The Council rose, the decree sealed.
Auryn stood frozen until the last of them filed out.
Shu’Khan left without another word. He hadn’t brought up the cessation of Estâr, and even with the Rite of Judgement hanging over her head, that one thing was all she could think about now.
He didn’t look back. Not even once. That was the part that stung.
Something ached in the Bond, and Auryn stole a glance at Kailorien. His gaze bid for her to wait for him.
Only when the room fully emptied did he move.
He touched his hand to her shoulder.
I knew this was coming, but there was no safe way for me to silence them. I have a plan. Come to the sparring ring tonight. Bring Lu’ma.
In the evening, Auryn stood before the mirror wearing comfortable leather trousers and a tunic, something she’d found wrapped up in a package on her and Kailorien’s bed after returning from the harrowing Council session that afternoon. A gift. Perfectly tailored. She’d have to ask him one of these days how it was that he knew her measurements so well.
She glanced at Lu’ma by her side, but her Attendant just shook her head and signed that she’d had no part in this. She did compliment her on the fit, however. 'Your Radiance looks ready for battle. Will you go to war by the Resh’Agar’s side?'
Auryn had smiled at that. For so long, she’d yearned to go to Campaign with Kailorien, even if it meant jumping into combat. This gesture and his request to come to the training ring was a pleasant surprise. Kailorien had never shown enthusiasm in her wielding weapons or magic in battle before. Perhaps he now understood. The world was shifting far too much for him to keep her sequestered in his wing while he stepped out and bled for their cause.
He’d clearly planned all this to train her, but for what?
The Rite of Judgment. It must be. He has a plan, as always. The Resh’Agar hasn’t survived Krystopolis for centuries without learning how to get ahead of the Council and its whims.
Despite the dire stakes at hand and everything that had recently transpired, Auryn couldn’t help but look forward to this. At last. Combat knowledge. Training. A way to feel less helpless in situations like the Glider attack. Perhaps if she could learn to be faster, more agile, more calm in chaos, next time she could help those sworn to protect her.
I won’t let someone else die for me again. Not because of my own ineptitude. Not even for duty. Life is too precious.
“Follow me tonight, Lu’ma. Kailorien has something in mind for both of us.”
The training wing of the Resh’Agar’s sanctum stood eerie and silent, the practice mats cooled in moonlight filtering through the stained glass of the dome above. The ring was shielded by advanced wards and mana-carved stone. Here, no eyes could follow. No shadows could eavesdrop.
As she and Lu’ma stepped into the sanctum’s outer corridor. The air held a strange tension. Auryn’s boots clicked on polished stone as she rounded the corner. Kailorien stood in the center of the ring in light training armor, hair tied back, hands loose at his sides. But he wasn’t alone. A figure waited beside him, half-shadowed in a thick brown cloak and hood. Broad-shouldered. Familiar.
“Zarrek,” she gasped, forgetting all protocol and running up to him. His golden eyes took her in, leather and all, and he gave a crooked smile.
“Not in a dress today, little star?”
“You’ve returned,” she said, breath catching. “You said you wouldn’t.”
“Resh knows how to be convincing,” Zarrek said with a flick of his gaze toward Kailorien.
“You disappeared,” she whispered. “After the attack, I thought—”
Her hand came up to touch the golden braid on her shoulder, her fingers brushing the violet ribbon there.
“I don’t disappear,” he said, catching the motion with his sharp gaze. “I reposition.” Then he softened, just enough for her to see it. “I’ve been watching, Auryn. You’re not the only one who’s changed.”
“No,” Kailorien said, stepping forward at last, arms folded, voice low but decisive. “She’s not. Which is why you’re here.”
Auryn blinked between them. “What’s going on?”
Kailorien motioned to the ring. “You’re going to train. Starting tonight. Properly.”
“With you?” she asked.
“With us,” he corrected, glancing at Zarrek. “I’ll be focusing on your form—archery, movement, casting. You’re going to master that Rite, Auryn. No matter what it takes.”
