Fenric and Taila exchange a glance. It’s Darius who answers.
“Most are decent. A few keep to themselves. A couple like to test the new ones, see where they stand.”
“Test?” Lyra echoes.
“Push your buttons. Challenge you in the yard. See if you crack,” Taila says. “Some of it’s harmless. Some of it’s . . . less so.”
“Just hold your ground,” Darius adds. “Respect earns respect.”
Fenric leans back with a grin. “Or you can do what I did and trip one of them face-first into the sparring pit. Really sets the tone.”
I smile, unguarded. Lyra laughs out loud.
And then I feel it.
A shift in the air—subtle, electric. Controlled power pressed into silence.
Thane.
I turn my head just as he steps into view from the far side of the mess hall. His movements are quiet, precise. Eyes sweeping the room, then they land on me.
Darius, Fenric, and Taila spot him a beat later. All three rise from the bench and salute in perfect unison—backs straight, expressions shifting into crisp professionalism like someone just flipped a switch.
Lyra and I don’t move.
Thane stops at our table. His eyes sweep over the three standing warriors, then land on the two of us—still sitting like we own the place. Lyra casually scoops another bite of porridge into her mouth. I just meet his gaze.
A beat passes. Then another. One corner of his mouth tugs upward.
“Good,” he says. “You’re making friends.” His voice is calm, but there’s something in it—approval, maybe. Or relief.
Taila straightens. “Warlord.”
“At ease,” he says, his tone clipped but not cold. “Please—go back to your breakfasts.”
They murmur a respectful “yes, sir” and ease back into their seats, though the air still hums from his presence.
His gaze lingers on me.
“You’ll be with me this morning,” he says. “Are you ready to join me now?”
“Sure.” I rise, grabbing my tray.
Lyra winks at me as I turn.
“Well. Okay, then,” she says, grinning. “Welcome to your first day of training.”
I smile back—small, but real—then carry my tray to the drop station and follow Thane toward the doors. At the threshold, I glance back to see four pairs of eyes tracking us.
The doors to the mess hall swing shut behind us and the noise of breakfast fades into the low hum of the outpost beyond.
The hallways are long and orderly, their floors laid with dark slate tile that echo faintly beneath our boots. Reinforced stone walls rise on either side, braced with metal framework and lit by torch sconces that flicker with elemental flame—some burning steady red, others casting a bluish glow, magics keeping them lit. These must be magelights since they burn lower than the exterior sconces, lit by dragonflame. Everything is clean, structured.
It’s such a different world from village life.
I glance at Thane as we walk, remembering he mentioned meeting the Captain yesterday, just before the dinner.
“So . . . are you taking me to Captain Elaris?”
