Something shifts in his expression—quiet understanding, threaded beneath the calm. “But waiting and doing nothing arenot the same thing.”
I exhale, slow and measured, trying to let his words settle.
“But it doesn’t change what comes next,” Thane adds.
The breeze shifts, curling through the archways, rustling the banners along the stone walls.
“We prepare. We find out what they want.” He pauses. “And we don’t let them take it.”
I exhale sharply, frustration curling tight in my chest. “Waiting is the hardest part. How do you do it?”
“This is war.” Thane’s voice is even, but there’s weight beneath it—something honed by experience. “Sometimes leading means making hard, heartbreaking decisions for the greater good.” He holds my gaze, unwavering. “If we throw you into battle now and you die, we lose more than just a soldier. We lose what it means to have a Spiritborn.”
The wind shifts, rustling through the courtyard, carrying the scent of damp stone and earth.
“You are more than just a warrior, Amara.” Thane’s eyes hold steady on mine, smoke-gray and resolute. “Your power—what you are—means more than a sword in a fight. You don’t exist to swing a blade at the first sign of war.”
I swallow, my arms still crossed tight over my chest. “Then what do I exist for?” The words slip out—quieter than I meant.
Thane doesn’t look away. “To end it.”
The finality in his voice settles deep, like a stone sinking into water.
I let out a slow breath, feeling the truth of his words lodge inside me. The war looms ahead, inevitable. And I’m meant to do more than just survive it.
I’m meant to finish it.
For once, I have no quick retort. The weight of his words takes root deep in my chest—heavy, still. I swallow, tilting my chin up toward the sky. The stars stretch far above us, cold anddistant, unaware of the war brewing below.
After a moment, I say, “The air is warming.” It’s obvious, but it’s all I can manage.
Thane hums in acknowledgment. “Solstice approaches.”
I blink hard, willing away the burning in my eyes. I will not cry in front of the Warlord.
I force my legs to move, hoping the subject change isn’t too obvious. Thane says nothing. He just walks beside me, hands slipping into his pockets.
I just hug myself tighter.
I glance at him. “Do you ever pay attention to the seasons? Or only the wars that come with them?”
Something flickers in his expression—a shadow of amusement, maybe. “The latter.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Of course you do.”
His gaze slides to me, and I swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch.
Silence stretches again, but it feels different this time. Not heavy. Not tense. Just . . . a comfortable quiet.
The path leads us toward the outer wall, where the torches thin and the world feels wider somehow. The capital city looms in the far distance, a steady presence, but here—beneath the stars, with only the sound of our footsteps and the breeze through the trees—I almost forget the gravity of everything that waits for me outside of these outpost walls.
We stop near the edge of the stone wall. We stand in silence, neither of us moving to leave, neither speaking. But it feels like a conversation anyway.
The night stretches wide around us, vast and endless. Beyond the outpost walls, the distant croak of frogs rises from the lake, a slow and rhythmic sound, blending with the faint hum of crickets hidden in the tall grass.
A breeze stirs the air, warm but fresh, carrying the scentof damp earth and pine. The first fireflies of summer begin to flicker. Tiny golden sparks, pulsing in the darkness like stars fallen too close to the ground.
I don’t know how long we stand there, staring at the horizon. Behind us, the torchlight flickers, catching on the stone. The weight of all that happened this evening still presses against my ribs.
