I blink, caught off guard. There’s still so much I want to ask—so much just starting to make sense. But before I can speak, he gives me a look. Knowing. Final.
“Isn’t today your day of rest?” he adds, arching a brow.
I nod slowly.
“Then you should be with your friends.” His voice softens, but there’s no room for argument in it. “Balance is part of training, Amara. It’s just as important to rest your mind as it is to strengthen your body. Reflection requires conversations with people other than your old mentor.”
He moves to return the book to its shelf. “Come back tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder. “We’ll pick up where we left off.”
UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTERS
ELEVEN
“Word of the Spiritborn has spread across the realm. Whispers ripple through the clans—speculation. Most questions circle her parentage, her lineage, and whether she truly is the one named in the Prophecy. Can she be the foretold savior? The one destined to stand against the Shadow Forces? Hope appears to be taking root. But it faces doubt, just as certainly.”
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
Lyra and I are meeting Taila, Darius, and Fenric at the pub for lunch. It’s rare we all get a chance to unwind together and I’m looking forward to it.
There’s something about the village—its energy, its warmth—that feels like a small escape from everything back at the outpost. After lunch, we plan to walk around, maybe browse the market.
The pub is warm and loud, filled with the low hum of voices and the clatter of plates. We’re gathered around one of the bigger tables near the hearth, plates full, glasses of ale catching the golden light filtering through the windows.
The men are dressed down in shirts and pants, their usual leathers and weapons traded for comfort. Lyra, Taila, and I are in leggings and light sweaters, soft fabrics we rarely get to wear. There’s still a chill in the spring air, but here, it’s cozy.
Darius leans back in his chair, dark braids falling over his shoulder, already halfway through his second glass.
“This,” he says, lifting it in a toast to no one in particular, “is what I fight for.”
Fenric chuckles, biting into a thick slice of bread slathered in butter. “You fight for ale?”
“I fight for peace. Ale is peace.”
“Ah yes, that’s what we’re training for. Ale!” Fenric grins and raises his glass to the ceiling before taking a sip.
Lyra leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, her glass of ale sloshing slightly in her hand.
“So, Mara,” she says, drawing out my name like she’s about to cause trouble. “Still getting theexclusivetraining package from Lord Caelum himself?”
I roll my eyes, trying not to smile. “And Valen.”
“Right, right,” Taila smirks. “The wise, robe-wearing mage who could talk a dragon into a nap. But we’re all very curious about theotherone.”
Darius arches one brow. “Is it true that Thane only trains you because no one else isworthyof the task?”
Fenric snorts, his blue eyes dancing. “Or because he wants to make sure no one else gets too close.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “He trains me because I’m a walking Elemental hazard—he and Valen are the only ones patient enough not to throw me off a cliff.”
“That’s not a denial,” Lyra sings.
“I’m serious,” I say, laughing despite myself. “Have youseenwhat happens when I lose control?”
“Yes,” Taila says, stabbing a piece of roast on her fork. “We all remember the Fireball Incident. Rest in peace, training shed number three.”
I cringe at the memory—Valen had me launching multiple fireballs simultaneously at a line of targets. One got away from me—it exploded against a nearby training shed and lit the roof like kindling. Lyra still calls it my ‘scorched earth’ phase, joking ‘it was the end of an era, but the start of an age.’
