Lyria's— POV
Night came quietly—too quietly.
I couldn't sleep.
No matter how many times I closed my eyes, the darkness behind them refused to settle. It shifted, restless—just like my thoughts.
The curtains stirred gently beside my bed as the night breeze slipped in, cool against my skin. Moonlight spilled across the floor, pale and silver, touching the edge of my desk, my chair, the sword resting against the wall.
The palace had settled into its usual stillness, the kind that only existed after the corridors emptied and the torches burned low. I sat by the window of my chamber, knees drawn close, staring out at the darkened courtyard below.
But my thoughts refused to rest.
Elyra Voss.
Even her name carried weight.
The legendary huntress. Raven's master.
I had felt it the moment she stepped into the training yard earlier that day—that presence. Sharp. Controlled. Unyielding. The kind of strength that didn't need to announce itself to be feared.
She had watched us.
Watched Raven.
And I had never felt so transparent in my life.
I rested my chin against my knee, fingers tightening in the fabric of my night dress as memory replayed itself without permission. The way Elyra's gaze had flicked toward me now and then—not judging, not dismissive, but measuring.
As if weighing something unseen.
I wondered what she saw.
A sheltered princess playing at swords?
A distraction?
Or worse—someone who might become a weakness.
My chest tightened at the thought.
Raven had stood straighter when Elyra arrived. More guarded. The faint softness she sometimes allowed around me vanished almost instantly, replaced by discipline and distance.
I had noticed.
Of course I had.
It hurt more than I wanted to admit.
I exhaled slowly and closed my eyes, pressing my forehead lightly against the cool glass of the window.
She listens to her, I thought.
Truly listens.
When Elyra scolded her, Raven didn't deflect. Didn't joke. Didn't pretend.
She accepted it.
And that terrified me.
Because what did that make me?
Earlier, when I had spoken—when I had told Elyra about Raven nearly collapsing—the words had left my mouth too easily.
Part of me had done it out of worry.
Another part…
I swallowed.
Another part of me had wanted someone stronger than me to stop Raven. To protect her in a way I couldn't.
The guilt sat heavy in my chest now.
Had I betrayed her trust?
Raven's widened eyes flashed through my mind—the brief surprise, the silent plea in them.
She hadn't been angry.
That was somehow worse.
I curled my fingers into the windowsill.
"I just wanted you safe," I whispered into the empty room.
But safety had never been Raven's language.
Strength was.
Endurance.
Sacrifice.
And Elyra understood that better than anyone.
I drew a slow breath and opened my eyes again, gazing at the training yard far below. Empty now. Silent.
Earlier today, Elyra had praised me.
You're improving quickly.
The words had warmed me then.
Now they felt fragile.
If Raven left one day—if she followed her master, her path, her endless pursuit of power—
Would my improvement matter?
Would I be anything more than a chapter she outgrew?
I hugged my arms tighter around myself, feeling strangely small despite the vastness of the palace.
I didn't want to be a burden.
I didn't want to be a weakness.
And I didn't want to stand on the sidelines, watching the people I cared about walk away because I wasn't strong enough to keep up.
The night wind stirred the curtains again, brushing against my skin like a quiet reminder.
Tomorrow, Elyra would be gone.
But the imprint she left behind—the questions, the fear, the resolve—
That would remain.
And as I finally lay back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, one truth settled firmly in my heart:
If Raven refused to slow down for anyone—
Then I would become strong enough to walk beside her.
No matter the cost.
Next morning I woke late.
That realization came to me slowly, drifting up from the remnants of a restless night where sleep had clung to me only in fragments. Every time I closed my eyes, thoughts returned—Raven, Elyra, the training yard, the weight of watching eyes.
I had barely slept at all.
The sound of my chamber door opening pulled me halfway back into the world. I groaned softly and turned my face into the pillow, hoping—foolishly—that if I pretended not to exist, the morning might pass me by.
"Your Highness," Cara whispered, far too cheerfully for the hour, "wake up."
I tightened my grip on the blanket and mumbled something incoherent, my body heavy and unwilling. My limbs felt like stone, my thoughts slow and blurred. I just wanted a little more sleep. Just a few more minutes.
The mattress dipped as she stepped closer.
I felt her presence near the bed, and then her voice lowered, suddenly conspiratorial.
"Raven is here to see you."
My eyes flew open.
I shot upright so fast the room spun violently, and for a split second I nearly tumbled straight off the bed.
"What—Raven? Where?" I blurted out, heart pounding as I scrambled for balance.
Cara doubled over, clutching her stomach as laughter burst from her in loud, unapologetic peals.
"I was joking—slow down!" she managed between laughs. "You were about to fall."
Realization hit me a heartbeat later.
