Hidden beneath my sleeves, nestled against my wrists, are twin sheaths holding slender blades no longer than my hands. Last resort weapons; the kind you reach for when things are going very, very wrong.
Valen said I could use both weapons and magics for this fight. Good. I plan on using both.
I check the straps, making sure everything is snug.
Across the field, Valen calls out,“Ready?”
I glance back at the two men who have been shaping me these past months. They’ve poured everything into me—knowledge, experience, time, skill. Piece by piece, they’ve rebuilt who I was into something stronger. They’ve invested so much ofthemselves into preparing me for what’s coming.
What amazes me is that they did it without ever truly knowing me. Their belief in me has been steady and constant.
They’ve stood by me while I grieved my parents, my village, the life I thought I’d have. They didn’t turn away or shame me.
They pushed when I resisted, always knowing when to press and when to give me space. They’ve answered every question I’ve thrown at them, no matter how sharp or broken I sounded.
They’ve never wavered.
Their belief in me has never depended on proof. All they’ve ever asked is that I try to believe in myself.
How does someone believe so unconditionally?
The training. The lessons. The magics.
All of it has been a kind of healing. A way forward. Each hour spent fighting, learning, failing—it’s helped me move through the grief. Not erase it, but carry it better.
I exhale once more, steadying the weight of everything I am. Everything I’ve become. Everything I will grow into.
Then I nod. “I’m ready.”
Valen lifts his hands, moving them in a slow, deliberate circle. The air around him ripples—magics humming, thickening, pulling at the edges of the world.
Then the wraith appears.
It tears into existence like a shadow peeling away from the sky. A winged creature, towering as high as a single-story house, its wings spanning twice that height. Its body is long and sinewy, covered in smooth, blackened hide that gleams like polished obsidian when the light hits just right.
It doesn’t roar or hiss. Itwaits—silent, a predator carved from nightmares. And it’s looking straight at me.
I know this isn’t real, it’s just training. I know Thane already laced the field with protective enchantments.
But none of that feels true.
Not when I’m staring at a Kethraki with my own eyes. The sketches in books don’t capture the size, presence, or silent menace of the monster standing before me. Seeing it in the flesh—winged, hulking, predatorily still—makes everything feel more deadly.
It bends its powerful legs—and leaps. A gust of wind hits me as it launches into the sky, massive wings unfurling with a loud crack. The Kethraki lifts effortlessly, soaring higher, eyes marking me as its prey.
My jaw goes slack. Even with the wings . . . I didn’t think it would actuallyfly. Not for my first lesson with a wraith.
Shit.
How am I supposed to fight something in the air?
Taking my eyes off the Kethraki for a split second, I scan the field. Boulders in the distance; lake glinting beyond the far ridge.
Air everywhere.
Air.
Wings.
