Chapter 4
T he morning sun peeked through the trees, bathing the camp in a soft glow that felt too bright against my throbbing head. I cracked my eyes open, squinting at the light. Pain pulsed through my temples like a hammer striking an anvil. Shadows danced at the edges of my vision, each pulse of pain bringing with it memories of last night's mistakes, sharp and bitter as poison.
"Good morning." Ma?l's voice cut through the fog, lighthearted yet tinged with something deeper. He leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed and an amused smirk on his face. My traitorous heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, all lean muscle and casual grace, and I hated how even in my miserable state, I couldn't help but notice the way his shirt clung to his shoulders.
I groaned and buried my face in my hands. "Ugh, your voice is like nails digging into my skull." My tongue felt like lead, heavy and useless in my parched mouth.
He chuckled softly, moving closer. "You really overdid it last night. I thought I'd have to carry you home if we hadn't stopped for the night." The thought of his arms around me sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine, and I cursed my weakness for him.
"Thanks for the reminder," I muttered, forcing myself to sit up. The world tilted like a ship in a storm, and I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat.
"You sure you're alright?" He crouched beside me, concern etched in his features. "Maybe you should drink some water or?—"
"I'm fine!" I snarled, the words clawing their way out of my throat like angry beasts. My voice was raw and jagged as broken glass, each syllable dripping with the venom of my hangover and wounded pride.
Ma?l jerked back at my outburst, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.
"Maybe if you stopped hovering like a worried mother hen," I shot back, my words sharp as daggers.
His expression hardened as he straightened up, crossing his arms across his chest.
"You're awfully venomous for someone I had to take care of all night. You could just say a simple thank you."
"I didn't ask you to take care of me," I spat, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
"You didn't have to." His voice was quiet, all traces of humor now gone.
"Well, next time, leave me in a ditch somewhere!" The words burst from my lips like poison arrows, my vulnerability bleeding through despite my best efforts.
The moment the words escaped, regret wrapped around my heart like a poisoned barb. His concern, his care... gods, I yearned for it like a dying breath. The memory of what led me to drink so much tore through my thoughts like shattered glass. It'd be better to push him away than witness him fall for another. Better, but it felt like plunging a blade between my own ribs.
"Getting drunk won't fix what's eating at you, Lor. I just wish you'd talk to me."
"Save your wisdom for someone who wants it."
I stormed off toward our path home, rage and regret warring with each step, neither winning nor yielding ground.
Our journey was deadly quiet from then on. The silence stretched uncomfortably between us, heavy as a gravestone. By the time we reached Briarwood, fatigue gnawed at my bones with each twist of the path.
My grandmother's cottage came into view, a haven of despite the storm between us.
As I stepped inside with Ma?l following close behind, the familiar perfume of dried herbs wrapped around me, sweet as mercy. My grandmother stood by the hearth, hands on her hips as she eyed me suspiciously.
"Where have you been?" she asked sharply, noticing my disheveled appearance.
"Just gathering your herbs." I fumbled for the small pouch slung across my shoulder and handed it over.
"You reek like a tavern after a brawl."
Shame turned my silver tongue to lead, my usual wit deserting me like shadows at dawn. Pride and guilt tangled in my throat, strangling any defense I might have made.
"Go sleep it off, you're no use to anyone all hungover," she commanded gently yet firmly, waving me away before turning her attention back to her herbs.
With a growl that was more wounded animal than human, I dragged myself upstairs, leaving Ma?l at the threshold, his concern a weight heavier than my hangover.
Each step brought fresh waves of nausea, accompanied by echoes of disappointment - my grandmother's words, Ma?l's worried eyes.
Something fragile in my chest begged me to turn back, to let down my walls for him. But the fortress I'd built around my heart stood firm.
It was easier to be alone than to risk the pain of rejection, even if that loneliness cut deeper than any blade.
I woke up to the sun creeping through the cracks in my window, the harsh light piercing my throbbing skull. The memory of my grandmother's voice echoed in my mind, her stern tone from earlier lingering like an unwanted guest.
With a grunt, I rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the kitchen. My grandmother stood at the hearth, stirring a pot. I gravitated toward its savory aroma like a moth to a flame.
"You're alive," she said without looking up. "How's your head?"
I rubbed my temples, letting out a noncommittal grunt. "It's fine."
