Page 8 of Daughter of Shadows and Ash

Though I lacked their years of training, I held my ground with a fierce determination that made up for my inexperience.

The crowd's cheers fueled our deadly dance as we circled each other, our blades singing their lethal song. Like wraiths locked in an eternal waltz, we moved through the afternoon light, our blades weaving patterns of death and glory.

Yet every glance towards Maël sent fury ripping through my chest, tearing open scars I'd foolishly thought I could ignore.

There he stood, radiating joy in his element, untouched by the shadows of our recent misadventure. Of course he'd be fine—winning his matches, probably planning his next encounter with Lydia or whoever else had caught his wandering heart.

"Better stay focused," Finn teased, dancing away from my blade.

Teeth clenched, I surged forward, but Finn moved like smoke through my fingers, and my balance betrayed me. His leg swept beneath mine, and the world tilted. My back slammed against the dirt with a sound that spoke of wounded pride more than pain.

Laughter exploded around the ring, shame burning through my veins like liquid fire.

Maël's laugh cut through the chaos, twisting deeper into my already bleeding pride. My pulse thundered with more than just humiliation—rage coiled in my chest, aimed at him and his casual cruelty in finding joy in my failure.

Fury unfurled inside me like a serpent tasting the air. "Alright!" I called out, my voice cutting through their laughter like a blade. "Who's next?"

The laughter died abruptly as a massive figure strode into the ring. Galen, our head trainer, towered over me, his scarred face etched with stern determination.

"I'll take you on, Alora," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's see what you've got."

My heart raced with equal parts dread and excitement. Galen was legendary, his brutal training methods and unmatched prowess the stuff of village whispers. He fought with the ferocity of a cornered beast, relentless and merciless. Yet, in that moment, I'd have faced a hundred Galens rather than endure another second of Maël's mocking laughter.

A feral growl rumbled in my chest as I hefted my practice sword, steeling myself to face the beast before me.

Galen circled me slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. I matched his movements, trying to anticipate his first strike. The forest had been my hunting ground for years, but under Galen's predatory gaze, I suddenly understood what it meant to be prey.

"Widen your stance," he barked suddenly. "You're off balance."

I adjusted quickly, feeling the difference immediately. Galen nodded approvingly before lunging forward with lightning speed. I barely managed to parry his blow, the force of it sending shockwaves up my arm.

"Good reflexes. There's hope for you yet," he grunted. "Now, attack."

I launched forward, feinting left before my blade whistled toward his right. Galen deflected the blow with ease, but beneath his mask of boredom, I caught a flicker of approval in his eyes.

With each clash of steel, my anger at Maël began to unravel. My mind cleared despite the surge of emotions—the sting of his words, the pain of his impending marriage, the knowledge that I was losing him forever. Beneath my fury lurked guilt; he'd onlytried to help my drunken self, and I'd repaid his kindness with venom.

Galen's approval shouldn't have mattered. What I truly wanted was to see him taste defeat as I had. The thought brought a bitter satisfaction I wasn't proud of, but couldn't quite shake.

Before I knew it, the world tilted, and suddenly I was on my back, the impact driving the air from my lungs. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs.

"Better," he said. "But you're giving away your moves to your opponent. Keep your shoulders relaxed." Galen's criticism landed differently than Maël's ever had—like a sword striking true rather than an arrow finding a weak spot. My jaw unclenched slightly as his gruff voice washed over me, carrying none of the playful mockery that always colored Maël's "helpful suggestions." Instead, there was only the steady weight of experience behind his words, and somehow that made them easier to bear.

We continued to trade blows as Galen barked out instructions. My muscles screamed in protest, sweat stinging my eyes, but I refused to yield. With each exchange, I felt myself improving, my movements becoming more fluid and purposeful.

My blade traced tighter arcs now, each strike finding its mark with newfound precision. Where before I'd swung wildly, now my attacks flowed like water—one movement bleeding seamlessly into the next. The practice sword became an extension of my arm rather than just a clumsy weight, and I caught myself anticipating Galen's counters before he made them. When he struck high, I was already moving low, and when he feinted left, I read the tension in his shoulders that betrayed his true intent.

"Watch your footwork!" Galen called out as he pressed forward with a series of quick jabs. I danced backward, narrowly avoiding his blade. The packed earth shifted beneath my feet,each step accompanied by the sharp ring of steel slicing through air.

As my arms trembled with exhaustion, Galen lowered his sword. "Enough for today," he declared.

I blinked, becoming aware of the gathered crowd, their faces painted with surprise and admiration. I caught a glimpse of Maël's impressed expression before forcing my gaze away.

"Alright, enough chatter!" Galen's voice thundered across the training grounds. "War comes without warning, and from what I've seen today, most of you would fall in your first real battle. To your watch shifts—dismissed!"

The guards scattered like startled birds, their earlier bravado dissolving into hushed murmurs as they returned to their posts.

Maël remained rooted in place, his gaze shrouded with a mysterious heaviness.

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