Heat rushed to my face.
"You—!" I grabbed the nearest thing within reach—a book resting on the side table—and hurled it at her.
She dodged easily, still laughing.
"I will kill you," I threatened, though my voice betrayed me with laughter of my own as I lunged forward.
Cara was already moving, light on her feet, darting across the room with infuriating ease. I chased her for exactly three seconds before my exhaustion caught up with me.
I collapsed onto the sofa, breathing hard.
"I surrender," I said dramatically. "You're too fast."
She plopped down on the opposite couch, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, still grinning. "But you wouldn't wake up no matter what I tried. That was my only solution and my new solution ." She was smirking
I shook my head, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself.
"It's fine," I said, then frowned slightly. "What time is it?"
"Half past nine," Cara replied. "And the King wants to see you. There's a meeting with the council at ten. You need to get ready."
My heart sank a little at the mention of the council.
Of course there was a meeting.
I sighed and pushed myself upright. "I haven't slept this late since I was a child."
"I'll bring you something to eat before the meeting," Cara said, already rising. "You look like you might faint if you don't."
"Thank you," I said softly. "I'll be ready in fifteen minutes."
She smiled, satisfied, and left the room, closing the door behind her.
The silence returned—but it felt different now.
Heavier.
I stood and moved toward the mirror, barely recognizing the girl staring back at me. My eyes were shadowed, my hair slightly disheveled. I looked tired.
But more than that—
I looked distracted.
I brushed my hair back slowly, my thoughts drifting despite my efforts to focus.
Raven isn't here, I reminded myself.
And yet my pulse still hadn't fully settled.
I pressed a hand to my chest and let out a quiet breath.
I straightened my shoulders.
Council or not, responsibilities waited.
But as I began to dress, fastening clasps and smoothing fabric, one thought lingered stubbornly at the forefront of my mind—
I hoped I would see Raven today.
Not as my instructor.
Not as my protector.
But simply…
As herself.
The council chamber felt colder than usual.
Not because of the stone walls or the high ceiling that swallowed sound, but because of the silence that settled whenever someone finished speaking—as if the room itself was holding its breath.
Tall stone pillars lined the circular hall, their carved surfaces bearing the sigils of old houses long gone. Sunlight filtered through high, narrow windows, casting long bands of gold across the polished floor. At the center stood the great oval table—dark wood, scarred by decades of arguments, treaties, and quiet threats.
I arrived a moment after my father had taken his seat.
The King.
His presence alone shifted the air. He was not loud, nor cruel—but when he looked at someone, it felt as though he saw straight through armor and pride alike. Today, his expression was composed, unreadable.
The councilors rose, one by one, offering formal bows and murmured greetings. I returned the gesture politely and moved to the chair beside the King, smoothing my sleeves as I sat. Cara remained behind me, quiet and watchful, her presence a familiar anchor.
The great table dominated the chamber—dark wood polished smooth by years of restless hands and measured arguments. Carved symbols of old alliances marked its edges, reminders that power here was never simple, never clean.
My father nodded once.
The meeting began.
Councilor Harven spoke first, his voice confident, practiced. "The eastern trade routes remain unstable. Merchant caravans have reported increased losses—some from bandits, others from… less ordinary threats."
Councilor Mereth folded his hands. "We cannot afford further disruption. Trade feeds the capital. If merchants lose faith in royal protection, they will turn elsewhere."
Another voice joined in. "Deploying additional royal guards would leave the northern provinces vulnerable."
Back and forth it went.
Strategies. Objections. Calculated compromises.
I listened—or tried to.
But my thoughts felt distant, drifting just beyond reach, like fog slipping through my fingers. I followed the conversation, noted the tension beneath polite words, yet something inside me felt restless, unsettled.
Perhaps it was the weight of the crown I was expected to wear one day.
Or perhaps it was the way every decision here carried consequences far beyond this room.
"Your Highness?"
I startled slightly and looked up.
Councilor Istren was watching me. "Your opinion?"
All eyes turned toward me.
I inhaled slowly, gathering my thoughts. "Security must be strengthened," I said carefully. "But not at the cost of abandoning our people elsewhere. A rotating deployment may ease the strain."
My father inclined his head—approval, quiet and reassuring.
Harven leaned forward. "A reasonable suggestion. Though rotations alone may not be enough."
Mereth's gaze sharpened. "Which is why oversight and control must be improved."
The word lingered uncomfortably in the air.
"Control of what?" I asked.
"Of forces operating within the kingdom," he replied smoothly. "Those who act outside formal chains of command."
I felt something tighten in my chest.
"Caution is necessary," Mereth continued. "Unregulated strength—no matter how useful—poses risks to stability."
Stability.
