She huffs.“It was significant. I have been around for more than a century.I know.”
I say nothing. Because when a dragon says they know, they know.
She lowers her head beside me, her breath stirring the loose strands of hair framing my face.“You do not see it clearly yet. But it is already there.”
I press my lips into a thin line, staring into the flames. Because part of me already knows. And that knowing—that silent, creeping truth—scares me more than I want to admit.
THE SPACE BETWEEN
TWENTY-TWO
We are out of time. The tension across the realm is palpable. We must get our soldiers battle ready, even if that means cutting some corners in our training regime.”
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
The morning sun hangs low, burning orange against the horizon, casting long shadows over the training grounds. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, dirt, and steel, the clash of weapons ringing sharp against the stone walls of the outpost.
This is war preparation. The outpost has changed. The shift is impossible to ignore these last few days. There have been moreShadow Force attacks around the realm. What was once a place to train and regroup now feels like a battlefield. There are no more safe spaces.
The barracks aren’t for sleeping anymore. They’re barricaded. Armored. Transformed. Repurposed to include strategy halls, weapons storage. The medical wing has expanded to allow for more beds for the wounded. We’ve been informed that the enchantments will only protect against major injuries and death now that we are training for war.
Even the landscape has been reshaped. The once flat, open training field is unrecognizable—now a maze of trenches and ditches, forcing us to fight on uneven ground. Elevated stone ridges have been built—not just for dragon landings, but for strategic positioning. Some areas are intentionally flooded after rain, forcing us to learn to fight in wet, slippery terrain.
And there is no such thing as an idle moment.
At dawn, the outpost is already alive with the clash of steel, the crackling of fire magics, the rush of wind against stone. Even at night, patrols run drills, keeping watch, as if the enemy could arrive at any moment. Because we know they will, at any moment.
Sparring circles are gone. Now, the entire outpost is our battlefield.
One day, we fight in the forests, weaving between trees, maneuvering through shadows. The next, we fight on rocky terrain, where loose gravel shifts beneath our boots, where footing is as dangerous as the opponent in front of us.
The enemy is no longer just summoned wraiths. Valen, with the help of the other sages, calls forth entire training armies, shadow versions of the real thing. Some days, it’s one-on-one duels—brutal, unrelenting. Other days, it’s team battles, forcing us to fight in pairs, to cover each other’s weaknesses. And sometimes—it’s full skirmishes.
Chaos. No sides, no structure, just survival.
The sages don’t let us settle. If we get comfortable, they change the rules. If we start to anticipate, they shift the battlefield. They do not hold back. Because the Shadow Forces won’t.
Our endurance is tested while wielding our magics.
Fire wielders learn to control flames in the wind, in rain, on soaked ground. Wind wielders learn to use the air to evade, to conceal movement, to strike at unexpected angles. Earth wielders reinforce, stabilize, turn the terrain itself into a weapon, under every condition. Water wielders must fight without water, must learn to adapt, to call moisture from the very air.
To survive when their greatest strength is taken from them. Adapt not just to survive, but to win.
Training no longer follows a schedule.
No warnings are given for when the next mock fight will begin—we could be in the middle of sleeping or eating. Some battles last minutes. Others stretch for hours. We are thrown into them without preparation.
We fight with magics, weapons, and our bodies.
If a blade breaks, we pick up another. If we fall, we get back up. Bruised ribs don’t matter. Vomiting mid-fight doesn’t matter.
You keep going.
The only way to succeed is together. We trust each other; adapt together, fight as one.
During one of the mock fighting sessions, I stand to take a break, sword in hand, sweat dripping down my back. I roll my shoulders, regripping the hilt of my blade.
