But there’s no time to breathe. Another is already on me.
Claws rake across my back—tearing through my leathers, scraping raw against my skin. I hiss, stumbling forward from the blow. I swing my leg around and kick the Fellborn square in its chest. It flies back a few feet before scrambling back to its feet.
The pain burns, sharp and shallow. But I know,if this weren’t training . . . if this were real—that strike would’ve opened me from shoulder to spine.
Three down. Two left.
They rush me together—fast, flanking, coordinated. There’s no time to swing or dodge. I drop my sword and slam both palms to the ground, feeling the earth—solid, steady, waiting.
Rise, I command with my will; the ground answers.
A tremor cracks beneath me as two jagged pillars of stone explode upward beneath the Fellborn. They’re lifted—thrown—bodies twisting midair. And then I bring my hands down. Hard. The earth follows.
The pillars crash back into the ground like a hammer to an anvil—crushing the creatures between stone and soil. The impact shakes through my bones, dust and black mist erupting around me.
When it clears, there’s nothing left but cracked earth and silence. I don’t even realize I’m still in the stance until I feel the tremble in my legs.
“Stop!”Thane calls out. The word cuts through the field like a blade.
I turn my head, breath ragged, muscles tight, just in time to see him grip Valen’s arm firmly. Valen was mid-motion, fingers already starting to conjure another wraith.
Thane jogs out onto the field. It takes him a few seconds to reach me—long enough for doubt to creep in.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask as soon as he’s in front ofme.
His eyes scan mine—sharp, assessing. He doesn’t answer right away, instead, placing his hands gently on my shoulders turning me around.
I wince as I feel his fingers brush against my back—tracing the claw marks where the Fellborn tore through the leather, my skin grazed raw.
Then his voice—low, steady, softer than I expect. “Are you okay?”
I glance over my shoulder at him, catching the expression on his face—his brows drawn, a slight grimace tugging at his mouth as he studies the damage.
“Wait . . . so I didn’t do anything wrong?” I ask again.
I’m so used to corrections. Coaching. Instruction.
. . . adjust, more control there . . . move over . . .
I’m still looking over my shoulder when I catch it—the faintest twitch at the corner of Thane’s mouth. Almost a smile.
He straightens, letting his hands fall away, and I turn to face him fully.
“No, Amara,” he says, voice low but certain. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
There’s a pause. Just long enough for the tension to ease.
“Is that what you think of me?” His brow arches, just slightly. “You think I only show up to bark instructions?”
I look at him, a little sheepish. “Um . . . yes?”
Thane laughs. A deep, rumbling sound that rolls out of him and carries across the field like distant thunder.
My eyes widen. I honestly don’t think I’ve heard the Warlord laugh before.
He looks at me, a glint in his eye. “We’ll have to fix that, then.”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck, flushing warm beneath my collar. His gaze is steady, unrelenting, locking me into place.