The word sounded so clean, so harmless.
And yet, it often meant fear of change.
"Fear should not guide policy," I said quietly.
A pause followed.
My father spoke then, his voice calm but firm. "Neither should paranoia. We will not allow fear to dictate our governance."
The tension at the table thickened, subtle but unmistakable.
Councilor Harven exhaled. "No one here is suggesting fear, Your Majesty. Only prudence."
"Prudence must be balanced with trust," the King replied.
The discussion shifted—tax allocations, border negotiations, diplomatic envoys—but the atmosphere remained strained. Words were chosen carefully now, like pieces in a game where one mistake could cost everything.
I nodded when expected.
Responded when addressed.
But part of me felt distant, as though I were watching the meeting from behind glass.
I wondered when ruling became less about people—and more about managing threats.
By the time my father formally adjourned the meeting, my head ached.
The councilors rose and filed out, some satisfied, others frustrated. Their expressions revealed more than their words ever did.
I remained seated for a moment longer, hands resting in my lap.
Cara leaned closer. "You seemed distracted."
"I was thinking," I said softly.
"About what?"
I hesitated.
"About how heavy decisions become… when you realize they never truly end."
She gave a small, understanding nod.
As I stood and followed my father from the chamber, one thought echoed in my mind—
Power was never just authority.
It was responsibility.
And it was loneliness.
The palace felt different after the council meeting.
Not louder, not emptier—just heavier.
The echoes of measured voices still clung to the corridors as Cara and I walked side by side, our footsteps soft against the polished stone floors. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, painting long ribbons of gold across the walls, but even the warmth of the morning couldn't quite chase away the unease coiled in my chest.
I exhaled slowly.
Cara noticed immediately. She always did.
"That meeting drained you," she said gently.
I gave a small, tired smile. "Is it that obvious?"
"You stopped frowning only once," she replied. "And that was when your father ended it."
I let out a quiet laugh and shook my head. "They talk in circles. Everyone protecting something—power, reputation, fear—yet no one says what they're really afraid of."
We turned into a quieter hallway, one that led away from the council chambers and toward the inner gardens. The air there felt lighter, scented faintly with jasmine and stone warmed by sunlight.
Cara gestured toward a bench beneath an archway covered in climbing ivy. "Sit," she said, not as a suggestion, but as a command softened by care.
I didn't argue.
The stone bench was cool beneath my palms as I sat, smoothing my skirts absentmindedly. For a while, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable—just needed.
I watched dust motes drift lazily in the light.
"Do you ever wonder," I said finally, "when responsibility stops being something you carry… and starts becoming something that carries you instead?"
Cara tilted her head, considering. "I think that moment passed for you a long time ago."
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You listen too carefully," she said. "You notice everything. That's not something you learn overnight."
I stared down at my hands.
"I'm afraid," I admitted quietly.
Cara didn't interrupt.
"I'm afraid of becoming someone who only sees the world in numbers and risks," I continued. "Of forgetting what it feels like to care—really care—about people, not positions."
She leaned back against the stone column behind the bench. "You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do," she said calmly. "Because you worry about it."
That made my throat tighten.
I looked away, toward the garden path where leaves stirred gently in the breeze. Somewhere beyond the walls, the city was alive—messy, loud, human.
"I don't want to rule from a distance," I said. "I don't want to become unreachable."
"You won't," Cara repeated. "You still listen. You still feel. And honestly?" She smiled faintly. "You still get distracted far too easily."
I frowned. "Distracted by what?"
She gave me a sideways look. A knowing one.
"…By training," I said quickly.
Her smile widened.
"Of course."
Heat crept up my cheeks. I stood abruptly. "We should head to the training grounds. I don't want to be late."
Cara pushed herself upright as well. "Relax. There's still time."
I hesitated, then nodded. The tension in my shoulders eased just a little.
As we began walking again, I felt steadier—grounded.
The council's voices faded into memory, replaced by the quiet certainty of movement, of routine, of something familiar waiting ahead.
Whatever burdens the crown would place upon me…
For now, I could breathe.
The training grounds were already alive when we arrived.
Steel rang against steel in measured rhythms, the sound carrying across the wide stone yard like a heartbeat. Knights moved through their drills with disciplined precision, boots striking the ground in perfect unison. The air was thick with the scent of dust, worn leather, and the warmth of the early sun—an energy that made the world feel awake, expectant.
I wrapped my fingers tightly around the wooden sword at my side, the familiar texture grounding me. The weight of it steadied my breathing.
Focus, I told myself.
I always did.
Cara stood a few steps away, stretching lazily, rolling her shoulders as if this were nothing more than another ordinary morning. She looked completely at ease—too at ease.
I was not.
