The morning air of the training grounds hummed: the hiss of blades slicing through air, the rhythmic thud of booted feet on packed earth, and the sharp crackle of dissipating magic. A lone warrior sketched silver lightning against the bruised leather of a training dummy. Nearby, a sphere of cerulean light bloomed around a mage, held for a taut second before dissolving into glittering dust. I drew a deep breath, the taste of kicked-up dirt and the crisp, electric tang of expended mana filling my lungs. Duos were already locked in sparring matches, a blur of motion as they flowed between attack and defense. They were a dance of effortless grace, and watching them, I felt like a novice holding a stick.

I’ve come so far, yet the mountain ahead remains.

A cold thread of awareness traced its way down my spine—the unmistakable feeling of being watched. My eyes swept the grounds, but every elf was absorbed in their own ritual of steel and spell. I saw nothing but focused, disciplined warriors. Shaking my head, I forced the feeling away, blaming it on the intensity of the place, the pressure to prove myself.

My attention snapped back to a sparring pair just as one warrior, a tall elf with dark hair, overextended a downward slash. His opponent moved like a striking viper, exploiting the opening with a sharp twist of his wrist. A shriek of steel on steel sent the dark-haired elf’s sword spinning away. The victor’s blade came to rest, its point hovering a whisper from his partner’s throat.

The disarmed elf threw up his hands, a grin splitting his face. “Alright, you have me!”

The other lowered his sword, the grin infectious. “Another round?”

“And another loss for you,” his friend shot back, scooping up his weapon. 

“Princess Thalia!”

The voice was bright and clear. I turned to see Bhaera jogging toward me, her smile as radiant as the morning sun. Light caught in the intricate silver beads woven into her blonde braids, and her hazel eyes sparkled with genuine warmth. A few glances were cast our way, whispers of curiosity, before the elves returned to their drills.

As she reached me, her energy was palpable. “Hello, Bhaera,” I greeted her.

“And you!” she replied, her smile unwavering. “I was hoping you’d be here. To train?”

“I am,” I admitted. “I’m still learning the sword, but I’m determined.”

“Then you’ll need a partner.” She said it not as a question, but as a fact. Her gaze was hopeful.

My eyes flickered to Cassius. He gave a subtle, approving nod before melting into the perimeter shadows. I turned back to Bhaera. “I would be honored.”

“Wonderful! That spot over there looks free,” she said, nodding toward a clear patch of earth. As I fell into step beside her, I glanced at the sling supporting her arm.

“How is the healing?”

“The healers say another week,” she said with a cheerful shrug. “Honestly, the setback has been a gift. A lesson in patience.” She stopped and turned to face me, a playful fire dancing in her eyes. She stood empty-handed, her posture relaxed yet perfectly balanced. “Now… show me what you’ve learned. Attack me.”

I hesitated, my hand resting on my hilt. “Are you sure?”

A confident smile played on her lips. “Don’t worry about me. Just attack.”

Trusting the formidable warrior I knew she was, I drew my blade. I settled into my stance, took a breath, and lunged. She moved with the liquid grace of a river flowing around a stone, sidestepping my thrust with contemptuous ease.

“Excellent!” she encouraged, her voice ringing with excitement. “Again!”

I shifted my grip, bringing my sword up in a sweeping slice. This time, my attack was met not by empty air, but by a blinding clang of resistance. A flare of golden light erupted at the point of impact. A sword, seemingly conjured from sunlight itself, was now in Bhaera’s hand. It wasn’t an illusion; it was a solid steel blade, but it was completely encased in a shimmering, golden aura of her mana.

“What is that?” I breathed, my eyes fixed on the glowing weapon.

“This?” She gave the blade a small, effortless flourish. “Mana imbuement. It reinforces the steel, makes it an extension of your will. A fundamental skill. Try it. Command your mana.”

I nodded, closing my eyes for a second. I reached inside myself, seeking the wellspring of my power. I pictured it as a current, flowing from my core, down my arm, and into the cold steel of my sword. I willed it to protect, to strengthen, to become a part of me. Slowly, a hesitant, amethyst light flickered to life along the edge of my blade, then bloomed to encase the entire weapon in a luminous sheath.

