There’s a trace of something dry in his voice—amusement, maybe. Or experience.
“He’s respected,” Thane adds after a beat. “Tough, fair. And loyal. The kind of man you want watching your back.”
“And evaluating me?”
Thane glances at me. “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could handle it.”
I nod, even though part of me still wonders whatherereally means.
We pass a wide arch that opens into a courtyard. Beyond it, a group of Earth Clan warriors is drilling with weighted staves, their movements precise, dust rising with each strike. One of them lets out a sharp breath as he pivots hard into a parry.
No one hesitates. No one slacks. It’s all discipline andrepetition and grit.
“I’m guessing this place doesn’t do ‘easy,’” I murmur.
Thane’s mouth curves slightly. “No. But it does ‘earned.’”
We walk on, stone giving way to open archways and glimpses of the training fields beyond. Morning mist clings to the earth, and the low hum of protective wards pulses faintly in the distance.
Thane walks with that same quiet authority—controlled, steady—but now that we’re alone, I see something else in him. Not weariness exactly. Just . . . weight. Like he’s carrying more than armor and command.
So curious, I ask. “Do you ever get time to yourself?”
He doesn’t stop walking, but his eyes flick toward me. Clearly, it’s not the kind of question he usually gets.
After a moment, he exhales. “Not really.”
“No quiet mornings? No disappearing into the woods for a few hours?”
He almost smiles. Almost. “Not since I took command.”
I nod, letting that sit for a beat. “Sounds exhausting.”
“It is,” he says. Honest. Unapologetic. “But I chose it.”
“And if you hadn’t?”
He glances at me again, slower this time, like he’s weighing what to give. “Then someone else would’ve. And the realm would be worse for it.”
Either he thinks much of himself or he’s telling the truth.
The silence that follows is thoughtful. Like something unspoken just passed between us.
Ahead, the outer fields come into view. The grass is still damp with morning dew, and Valen waits at the edge of a stone-marked training ring, staff in hand, robes catching the breeze.
Thane slows as we reach the path’s end. “Valen is expecting you,” he says. “This is where it begins.”
I nod, pulse kicking up a notch.
“I’ll leave you here,” he adds. Then, just before he turns, his voice quiet—almost reluctant— “And for what it’s worth . . . I do miss the quiet sometimes.”
Then he turns and walks away, his broad silhouette fading back into the corridors of the outpost.
I watch him go.
And then I turn—not just toward the ring, or Valen, but toward the shift I know is coming. The part of me that doesn’t belong to the girl I was in the village. The part I still don’t fully understand.
I’m dressed in a training tunic—soft, durable fabric with reinforced stitching along the shoulders and sleeves. Lyra has a matching one. I remember her grinning as she laced up her boots this morning, saying she was headed to squad drills after breakfast. Balance and movement work. Nothing flashy yet.