My gaze drifted again, drawn helplessly toward the entrance of the yard. I caught myself, forced my eyes back to the center, then glanced again moments later.
I didn't know what I was waiting for , no , that was a lie , I knew exactly who .
"Stop pacing," Cara said casually, not even bothering to look at me.
"I'm not pacing," I replied too quickly.
She snorted, clearly unconvinced.
I inhaled slowly, straightened my posture, and finally faced the center of the yard—just as the sound of footsteps reached my ears.
I felt her before I saw her.
The air shifted in a way I couldn't explain, subtle yet undeniable. My chest tightened, my pulse stuttered, and my grip on the sword instinctively tightened.
Raven stepped into the training grounds.
She moved with quiet confidence, her dark clothing blending into the shadows at the edges of the yard. There was no hesitation in her stride—no wasted movement. It was as if the space itself made room for her without being asked.
The morning light brushed against her hair, catching faint silver where black should have been, like ink touched by moonlight.
And just like that—
My focus shattered.
She looked tired.
Not weak—never that—but there was a faint pallor to her skin, a stillness to her expression that hadn't been there before. It twisted something painful inside my chest.
She surveyed the yard once, eyes sharp and assessing, then her gaze found me.
For a single heartbeat, everything else blurred.
The clang of steel faded. The voices around us dissolved into noise.
Her eyes met mine.
And I forgot how to breathe.
Not because she looked fierce.
But because she looked calm.
Calm in a way that unraveled my thoughts, loosened every carefully built defense I had.
She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, and a small smile touched her lips—not warm, not cold. Just… Raven.
"Good morning, Princess."
My name lingered there, unspoken but clearly meant for me.
I swallowed. "Good morning, Raven."
My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
She glanced briefly toward Cara. "You're early."
Cara grinned. "You say that like it's unusual."
Raven exhaled softly, something almost like amusement flickering across her face. Then her attention returned to me—focused, observant, uncomfortably perceptive.
"Today," she said calmly, "we'll be training harder than before."
I stiffened.
"Much harder," she continued, her tone deceptively even. "I hope you're ready. We won't be stopping—not even if you beg for a break."
She took a step closer.
"Not until you collapse from exhaustion."
I stared at her, concern and confusion tightening my chest. "Why?" I asked quietly.
Her lips curved into a faint smirk—dangerous, knowing.
"You told on me to my master yesterday," she said. "Consider this your punishment."
For a moment, I forgot how to speak.
Behind me, Cara burst out laughing.
"Oh, this is going to be fun," she said between breaths.
I couldn't move.
I stood there frozen, heart pounding, unsure whether I was more afraid of the training ahead—or the way Raven was looking at me now.
"Come on," Raven said, already turning toward the center of the yard. "Let's begin."
And somehow, despite the fear tightening in my chest…
I followed.
We stood at the center of the training grounds, wooden swords in hand, the wide stone yard stretching around us beneath the pale morning sky.
I forced my shoulders back, straightening my posture despite the tension already coiling in my muscles. The sun had risen higher now, its warmth settling over the yard, but there was a sharpness in the air that made every breath feel too clear—too honest.
Raven remained silent for a moment, her gaze sweeping across the grounds with practiced awareness. Her eyes lingered on the shaded benches near the outer wall, then on the empty space beside them.
"Where is Princess Evanna?" she asked suddenly, her voice calm but curious. "I don't see her today. She wanted to train with us."
The question surprised me. I hadn't expected her to notice Evanna's absence so quickly.
I allowed myself a small smile. "She's busy," I replied. "She has lessons today—magic theory and spell control."
Raven nodded once, accepting the answer without comment.
"Alright, then," she said evenly. "Let's begin."
My grip tightened around the wooden sword.
"We'll continue from where we left off yesterday—block, defend, counter."
She turned toward me fully now, her attention narrowing until it felt as though the rest of the world had fallen away.
"I'll attack," Raven said. "You defend. Focus on timing, not strength."
I swallowed and nodded.
Before I could fully brace myself, she moved.
Her first strike came fast—clean and precise. I barely managed to raise my sword in time, the impact rattling through my arms and into my shoulders.
Then another strike.
And another.
Raven didn't pause. She didn't slow. Her attacks flowed seamlessly from one to the next, each blow calculated to test a different weakness—my footing, my reaction time, my balance.
I blocked one strike, then another, the sound of wood against wood ringing sharply in my ears.
My arms began to burn.
"Don't retreat," Raven said calmly, even as she pressed forward. "Hold your ground."
I tried.
Gods, I tried.
But my breathing grew uneven, my muscles screaming as the weight of each block accumulated. Sweat gathered at my temples, slipping down my neck, and my grip began to falter despite my best efforts.