Bhaera’s smile widened into a fierce grin. “Perfect. Now, come at me again. And this time, don’t stop.”

A thrill, sharp and wild, surged through me. I met her challenge. My feet kicked up clouds of dust as I advanced in a flurry of blows. Her golden blade became a sun-bright blur, parrying each of my amethyst-lit strikes with ringing precision. Our duel became a vortex of light and sound.

I sensed a shift in her energy, a coiling of power. Her grip changed as she transitioned from defense to a blistering offense. A powerful sideways slash forced me to leap backward, landing lightly as dust billowed around us. She burst through the swirling haze, her blade an upward arc of golden light. Our mana-infused swords met in a scream of protesting steel and a starburst of violet and gold sparks that lit up the training ground. I was vaguely aware that we had drawn a crowd.

“I haven’t seen Bhaera this fired up in ages,” I heard an elf murmur from the edge of the circle.

Then it returned. It was no longer a prickle but a physical weight on the back of my neck. A cold, dissecting gaze that pinned me in place, chilling the heat of the duel. My focus fractured for a single, fatal heartbeat.

“Thalia! Focus!” Bhaera’s voice was sharp.

She was on me in an instant, her blade a golden streak aimed for my throat. Instinct threw me to the side, the wind of her passage ghosting across my skin. But her lunge had left her open. With a triumphant cry, I twisted, bringing my sword up to press against her neck—only to freeze. My amethyst point hovered an inch from her throat. Her golden blade rested, light as a feather, against the side of mine. A perfect draw.

We stood panting, chests heaving, the joyful adrenaline of the fight still singing in my veins. The onlookers, seeing the duel concluded, slowly dispersed. Bhaera lowered her sword, the golden light fading back into the steel.

“Thank you for that,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. “And for the lesson.”

“Anytime,” she beamed. “It’s been too long since I had a spar that good. You’ve grown strong, Thalia.” Her expression softened, her gaze direct and serious. “You fight with heart. That’s what our people need… what Cassius needs. You will be a great queen.”

Her words, so earnest and freely given, struck a chord deep within me. For the first time, the title of ‘Princess’ felt less like a label and more like a truth I was growing into. A profound warmth spread through my chest. “That means more than you know, Bhaera.”

“If you ever want a rematch, you know where to find me,” she offered. “Though I imagine your duties are demanding.”

“I’ll make time,” I promised.

“Good!” she chirped. She gave a small wave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me… King Cassius is waiting for you.”

I watched her jog off to another elf, casually slinging her good arm over their shoulder. When I turned, my own smile was ready to meet Cassius’s. He stood across the grounds, his approval clear even from a distance. He mouthed two words: Great job.

That warmth shattered like glass.

The feeling was back—an arctic wave of pure malice that extinguished every spark of joy. It was a predator’s stare, and I was its prey. The air solidified in my lungs. My eyes darted frantically around the grounds, searching for the source.

When my gaze snapped back to where Cassius had been, I saw my uncle standing infront of me instead.

Ice flooded my veins. My hand flew to my throat, a primal, useless gesture of self-preservation before I forced it, trembling, back to my side. It had been him. All this time, it had been him.

His glare was a physical force, pinning me to the spot. He began to walk toward me, his steps slow, deliberate, each one a hammer blow against my courage.

“Can we talk?” he asked. His voice was low, deceptively calm, but his eyes were pits of black ice.

My body took an involuntary step back, a betrayal by my own feet.

“I promise I will not attack you again,” he said, his tone flat and devoid of emotion. “You have my word.”

I straightened my spine, forcing myself to meet that soul-chilling gaze. “Very well,” I said, my voice a stranger’s, miraculously steady. “We can talk.”

“Follow me.”

He turned his back on me. I willed my legs to move, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. He gave his word, I told myself, a desperate hope whispered to the frantic beat of my own heart. He won’t attack again.