He nods once. “Lesson’s over.”
I blink. “Wait—that’s it?”
“You just outmaneuvered an ambush I’ve used twice in real war. I have nothing else to say today.” He starts to leave, but pauses at the door. “And Amara?”
I straighten.
“That was very well done.”
Then he’s gone. The door closes behind him, and I’m left alone in the war room, surrounded by maps, figures, and books, his words hanging in the air.
You’re not just part of the war, Amara. Youarewar.
I’ve been called many things—village girl, student, chosen. Butthis. . . this feels different. This feels earned. For the first time, I didn’t just react—I planned, created,commanded.
I glance down at the scattered books and scrolls across the table. Titles written in old ink—treatises on battlefield tactics, elemental integration, psychological warfare, command structure. Most of it still feels overwhelming, but not impossible anymore.
I pull a chair closer and sit, reaching for the topmost book. If I’m going tobewar . . . then I’m going to win it.
By the end of the week, my training sessions have grown more advanced. This morning, Valen informed me that I will start practicing on wraiths—multiple threats at once—more like a real battle.
We’re standing in one of the far fields beyond the regular training grounds, where the grass grows wild. Open space and the promise of something brutal.
Valen and Thane stand off to the side, watching. Always watching. Always measuring. Like I’m a weapon they’re still deciding whether to sharpen or sheath. A few other warriorshave gathered at the edges of the field, their eyes bright with anticipation.
I’m starting to feel like the entertainment at this outpost; every time I step onto a field, someone is waiting to see whether I’ll fail or succeed. Or maybe what kind of chaos I’ll create. Valen says I need pressure. That battle won’t wait for me to feel ready. But lately, all I feel is the weight of eyes judging me.
I glance at Valen and Thane.
My mentor stands with his usual calm, unreadable as ever. But Thane—I see it in him. The calculation etched into every line of his face. The way he watches me, silent and still, that mask of control pulled tight but not flawless. It slips, just enough for me to see what’s underneath.
To him, I’m not just a student. I’m the answer.
The key to winning this war.
I know I’m needed in this war. I know what I am and what I’m meant to be. But when I look in the mirror each morning, I still seeher; the girl from the village. The one who worked the fields beside her parents. Not someone who carries four Elemental magics in her veins or the weight of a realm on her shoulders.
Some days . . . I wish I could go back to her. But I can’t.
Walking away would be turning my back on everything my parents stood for—and I won’t do that. My father was a soldier, protecting the realm long before I was born. And I will continue carrying that torch.
They raised me to stand, not run. To protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. To give even when it wasn’t much.
Every harvest, once we’d stored enough to last the winter and sold the surplus, my parents shared whatever was left over to those who went without. No one asked them to or expected it, but they did it anyway. Because that’s who my parents were.
Their deaths can’t be for nothing. And if I don’t become what I’m meant to be . . . then who will?
Still, there are moments where I wake up and wonder whose life I’ve stepped into.
I exhale, watching my breath curl in the air. Spring is here, but the early mornings still bite with winter’s edge. I lift my chin, gaze drifting skyward. The clouds are darkening—heavy and swollen with rain.
Valen said it would storm today. I was hoping it would hold off until after my first lesson with the wraiths. No such luck. Looks like we’re doing this wet.
I’m wearing my fighting leathers. They keep me warm, but once the rain starts, they won’t do a damn thing to keep me dry. Great.
Daggers are strapped to my thighs, quick to reach in close quarters. A sword is sheathed across my back, the hilt familiar against my shoulder. It’s the one Thane chose for me during one of our first combat lessons and I have carried it with me ever since.
A belt of throwing knives wraps around my waist, each blade balanced and ready for mid-range strikes. There’s a boot knife tucked into my right boot—small, easily missed, but sharp enough to matter in close combat.
