Darius gives a small nod—bronze skin, dark hair, andthoughtful eyes the color of strong tea. He has the steady kind of presence that says he probably listens more than he speaks. Fenric, on the other hand, looks like chaos wrapped in charm. Windswept blond hair, blue eyes that sparkle like they’re always mid-joke.
“Darius and I are Water Clan,” Taila adds. “Fenric’s Air Clan.”
Fenric bumps Darius with his elbow, casual. Darius just rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile. There’s an ease between them—intimate, familiar.
Lyra, never one to filter a single thought, eyes the two men across from us. “Are you two . . . together?”
I nearly choke on my porridge. Subtle as ever.
Fenric just grins, completely unfazed. He rests a hand on Darius’ lower back, fingers brushing there like it’s instinct. “This one’s mine,” he says, glancing between Lyra and Darius with a grin. “Try not to be too heartbroken.”
Darius chuckles, quiet and easy, and leans into the touch without a word.
Lyra leans back, eyebrows raised in approval. “Damn.”
Fenric raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “What? Hoping I was available?”
“No,” Lyra says, shoveling another spoonful of porridge into her mouth. “Just admiring your taste.”
Darius chuckles. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Oh, you guys are fun,” Lyra declares, nodding like she’s just decided they’re officially part of the group.
Then she gestures toward me with her spoon. “This is Amara. I’m Lyra.”
I nod, offering a quiet “Hi.”
Taila smiles back, then picks up a piece of bacon between her fingers, turning it once before taking a bite. She chews, swallows, then looks straight at me.
“We know who you are,” she says.
No accusation. Just calm certainty, like she’s naming the weather.
“You’re the Spiritborn.”
The word hangs there for a moment, heavier than I expect.
Taila sets the bacon down, her gaze steady. “We were told to leave you be. Let you come to us, if you wanted to.” A pause. “And since you’re here, you clearly chose. So—hello.”
I glance at Lyra. Her face is neutral, but there’s something flickering underneath it. Caution, maybe. Curiosity. Or just the silent question:You good?
I nod. Once. Then turn back to Taila.
“I didn’t come here to be treated like a relic,” I say, voice steady. “I came here to train. To fight. Same as the rest of you. Please treat me just like any other warrior.”
Taila holds my gaze for a beat, then nods—smiling, a little softer this time. “Good,” she says. “We could use someone like you.”
Fenric lifts his cup. “To the Spiritborn—who eats porridge just like the rest of us.”
That earns a snort from Darius and a full-blown laugh from Lyra.
And just like that, the tension breaks.
Lyra leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “So how long have you three been at the outpost?”
“Six months,” Taila says, wiping her fingers on a cloth. “We came in with one of the earlier intakes—mostly from the Water and Air Clans.”
“It’s been . . . intense,” Fenric adds, flashing a grin. “The food’s questionable, the beds are too short, and the drills were definitely designed by sadists.”
