“Great,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “So mental bruises instead of physical ones.”
Thane’s mouth twitches—barely.
“The mental ones last longer.” He gestures to the map. “This valley is where you’ll die if you choose wrong. Read it. Use it.”
I step closer, studying the field: a narrow canyon, high cliffs, a single river cutting through.
“If I take the high ground,” I say slowly, “I can bottleneck the enemy here. Use the cliffs to force them into a narrow pass.”
“Good,” Thane says. “And then?”
“Trap them. Collapse the rocks above when they push through.”
“Better.” He places a figurine on the map. A dragon. Then another—soldiers on the ground. Then three more, surrounding my forces from different angles. “Now what?”
I hesitate. “I . . . didn’t see them coming.”
“You didn’t think far enough ahead,” Thane replies. “Every decision on a battlefield is a ripple—cause and effect. If you want to lead, you need to stop thinking like a fighter—and start thinking like war.”
I look up, surprised by the wording. “Didn’t you mean to say ‘a war?’”
He meets my gaze, steady and unblinking. “You’re not just part of the war, Amara. Youarewar. And the sooner you understand that, the more people you’ll save.”
The weight of that sinks in—slow, heavy.
“And if I fail?” I ask.
His expression doesn’t change. “Then others die.”
The silence stretches between us.
He breaks it first, voice quieter this time. “But you won’t. You’re already learning faster than most do in a year. And you’re not alone in this.”
Something inside me steadies at that.
He points at the dragon figurine again. “Now . . . tell me how you’d move your Air Channeler unit through a storm with low visibility and a Shadow Force ambush waiting below.”
“Without using Elemental magics?”
Thane raises a brow. “Withthem. If you’re not using what you are to reshape the battlefield, then you haven’t learned anything.”
I study the map, tracing the river with my finger, the layout settling like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place. “A storm makes it difficult to see. Which means they’ll be relying on sound and movement.”
Thane says nothing, just watches.
“So I don’t flythroughthe canyon,” I continue. “I send decoys—air illusions, shaped by wind magics, flitting low and loud. I make them obvious. Let the enemy reveal themselves.”
Thane’s brow furrows slightly.
“Meanwhile, I split the actual unit into two. One takes the higher current—above the stormline. Riskier, but faster. The other follows the riverbed, close to the water. The noise of the storm covers them, and wind can be used to bend the water’s surface—mask their reflections, and create stronger water surges—for more noise and chaos” I glance up at him. “If I know where the ambush is waiting . . . I can collapse the canyon ontheminstead. Which could save even more lives.”
Silence. He stares at the board for a long moment. Then—
“Clever,” he says. “Using the storm as cover. Illusions as bait. Dividing your forces in a high-risk, high-reward move.” A pause. “That’s not in any of the books.”
I lift a shoulder. “You said I’mwar, remember?”
And then I catch it—something in Thane’s face shifting. Pride. Not the kind that comes from a soldier meeting expectations. The kind that sayshe didn’t see that coming.
