The morning light in Ashspire is sharper than anywhere else I've lived. It cuts clean through the haze, gilding the towers in molten gold. I can feel it on my skin the second I step out of bed, warm enough to make me hesitate before pulling on my training clothes.
But today… I feel like making an entrance.
I tug on the obsidian-black training jacket they issued us, tailored close to the waist, the high collar framing my neck. Underneath, the deep crimson wrap-top I'd bartered for in the city yesterday—it clings in all the right places, the silk catching light like ripples of flame. The fitted trousers tuck into knee-high boots with silver clasps, and I cinch the belt tight, the sheath for my shortblade resting easy at my hip. My hair—loose waves, mostly tamed, but with that one rebellious strand curling against my cheek—refuses to behave. I leave it.
Ashveil shifts from her perch near the window, giving me an appraising look.
"Yes, I know I look good," I mutter, grabbing my gloves. "Try not to burn holes in anyone today."
I step into the corridor, the hum of the compound still muted this early. My boots click against the polished stone as I head for the stairs that'll take me toward the training grounds.
I almost make it past without slowing.
Almost.
Caelen's door is cracked—just barely—and there's a sound drifting out. Not his voice at first, but something else. A low, resonant growl that sends a shiver up my spine.
I've only heard it once before.
Oryth. His Dushraith. A creature older than some kingdoms, made of shadow and bone-deep loyalty.
"…she's not like the others," Oryth's voice is like smoke on glass, words half-formed and yet perfectly clear in my head.
A pause. Caelen's voice follows, low, almost reluctant. "That's what makes her dangerous. And the others will see it soon enough."
A slow, rasping huff from Oryth. Or makes her worth protecting.
Something tightens in my chest. They're talking about me. And not in the casual, she's-annoying-in-training kind of way.
"In danger?" Caelen murmurs, so soft I almost miss it. "She already is."
The floor creaks under my boot.
Silence inside. Then—footsteps. Moving toward the door.
Panic sparks hot in my veins. My mind scrambles for a way to not be caught with my ear practically pressed to the wood. And then—salvation—in the form of a tall, broad-shouldered guy striding down the corridor toward the stairs.
I move fast, catching his arm like we're already in mid-conversation.
"There you are," I say with an easy, too-bright smile. "I've been looking for you."
He blinks down at me, startled. Dark blond hair falls into his storm-grey eyes, and there's a faint scar just above his left brow. His mouth curves into a slow, curious grin.
"Well," he says, "I'd remember if we'd met before."
I let out a laugh, just loud enough to carry. "Guess we're meeting now."
We pass Caelen's door without my glancing toward it. I can feel him there though—the weight of his presence, the way the air shifts.
Only when we've rounded the corner and descended the first flight of stairs do I let go of the guy's arm.
"Thanks for playing along," I say.
He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not sure what I just played along with, but I'm not complaining."
"Elena," I offer.
"Darian." His handshake is warm, confident. "You heading to the training grounds?"
"Yeah. Endurance work today."
He tilts his head, eyes glinting with something between amusement and interest. "Mind if I walk with you? You can tell me why you needed a human shield back there."
I smirk. "Maybe. But you'll have to work for the story."
By the time we reach the outer gates, the sun is climbing higher, heat pooling in the stone. The training grounds spread out before us—rows of narrow balance beams suspended over shallow pits, rope bridges swaying in the morning wind, and long stretches of uneven stone meant to test every muscle in your legs.
Samora is already there, twirling her staff like she's warming up for a duel instead of a stamina drill. Fynn's leaning against a post, arms crossed, his usual scowl in place. Kadyn's at the far edge, squinting up at one of the suspended beams like it's personally insulted him.
Darian shades his eyes, taking it all in. "This looks… brutal."
"That's the point," I say, stretching my shoulders.
The Iron Span roars beneath us.
Or maybe that's the waterfalls.
From where we stand at the edge of the training cliffs, I can see the bridges stretching into mist—thin as ribbons, strung between jagged rock faces, swaying under the lash of the wind. The air is damp, the kind that clings to your skin and seeps into your bones. My boots already feel slick.
Master Ilithar waits at the starting point, arms folded, cloak snapping in the breeze. "Today is simple," he says. "Cross or fall."
I've learned by now that when Ilithar says simple, it's going to hurt.
Assistants move down the line of trainees, strapping weighted harnesses across our chests and dumping heavy packs into our arms. The straps bite into my shoulders immediately. I shift under the load, feeling the strain in my back before we've even taken a step.
"No breaks longer than sixty seconds," Ilithar adds, "and if you fall—" his gaze sweeps over us, "—you start that section over. In wet gear."
Samora groans loud enough to be heard over the waterfalls.
Darian steps into line beside me, rolling his shoulders under the weight. "Guess I get the honor of making sure you don't drown," he says, grinning.
"I don't need a lifeguard," I reply, tightening my gloves.
"Good," he says. "I'm terrible at CPR."