She didn't stop.
Each time I adjusted, she changed her angle. Each time I thought I had found a rhythm, she broke it.
My arms felt heavy—numb, almost detached from my body.
I lifted my sword again, but it trembled in my hands.
Another strike came.
I was too slow.
The impact jolted through my fingers, and suddenly—my sword slipped free.
It hit the stone ground with a dull clatter.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
I froze, chest heaving, staring down at my empty hands as the ache finally caught up with me.
Raven stopped.
For a moment, there was only the sound of my breathing.
She studied me in silence, her expression unreadable. Then she lowered her sword.
"For Ten minutes," she said. "You can Rest."
Relief flooded through me so suddenly my knees nearly buckled.
Raven turned away, already shifting her attention toward Cara.
"Your turn," she added calmly.
I stepped back, arms burning, heart pounding, and sank down near the edge of the yard, my hands still shaking.
Ten minutes.
I wasn't sure whether I was grateful…
Or terrified of what would come after.
I retreated to the edge of the training grounds, lowering myself onto the cool stone bench with a quiet sigh. My arms throbbed, heavy and uncooperative, as if they no longer belonged to me. I flexed my fingers slowly, trying to coax the feeling back into them, and lifted my gaze just in time to watch Raven turn toward Cara.
Even at rest, I couldn't look away.
Raven stood at ease in the center of the yard, wooden sword held loosely at her side, posture relaxed—but deceptive. I had trained with her long enough to recognize the difference between calm and restraint.
She tilted her head slightly, studying Cara.
"Same as with the princess," Raven said evenly. "I'll attack. You focus on blocking only."
Cara's eyes lit up immediately. She rolled her shoulders once, grinning with unmistakable excitement.
"Don't hold back," Cara said brightly. "Come at me with everything you've got."
For a heartbeat, Raven didn't respond.
Then one corner of her mouth lifted—just a little.
"If I attacked you with my full strength," Raven replied with a faint smirk, "you wouldn't last a minute."
Cara laughed. "We'll see."
"Alright," Raven said calmly. "Let's begin."
I barely had time to inhale.
Raven moved.
She crossed the distance between them in a blink, her strike fast and devastating. Cara raised her sword to block—and when their weapons met, the impact cracked through the yard like thunder.
The sound made me flinch.
Even from where I sat, I could see it—Cara's arms shuddering under the force, her boots sliding half a step backward against the stone.
My breath caught.
Raven didn't stop.
Her attacks came in relentless succession, each strike precise and heavy, carrying a weight that made my stomach tighten. Cara blocked again—and again—but each time she was driven further back, heels scraping, posture faltering under the pressure.
I found myself gripping the edge of the bench without realizing it.
Gods… I thought. Please don't let her ever hit me like that.
With every clash, Cara's grin faded, replaced by concentration—then strain. Sweat broke across her brow, her breathing turning sharp and uneven as she fought just to keep her sword raised.
Raven pressed forward, unyielding.
Then—
A sharp crack split the air.
Cara's wooden sword snapped in two.
The broken half clattered across the stone as Raven stopped instantly, lowering her weapon as if the fight had never existed.
"Go get a new sword," Raven said calmly. "And take a short rest."
Cara bent forward, hands on her knees, gasping for air.
"I thought," she wheezed, "you said you wouldn't attack with full strength."
Raven raised an eyebrow, completely composed.
"I didn't," she replied.
I stared at her in stunned silence.
Cara straightened slowly, staring at the broken sword in disbelief before trudging toward the weapons rack beside me.
"I can't feel my arms," she muttered as she passed, dropping onto the bench with a groan.
Raven's gaze shifted.
And landed on me.
"Princess," she said evenly. "Your turn. Pick up your sword and come here."
My throat went dry.
I swallowed hard and pushed myself to my feet, legs unsteady as I stepped back into the yard. Each step toward her felt heavier than the last.
I lowered my voice as I approached, almost pleading.
"Please go easy on me … don't attack me like you attacked Cara."
For a split second, Raven said nothing.
Then she smiled.
It wasn't kind.
It wasn't cruel either.
It was dangerous , it was wicked smile
"Are you ready?" she asked.
Behind me, Cara burst into laughter.
I winced.
At that moment, I truly, deeply regretted telling Elyra about Raven collapsing yesterday.
My hands trembled as I lifted my sword, fingers tightening around the handle despite the ache in my arms. I raised it into position, forcing my stance to hold even as my heart pounded wildly in my chest.
I was facing her again.
And this time…
I wasn't sure I would survive ten minutes.
Raven raised her wooden sword.
The motion was smooth—almost lazy—but something in the air shifted the instant she moved. My instincts screamed before my mind could catch up.
She attacked.
