, which only makes the frustration worse.
“Again,” Thane says, already stepping back into position.
I’m starting to hate that word.
I grit my teeth. Reset.
After wielding fire and training with bracers, I sleep hard. And I dream again.
The voice is calling to me. That same female voice—familiar in a way that tugs at something buried deep, but also not.
Only this time, another joins her. A male voice, deeper, steadier. His voice folds into hers. I hear them both—distinct, but somehow woven together.
“Amara, our starlight. You are the chosen one. The one who will decide the fate of this world. You are strong. You are brave.”
I follow the voices.
I’m walking through a forest, the kind I know from memory more than life. Ancient trees rise tall around me, their leaves a curtain of green above me. Sunlight peeks through the canopy in broken, golden beams.
Birdsong flits through the canopy, distant and warbling.
“There is darkness in this world. It will test you. You will falter. But you will rise.”
The words wrap around me like a cloak still warm from another’s shoulders. It’s not home, but itfeelslike home. Or a memory of one.
I move forward, drawn by this feeling.