We move to the starting planks—narrow slats of weather-worn wood bolted into the rock. The wind makes them sway just enough to turn my stomach.
The horn blows.
We move.
The first stretch is all about balance—knees bent, eyes forward. Fynn drops into pace on my other side, muttering something about princesses and fishing nets. Ahead, Kadyn pushes forward like it's a race, the wind nearly toppling him once before he recovers with a curse.
Illusory bursts of flame appear in front of us, forcing sudden sidesteps. One lashes so close it singes the hair on my arm. Behind me, Samora is muttering under her breath, but I can hear her pushing harder than I've ever seen.
Halfway across the first rope bridge, the boards creak and sway. Mist curls over my boots. Then—mid-step—my right foot plunges into empty air.
The plank has vanished.
The pack jerks me sideways toward the edge, the roar of the waterfalls surging up at me. I barely manage to hook my left foot, fingers scrambling for purchase.
"Elena!" Darian's voice cuts through the wind.
He drops low, one knee braced, and catches my forearm before I slip further. His grip is solid, warm even through the gloves. With a sharp pull, he hauls me up until both feet are planted on the swaying bridge again.
"Got you," he says, his breathing steady despite the weight on both of us. "Don't let go."
"I wasn't planning to," I mutter, heart still hammering.
From that point on, he keeps close, matching my steps across every gap and shift in the boards. When a sudden phantom wyvern sweeps low over the span, we duck in sync, his hand bracing the small of my back so I don't lose balance again.
By the time we reach the far side, my lungs are burning and my shoulders scream under the weight of the pack.
The horn sounds again.
"Back," Ilithar calls. "Twice as fast."
We turn without a word. The wind is worse now, shoving against us. Mist hides the gaps, and planks vanish without warning. At one point, a rope fiber snaps with a sharp twang, sending the bridge into a wild sway. Darian grips my harness, steadying me until the motion eases.
"You're not allowed to fall now," he says. "Would ruin my flawless rescue record."
"Pretty sure it's not flawless if it's only one for one," I shoot back.
We make the final jump onto solid ground just as my legs threaten to give out. My pulse is still in my ears when I realize Darian hasn't let go of my harness yet.
Only when Master Ilithar dismisses us does he release me, stepping back with an easy grin. "See? Told you I'd keep you alive."
"Yeah," I say, though my voice is quieter than I expect. "Guess you did."
Fynn groans dramatically about never walking again. Samora collapses in the grass, swearing she's done for three days. Kadyn smirks like the whole thing was a warm-up.
I'm bent over, catching my breath, when movement catches my eye.
Up by the training cliffs, partially shadowed by one of the stone pillars—Caelen. Arms crossed, gaze locked on me and Darian. He doesn't move when our eyes meet. Just watches.
Something in my chest twists.
I straighten, turn deliberately back to Darian. "Walk me back?"
His grin returns instantly. "Thought you'd never ask."
We leave the grounds side by side, my boots still slick from the mist, the roar of the waterfalls fading behind us.
I don't look back again.
We walk back through the winding corridors, the air cooling the sweat on my skin. My legs ache with every step, but it's the good kind of ache—the kind that says you survived.
By the time we reach my wing, the compound has shifted into that late-afternoon hum. Voices drift from open windows, the scent of spiced meat and fresh bread sneaking in from the kitchens.
We stop outside my door.
Darian leans against the wall, still carrying the faint damp scent of the waterfalls, hair mussed from the wind. "So," he says casually, "you doing anything tonight?"
I lift a brow. "Planning to collapse face-first onto my bed."
He chuckles. "That's a waste. Have dinner with me instead."
My mouth quirks. "Dinner… like a date?"
His grin tilts, lazy but confident. "If you want it to be."
I should say no.
I should.
"Yeah," I say before I can think twice. "Why not?"
And yet—behind the yes, behind the easy smile—my mind flashes to the shadow of the training cliffs. The way Caelen's gaze had felt like it could strip me bare.
"Good," Darian says, pushing off the wall. "I'll find you after sundown."
I slip into my room, the door clicking shut behind me.
The quiet wraps around me instantly. Ashveil stirs from her perch by the window, tilting her head at me as if she knows exactly where my thoughts have gone.
I toss my damp training jacket over a chair and cross to the wardrobe, fingers brushing past silks and leathers, searching for something that doesn't look like I've been fighting for my life all day.
If I'm having dinner with Darian—date or not—I might as well look like I meant to say yes.
The quiet in my room feels heavier than usual, like the stone walls are holding their breath.
I pull open the wardrobe. Silk and leather, fitted jackets and flowing skirts—most of them chosen for function, not flair. But tonight…
Tonight I want to be remembered.
I settle on a deep wine-red dress, the kind that clings like a second skin before spilling loose at the knees. The neckline dips just enough to hint, the sleeves sheer enough to tease. A belt of black braided cord draws the eye to my waist, and my boots—mid-heeled, polished obsidian—add that extra inch of confidence.