Fast.
Too fast.
By the time I realized what was happening, she was already in front of me. I hadn't even lifted my sword. My arms felt heavy, useless, frozen by shock rather than fear.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself.
This is it.
But the pain never came.
No impact. No shock. No force driving through my skull.
Only silence.
Confused, my breath caught in my throat as I slowly opened my eyes.
Raven's blade hovered inches from my face.
So close I could see my own wide reflection in the polished wood. So close that a single careless breath would have closed the distance.
She had stopped.
Not hesitated—stopped. Perfectly. Completely.
My heart hammered against my ribs, loud enough that I was certain she could hear it.
Then, gently—almost impossibly so—she tapped the top of my head with the flat of her sword.
It barely hurt.
The touch was light, careful, restrained in a way that made my chest tighten more than any blow would have.
"Focus," Raven said calmly.
Her voice wasn't sharp. It wasn't mocking.
It was steady. Grounding.
She stepped back several paces, creating distance between us again. The space she left behind felt colder, emptier.
"Get ready," she added.
I swallowed hard and forced my fingers to tighten around my sword.
Only then did I realize my hands were shaking.
She could have hit me.
She should have hit me.
But she didn't.
And somehow, that terrified me more than the strike itself.
I drew in a slow, trembling breath and raised my sword properly this time, fixing my eyes on her—on her stance, her grip, her balance.
On the quiet promise in her posture.
She wouldn't miss.
Not next time.
Raven lunged toward me again.
This time, she was slower.
Not slow enough to feel safe—but slow enough that I noticed the difference. The realization struck me almost as hard as her blade would have.
She's holding back.
For me.
The thought sent a strange mix of relief and frustration through my chest.
I raised my sword just in time, barely managing to intercept the strike aimed at my neck. The impact jolted down my arms, rattling my bones. My grip slipped for half a heartbeat, and I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to hold on.
Before I could recover, her second strike came—angled toward my shoulder.
I turned my blade instinctively, steel meeting wood with a sharp crack. Pain flared along my forearms, dull and spreading, but I stayed upright.
She didn't stop.
Again.
And again.
Her attacks flowed into one another without pause, each strike deliberate, precise. With every blow, the weight behind her sword increased—subtle at first, then unmistakable. She was testing me. Measuring how much I could endure.
With every second, my breathing grew heavier.
With every strike, I took another step back.
My heels scraped against the packed dirt of the training ground as I retreated, my muscles screaming in protest. Sweat blurred my vision, and my arms burned so badly I could barely feel my fingers anymore.
"Don't just block my strikes," Raven said calmly, her voice steady despite the relentless motion. "Read my movements. Anticipate where I'll strike before I do."
Easier said than done.
She kept attacking.
Minutes stretched—five, ten, fifteen—until time lost its meaning. My lungs felt like they were on fire. Each breath came in sharp, desperate gasps. My shoulders ached, my wrists trembled, and still she didn't slow.
Raven, on the other hand, looked untouched.
Her stance remained flawless. Her breathing even. Not a single sign of fatigue showed on her face, as if this was nothing more than a warm-up.
Then she raised her sword high.
I knew what was coming.
A downward strike.
I lifted my blade above my head and braced myself, every muscle screaming in warning.
The impact was brutal.
The force of her blow drove me down despite my defense, the ground slamming into my knee as I dropped involuntarily. Pain shot through my leg, sharp and immediate, and my arms finally gave in, trembling uncontrollably.
I stayed there, panting, my sword barely held upright.
"I—" My voice came out broken, breathless. "Please… give me a break. I can't lift my arms anymore."
For the first time since we started, Raven stopped.
She stepped closer, her presence blocking out the sun for a moment, and then she reached down.
Her hand closed around mine—firm, steady—and with a single controlled motion, she pulled me back onto my feet.
"Alright," she said quietly. "Go rest for a bit."
Relief flooded through me so suddenly my knees nearly buckled again.
As I staggered away, my arms numb and my chest burning,
By the time I turned away from the center of the training grounds, my legs felt impossibly heavy—like each step was being pulled downward by the weight of exhaustion and lingering tension.
I made my way toward the bench at the edge of the yard and sank down beside Cara, my hands trembling slightly as I set my wooden sword aside. My arms throbbed, my shoulders burned, and my heartbeat still echoed loudly in my ears.
Before I could fully catch my breath, Raven's voice cut through the air.
"Your turn."
I glanced at Cara and offered her what must have been a pitiful attempt at a smile—one filled with sympathy rather than confidence.
"Good luck," I murmured.
Cara pushed herself to her feet and walked toward Raven.
Gone was the earlier enthusiasm. Gone was the easy grin and fearless posture. Her movements were controlled now, measured—almost cautious. The bravado she usually wore like armor had completely disappeared.
