The Hollow did not train like an army.
There were no shouted chants.
No polished drills.
No illusions of glory.
There was only repetition.
And consequence.
Aelira watched from the edge of the training ring as fighters paired off—some skilled, some raw, all wary. Weapons clashed in uneven rhythms. A few eyes flicked toward her, quick and curious.
They were measuring her.
She stepped forward.
"Stop," Aelira said.
The word wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
The ring fell silent.
"You train to survive alone," she continued calmly. "That will get you killed together."
A few brows furrowed.
Rook smirked. Lyra folded her arms.
Aelira gestured to the center. "Pair up again. This time—no weapons."
Groans followed.
"Trust exercises?" someone muttered.
"No," Aelira replied. "Awareness."
They began.
Bare hands. Close quarters. Uncomfortable distance.
Aelira walked among them, observing—who guarded instinctively, who overreached, who flinched when crowded.
She stopped behind a young fighter whose stance was too rigid.
"You're waiting for permission," Aelira said quietly.
The fighter stiffened. "I—"
"Don't," Aelira interrupted gently. "Move when the moment tells you to."
She stepped back.
"Again."
This time, the fighter reacted—late, but alive.
"Better," Aelira said.
Kael watched from the perimeter, arms crossed, saying nothing.
That was deliberate.
This was hers.
The next drill changed everything.
Aelira stood at the center of the ring.
"No one attacks," she said. "Everyone defends."
Confusion rippled.
"From what?" someone asked.
Aelira lifted her hand.
The shadows shifted.
Not violently. Not theatrically.
They moved like pressure—closing angles, blurring edges, stealing depth perception. Fighters stumbled, cursed, collided.
Panic rose.
"Breathe," Aelira said steadily. "Feel your spacing. Listen."
Slowly, the chaos settled.
Movements adjusted.
People adapted.
When Aelira lowered her hand, the ring stood intact.
Breathing hard.
Alive.
Silence followed.
Lyra spoke first. "That would've killed us in a real fight."
"Yes," Aelira said. "If you hadn't adapted."
Rook let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to fight you."
Aelira met his grin. "Train with me instead."
By dusk, exhaustion had stripped away pretense.
Sweat. Bruises. Laughter edged with respect.
Elda approached Aelira as the fighters dispersed. "You didn't dominate them," she said. "You adjusted them."
Aelira nodded. "Command breaks people. Coordination keeps them alive."
Elda studied her. "You learned that somewhere painful."
"Yes," Aelira replied simply.
Later, as lanterns were lit and weapons cleaned, Kael joined her near the edge of the ring.
"You didn't use fear," he said.
"I won't," Aelira replied. "Not unless I have no other choice."
He smiled faintly. "They'll follow you."
"They'll question me," she corrected. "That's better."
He looked at her—pride unmistakable, restrained but present.
"You belong here," he said.
Aelira glanced at the fighters laughing nearby, at the Hollow breathing as one.
"I know," she said.
Above them, the stone ceiling caught the lanternlight.
Below them, a rebellion learned how to stand together.
And far away, a queen who ruled by fear had no idea—
That something stronger was being trained in the dark.