She looks ahead, gaze tracking the uneven path.
We walk aimlessly through the outpost grounds—stone-lined corridors giving way to moss-softened courtyards, archways swallowed by ivy, training fields still dark with morning dew. A low breeze rustles through the treetops, carrying the scent of ash and pine.
She looks back at me.
And I’m caught.
Her eyes—deep brown, like the bark of the old oak by the lake. Like the worn leather of Xaroth’s saddle. Like chocolate cake, the kind my mother used to make on my birthday until—
I blink hard to shake the thought loose.
“I think, sometimes, my emotions get the best of me,” she says softly. She glances away. “I’m still having a hard time after losing my parents.”
Her voice tightens on the last word. The pain surfaces, sharp and fast—and then it’s gone again, shoved down with practiced effort.
I want to reach out. Just to touch her arm. Let her know I understand. That I know loss, too. But I keep my hands in mypockets.
She stares down at her boots as we walk. “I think that sometimes, it’s hard for me to be with the elements. To move with them the way Valen says to. Because I’m still so . . . ”
She doesn’t finish. But I know. Iknowwhat she means.
Then she looks up at me again.
And I’m struck—again—by the depth of her eyes. The knowing in them. The richness. That light I saw only flickering yesterday? It’s now burning a little brighter.
“I think I’m going to get better at it,” she says. “The wielding. The emotions, too.”
She smiles. And this time—it reaches her eyes.
Something shifts in me at the sight of it. That smile does something I wasn’t ready for. And I find myself making a quiet vow, but one I intend to keep.
I’ll do better. Not just as her trainer preparing her for war. I’ll talk to her more. Check in. Make sure she’s okay.
Maybe I can be more than her shield. Maybe I can be her friend.
AMARA
Today is another relentless training day. We’re on the outdoor sparring field, and even though it’s only spring, the sun feels brutal—like it’s trying to burn the resolve out of my bones. Sweat clings to my skin, and every inch of me aches.
Finally, Thane calls for a break. He nods toward the nearby trees. My whole body sighs in relief at the idea of cool shade and even cooler water.
We walk to the edge of the field and sink onto the bench, settling beneath the canopy. The leaves above shift in lazy currents, and the only sound between us is the wind and theslosh of water as I lift my jug.
Then Thane speaks. “What was it like where you grew up?”
The question catches me off guard. My fingers pause around the jug’s curve. I glance at him—but he’s staring ahead, calm, like he’s not the Warlord who’s been pushing me to the brink for weeks.
It feels strange to be sitting here, just two people, having a casual conversation. I don’t think we’ve ever had a casual conversation before.
Still, I answer.
“Quiet,” I say after a moment. “Small village, far from any real city. Just farmland, cypress trees, cliffs.” I huff a short breath. “I spent more time climbing them than I did at home, to be honest.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Of course you did.”
I shrug. “I was a menace.”
This time, the smile comes clearer. “Some things don’t change.”