She paused, finally glancing at me with that look only grandmothers seem to possess. "You're not the best liar, ya know. Why don't you do something to fix that?"
I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms defensively. "What do you suggest? A walk? A little tea?"
"Training with the guards," she said simply, stirring the pot with renewed vigor.
"Training?" I frowned. The thought of swinging swords while feeling like I'd been run over by a cart didn't sound appealing.
"Did I stutter? Yes, training," she snapped back, waving her hand dismissively. "It'll help you work out whatever's eating at you."
I let out a weary breath but knew better than to argue. After a quick change into my fighting leathers, I trudged outside, where the training ring loomed ahead on the village outskirts.
The sun beat down mercilessly overhead as I entered the training ring, forcing me to shield my eyes. Steel rang against steel, punctuated by shouts of encouragement that made my head pound.
I scanned the familiar faces of villagers as they trained, their movements watched by stern-eyed instructors.
Then I saw him. Ma?l. His skin glistened with sweat as he sparred with a village guard, each movement showcasing his skill.
His movements were swift and sure, each strike purposeful. A knot formed in my stomach as I watched him effortlessly disarm his opponent, awakening emotions I refused to name.
Frustration churned beneath my skin like a storm waiting to break as I strode over to the pile of discarded weapons. I chose a shorter blade from the pile, knowing my speed would have to compensate for what I lacked in brute strength.
"Alora!" a guard called out as he wiped his brow with his forearm. "Over here!"
I clenched my jaw, forcing a sharp nod as I stalked towards the guards. The guards encircled me, their eyes alight with the promise of violence.
The guards quickly paired off, and adrenaline surged through my veins as I sparred with a young villager called Finn.
Steel met steel as Finn pressed forward with surprising grace, forcing me back until raw instinct claimed control.
My body moved on its own, unleashing a storm of strikes that caught even me off guard, muscle memory taking command where conscious thought failed.
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 Ma?l 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.
Ma?l'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 Ma?l'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 Ma?l 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 only tried 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 Ma?l'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 Ma?l'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 Ma?l'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.
Ma?l remained rooted in place, his gaze shrouded with a mysterious heaviness.
"Move it," Galen barked, his scarred face darkening. Ma?l finally sauntered away, leaving me alone in the ring with our battle-hardened trainer.
Galen stepped closer, his shadow looming over me like a mountain. He extended a calloused hand toward me. "On your feet, Lor."
I grasped his hand, wincing as he yanked me to my feet. My legs trembled beneath me as I brushed the sweat from my eyes.
"Focus," he said sharply. "Don't let your emotions guide you in a fight. It clouds your judgment and could get you killed."
I bit back a retort and nodded, though my pride still stung. It wasn't as if I'd ever be in a life or death battle. I wasn't a guard, after all. The worst I'd face was a territorial bear, and I doubted it cared about proper sword technique.
"Years ago," he began, his gaze unwavered, "I was just a soldier in the war. Our platoon often traveled for days at a time. I never understood what it meant to be at my limits until then." His voice dropped an octave as he continued, "One day, we were ambushed. Surrounded on all sides, we had no choice but to stand our ground. I lost friends that day, brothers."
I shifted uncomfortably under his intense stare, feeling the weight of his words.
"But I learned something," he went on, folding his arms across his chest as if to shield himself from the memories. "When it comes down to it, your heart can be your greatest weapon or your worst enemy. I was consumed by an argument I'd had with the captain earlier about pushing on at our grueling pace. He died beside me while I was too angry to even glance his way. I should have been checking if he needed help, my anger and pride got in the way of that. You have to take control or else you won't see what's right in front of you." His words hit too close to home, stirring thoughts of Ma?l that I desperately wanted to ignore.
"Why are you here then? The war still rages beyond our borders." The question slipped out before I could hold it back.
He met my gaze directly. "We fought until we fell. I was the only survivor, they likely thought I was dead when all they did was knock me out. I stumbled into the woods, searching for the men who slaughtered my brothers. When I found this village after everything ended... well, I knew these people would need protection one day. They took me in, your grandmother healed me, and I vowed to train them in case the war came to their doorsteps." He shrugged slightly as if dismissing the significance of his choice, but I felt its weight settle between us. "And it will. This war has raged for too long to spare even havens like Briarwood."
The training yard slowly filled with noise again as he walked away, leaving me alone with the ghosts of his past and the shadows of my own thoughts.