SELENE POV
The practice blade came at Selene's face.
She ducked. Too slow.
The wooden edge clipped her temple. Stars exploded in her vision.
She hit the ground hard. Tasted blood.
"Dead," Mira said above her. "Again."
Selene spat blood. Forced herself to stand.
Her eleventh birthday had passed two weeks ago. Unmarked. Uncelebrated.
Just another day of training.
Months had passed since her first shift. Months of brutal, relentless combat practice.
And she still couldn't beat Mira.
"Guard up," Mira instructed. "You're dropping your left side."
They squared off again in the clearing. Both armed with practice blades. Wood instead of steel, but still painful.
Selene's body was a map of bruises. New ones on top of fading ones. A constant cycle of damage and healing.
Her father's dagger hung at her belt. Real steel. Silver-etched. But not for practice.
That blade was for killing. And Selene wasn't ready for that yet.
Mira attacked.
A feint high. Actual strike low.
