And Valen?
He watches. He is scant with his praise and never seems to over criticize. Just nods, and tells me to do it again.
Always again.
By midday, I barely have time to breathe before Thane takes over. Combat training is relentless. No room for hesitation, no time for self-doubt. If Valen’s lessons are about understanding, Thane’s are about survival. Every day, I am knocked to the ground. Every day, I get back up.
Bracers. Footwork. Blocking.
“Too slow.”
“Again.”
“Kill shot.”
“Faster.”
I’m starting to see the changes. I’m getting stronger. Fall less.Block more. Read his movements just a fraction of a second sooner.
Evenings are the only time I see my friends. We sit together at meals, but are often too tired to talk about much. We exchange weary glances over plates of food, sometimes trade sarcastic remarks about how our instructors are trying to kill us, but no one really complains.
By the time we reach the barracks at night, we barely make it to our bunks before collapsing into sleep.
The next morning, it all begins again.
In the weeks since our arrival, I’ve begun to learn the rhythms of the outpost—the way the warriors train, how they move together, how they fight.
I’ve also noticed the way most of them keep their distance from me.
It’s not open hostility, but something quieter, more cautious. They don’t know what to make of me.
I’m still figuring it out myself so I understand.
I hear the way they saySpiritborn,in hushed tones when they think I can’t hear.
Spiritborn.
Not just another warrior in training, but something else entirely. Something mythical, not ‘real.’
But my friends don’t let their wariness stop them.
Lyra wedges herself into my orbit, pulling others in with her, making it impossible for them to ignore me completely. Fenric teases, he prods, he laughs in the face of their hesitation. Taila and Darius often ask me to join them in sparring sessions.
And little by little, the other soldiers ease into conversation with me.
Through them, I begin to understand what it means to be a warrior here. Strength is not about who you are—it’s about what you choose to do. Men and women train together, fight side byside, push each other with the same relentless intensity. I watch as women knock their opponents flat on their backs in sparring matches, as men take their hits without protest.
Skill, not size or gender, determines the victor.
There’s no hesitation in their movements, no second-guessing their place. They fight with an understanding that has been shaped by years of war, by battles won and lost, by the knowledge that, when the time comes, the only thing that matters is survival.
I wonder if, one day, they will see me as one of them.
I’m grateful to have found a few friends—real ones. Taila, Darius, and Fenric didn’t flinch at the mention of prophecies, or who I’m supposed to be. They treat me like anyone else. They joke, they give me hell, they don’t hold back—and I appreciate that more than they know. Because with them, I feel human, almost normal. Not some magical . . . thing.
Early mornings with Valen are my favorite time of day. Not just because of the quiet at dawn, when the world is still waking, when the only sounds are the birds singing their songs and the wind whispering through the trees. But because of the history. For a little while, I’m not just a warrior-in-training, or a girl struggling to control powers. I’m a student of the world.
Learning about the realm, the Clans—who we were, who we became, what was lost and what remains. The world is so much bigger than I ever imagined. Before coming to the outpost, my life never stretched beyond the quiet rhythm of farm work and small-town worries. I never thought about the cities, the kingdoms, the histories that shaped them.