Raven stood opposite her, calm and composed as ever.
"Ready?" Raven asked.
Cara tightened her grip around her sword and nodded once.
They stood several paces apart.
And then—suddenly—the distance vanished.
In the blink of an eye, Raven was there.
Her blade flashed dangerously close to Cara's throat, forcing a sharp gasp from my lips. Cara reacted at the very last moment, raising her sword just in time to block. The impact rang loudly through the yard, sharp and resonant.
The force alone sent Cara stumbling backward, boots scraping against the ground as she struggled to keep her balance.
Before she could recover, Raven struck again—this time aiming low, toward her legs.
Cara dropped her sword instinctively, barely managing to intercept the blow. Her arms shook from the effort.
Raven didn't pause.
A third strike came, fast and precise, aimed straight at Cara's left shoulder.
This time, Cara was too slow.
Unlike with me, Raven didn't stop the strike completely.
Instead, she adjusted it—reducing its power just enough.
The blow landed against Cara's shoulder with a dull thud.
Even softened, it was painful.
My chest tightened. I leaned forward on the bench, fear crawling up my spine as I watched.
Raven continued her assault for nearly ten minutes, relentless and unwavering. Cara fought bravely, blocking and retreating, her breaths coming in ragged bursts. Sweat soaked into her training clothes, and her movements grew slower with each passing second.
Then, in the final minute, Raven shifted.
Her stance changed.
I felt it before I fully understood it—a quiet tension in the air, like the moment before a storm breaks.
She prepared for a final strike.
The blow came toward Cara's waist.
With what little strength she had left, Cara managed to block it, stumbling backward several steps from the force.
But Raven closed the distance in less than a second.
Another strike followed—from the opposite side.
Cara blocked that too.
And yet—
The impact sent her flying backward, her body hitting the ground hard as her sword skidded across the dirt.
I was on my feet instantly.
I ran toward her, my heart pounding painfully in my chest.
Raven reached her at the same time, dropping to one knee beside her.
"Are you alright?" Raven asked, concern clear in her voice. "I'm sorry—I used too much force."
Cara exhaled and shook her head, managing a weak smile despite the pain.
"No need to apologize," she said. "These things happen."
Raven smiled faintly, relief softening her expression. She took Cara's hand and helped her back to her feet with steady ease.
"That's enough training for today," Raven said. "Go rest."
Cara nodded, then glanced toward me.
"I want to watch Lyria train," she said stubbornly.
She returned to the bench, settling down beside me.
Raven turned her gaze toward me then.
She must have seen the fear written plainly across my face—the way my hands trembled, the way my eyes stung as if tears threatened to spill.
Her expression softened.
"Don't worry," she said with a small, almost teasing smile. "I won't attack you like that."
I wasn't sure whether I should feel relieved…
Or deeply embarrassed that she could read me so easily.
My cheeks burned as I looked away, my heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
"Are you ready?"
Raven's voice reached me—calm, steady, unyielding.
I tightened my grip around the wooden sword, feeling the rough grain bite into my palms. My fingers ached from earlier, my shoulders burned, and every instinct in me begged for rest.
Still, I nodded.
I drew in a deep breath, slow and deliberate, forcing the air into my lungs as if it could anchor me in place.
The first strike came fast—and heavy.
I barely had time to react, but my body moved before fear could take over. I raised my sword and met the blow head-on. The impact reverberated through my arms, rattling my bones, yet I held.
"Well done," Raven said, a faint smile touching her lips.
Her next attack followed immediately, angled toward my shoulder. I twisted and blocked it too—but the force drove me backward several steps, my boots scraping against the dirt as I struggled to stay upright.
She didn't give me time to recover.
The strikes kept coming.
Again and again.
Raven attacked without pause, her movements precise, relentless, controlled. Every blow demanded my full attention. Every second stretched longer than the last.
Minutes blurred together.
My breathing grew uneven, harsh and shallow. My arms felt heavier with each block, as if invisible weights had been strapped to them. Sweat dripped down my back, my vision flickering at the edges.
I stumbled once.
Then again.
But I never loosened my grip on my sword.
She struck.
I blocked.
She struck again.
I blocked again.
Ten more minutes passed like that—nothing but the rhythm of attack and defense, the sound of clashing wood, the pounding of my heart.
My legs trembled.
My hands burned.
Dark spots danced at the edge of my sight.
I felt like I might collapse at any moment.
Raven noticed , she always did .
"That's enough for today," she said suddenly, lowering her sword. "We'll continue later."
The words barely registered before my strength gave out.
I let out a long, exhausted breath and dropped to my knees, my sword slipping from my fingers.