I loosen my hair so it falls in soft, deliberate waves down my back. A hint of kohl sharpens my eyes; a sweep of gold shimmer catches the light at my cheekbones. When I glance in the mirror, the girl looking back could topple empires if she smiled just right.
And yet…
My mind drifts back—unbidden—to Caelen's voice behind that cracked door.
"That's what makes her dangerous… She already is."
Dangerous how?
Dangerous to who?
The memory coils tight in my chest, drawing questions I can't answer—
A knock breaks through the thoughts, sharp against the quiet.
I cross to the door and open it—
And there's Darian.
Gone is the windblown, sweat-slicked trainee from earlier. He's in a charcoal shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled to the forearms, dark trousers that fit a little too well, and boots polished to a mirror gleam. A single chain of silver rests against his throat, catching the low light.
His eyes—storm-grey, steady—do a slow sweep from my boots to my face, and the corner of his mouth curves. "Guess I'm not the only one who cleaned up."
"Guess not," I say, pretending my pulse didn't just skip.
We fall into step as we leave my wing, the quiet between us a comfortable hum. The corridors are busier now—laughter spilling from open doors, the clatter of plates somewhere below. The scent of roasted meat and spiced wine thickens as we descend toward the dining hall.
He glances down at me, voice low enough for just us. "You look…" He pauses, as if searching for the word. "…stunning."
I smile—not entirely for him.
We take the long stair down, the sound of the dining hall fading behind us instead of growing louder.
"Wait," I glance at him, suspicion curling in my chest. "We're not going to the hall?"
Darian's grin is all slow mischief. "Nope."
"Then where?"
"You'll see."
We slip out a side door into the cool night air. The scent of citrus and night-blooming jasmine drifts on the breeze, and I catch the faint crunch of gravel under our boots as we follow a lantern-lit path winding away from the compound.
The further we go, the quieter it gets—just the whisper of leaves and the distant rush of the river below. Ahead, the orchard rises in neat, sprawling rows of silver-leafed trees, their branches heavy with pale, glowing fruit that catches the moonlight like orbs of glass.
At the heart of the orchard, a small clearing opens up—and I stop short.
A blanket of deep midnight blue is spread over the grass, weighted at the corners by smooth river stones. Low lanterns flicker at its edges, casting warm halos over a spread of food and drink that looks almost too perfect to touch—fresh bread, slices of soft cheese, roasted figs, a bottle of wine glinting like garnet in the light.
Above us, the moon spills silver through the branches, and for a moment the air feels too still, too suspended to be real.
Darian turns to me, his voice softer now. "I thought we could skip the noise tonight."
I arch a brow, trying to hide the way my stomach flips. "And have a midnight feast in an orchard instead?"
His grin deepens. "Something like that."
For just a heartbeat, I forget the questions clawing at the back of my mind, the echo of Caelen's voice, the weight of whatever "dangerous" means. Here, under the moon, with the lanterns swaying gently in the warm night wind… it feels like the world has narrowed to just this.
We settle onto the blanket, the soft grass pressing cool beneath us. Darian pours two glasses of wine, handing me one with a small, shy smile I didn't expect. The fruit glows faintly nearby, casting ghostly patterns on the spread.
He starts talking about the training—lighthearted jokes about the instructors' endless creativity in making us miserable. .
Darian's easy warmth is like a shield against the thoughts, but it can't keep them at bay forever.
"I know I'm probably supposed to be impressed by this," I say finally, swirling the wine in my glass, "but I'm wondering how long before the next trial breaks us all."
He shrugs, but his eyes are serious. "If anyone can make it through, it's you."
I want to believe him, but the shadows flicker behind his words.
There's a pause, and then he leans closer. "Hey, you okay?"
The concern in his voice catches me off guard.
"Just tired, I guess."
He reaches out, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. "You're stronger than you know, Elena."
And maybe I am. But stronger doesn't mean invincible.
The moon hangs low as we rise from the soft blanket, the cool night wrapping around us like a whisper. Darian offers his hand, and I take it without hesitation.
Our footsteps fall quietly on the orchard path, the scent of ripe fruit and earth mingling with the crisp night air. The world feels small and distant, as if we're the only two people alive.
He walks close enough that I can feel his warmth, the steady beat of his heart beneath his shirt. I want to ask him about Caelen, about the warning I overheard — but the words stick in my throat.
When we reach the edge of the compound, Darian stops. His hand slides around my waist, pulling me gently closer.
"Tonight was… unexpected," he says, voice low.
I meet his eyes, searching for something I can't name.
Then his lips find mine.
Soft, tentative at first, then more sure — like he's testing, and I'm answering.
The world narrows to that single touch, the heat of his hands, the taste of the night on his breath.
When we finally part, my heart pounds fiercely, a storm swirling behind my calm exterior.
Walking the last few steps to my door, I keep replaying the kiss — the surprise, the promise, the question it leaves hanging between us.
Inside my room, I close the door quietly behind me.
Leaning against it, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
What have I just done?
And what does it mean — for him, for me… and for Caelen?