"Finally," I gasped, half-laughing, half-groaning.
Raven chuckled softly.
She stepped toward me and extended her hand, her presence steady and grounding.
"You did very well today," she said, genuine approval in her voice.
I took her hand, feeling the warmth of her grip as she helped me back onto my feet. My legs wobbled, but I stayed standing.
And despite the exhaustion, despite the pain—
A small, quiet sense of pride settled in my chest.
I collapsed onto the bench beside Cara, my chest rising and falling too fast, breath tearing in and out of me as if my lungs hadn't yet realized the fight was over. My arms trembled faintly, muscles still locked in the memory of impact and resistance.
Before I could fully steady myself, Raven returned.
She carried a flask of water and pressed a cup into my hands. The coolness of it seeped into my fingers, grounding me. Then she knelt in front of me, lowering herself until we were eye level.
That alone made my breath hitch.
"How do you feel, Princess?" she asked, her voice softer now, edged with quiet concern. "Are you all right?"
I looked at her in silence.
Her eyes were focused entirely on me—sharp yet gentle in a way that made my thoughts unravel. Heat crept up my neck, settling into my cheeks before I could stop it.
"I'm fine," I murmured.
It was suddenly very difficult to meet her gaze.
I dropped my eyes to my hands folded in my lap, fingers still slightly unsteady, and added in a quieter voice, "Thank you… for worrying about me."
Raven studied me for a moment longer.
"But you don't look fine," she said. "I'm sorry if I pushed you too hard today."
I lifted my head immediately, shaking it before she could finish.
"No—no, you weren't harsh at all," I said quickly, the words tumbling out of me. "I… I actually enjoyed it. Even if it was exhausting. I truly did."
The admission surprised even me.
Raven blinked, then smiled—small, genuine, relieved.
"I'm glad to hear that," she said.
For a few seconds, I simply watched her.
The way the tension in her shoulders eased. The faint marks of exhaustion she tried to hide. The quiet steadiness that surrounded her, like the calm after a storm.
I might have stayed like that longer if Cara hadn't cleared her throat loudly.
"Well, I didn't enjoy it at all," she announced dramatically. "You nearly kicked my rear, and now I feel like every bone in my body is broken."
Raven snorted before she could stop herself.
I laughed too—soft at first, then more freely, the tension finally loosening its grip on my chest.
The sound felt warm , normal .
And for a brief moment, sitting there between them, breathless and sore and smiling—
I felt lighter than I had in days.
Raven straightened at the center of the training grounds, rolling her shoulder once as if finally allowing herself to acknowledge the strain of the day. Her wooden sword rested loosely in her hand now, no longer a weapon, just a reminder of everything we had endured.
"Since you're both clearly exhausted," she said calmly, "there will be no training tomorrow—or the day after."
The words barely registered before they struck something stubborn inside me.
"What?" I blurted out, louder than I intended. "Why? We're fine. There's no need for rest."
Raven turned toward me, and for a moment I thought she might scold me.
Instead, she smiled.
Not teasing. Not mocking.
Knowing.
"You trained hard today," she said. "Harder than you realize. Tomorrow, you won't even be able to lift your arms properly."
I opened my mouth to argue again, but she continued before I could interrupt.
"Cara will recover quickly—she trains regularly. But you, Princess…" Her gaze softened. "This is the first time you've pushed your body to its limits. Rest isn't optional for you. It's necessary."
The finality in her tone left no room for argument.
She stepped back, slipping her sword into place with practiced ease. "I'll leave you both to recover. I'll see you in two days."
Then she inclined her head in a small, formal bow.
"Until then."
And just like that, she turned and walked away from the training grounds, her figure retreating with the same quiet certainty with which she always arrived.
I watched her go.
Only when she disappeared beyond the stone arch did I release a long, heavy sigh.
Cara glanced at me sideways. "What's with the dramatic sigh?"
I hesitated, then admitted softly, "She always does that. The moment training ends, she leaves right away."
Cara laughed and gave my shoulder a light pat. "She has a life, you know. Responsibilities beyond beating us into the dirt."
"I know," I muttered. "But… I wanted her to stay a little longer. Two days feels like a very long time."
Cara's lips curved into a mischievous smirk. "We could always visit her at the orphanage if you miss her that much."
My face warmed instantly.
"C-Cara—!"
She laughed louder, then waved a hand dismissively. "Relax. Right now, we need baths. Immediately."
I glanced down at us—sweat-streaked, dust clinging to our clothes and skin, muscles aching beneath layers of grime and exhaustion.
She wasn't wrong.
Without another word, we turned toward the palace corridors, carrying the weight of the day in our limbs—
And the quiet absence Raven had left behind in my chest.