Chapter 3 #2
That word again. It scrapes across something raw in me. I don’t know if I believe in safety anymore. I hate that word right now.
But his gaze doesn’t waver. If anything, it sharpens, like he’s not just hearing my question, but the ones I haven’t said aloud.
“This place is heavily warded,” he says. “Shielded against the things that hunt from the dark. Soldiers train here. And those already trained . . . ” He pauses, just long enough for the meaning to settle. “ . . . they’re preparing.”
A beat of stillness.
Then I ask the only thing that makes sense.
“Preparing for what?”
His eyes hold mine. And the answer lands heavy in the space between us.
“War.”
Valen’s expression doesn’t shift. “It’s a long story,” he says, the words edged with fatigue. “May I sit? It’ll be easier to explain everything.”
I hesitate. Then nod. “Fine.”
He moves slowly, pulling the chair away from the table and lowering himself into it. His cloak shifts with the motion, folds of worn fabric falling like parchment long handled. He exhales, settling his staff across his knees—but I don’t give him the luxury of comfort.
“Three days.”
The words cut sharper than I intend. The weight of that time presses against my ribs like a stone.
“Why was I unconscious for so long?”
“Your body needed to recover,” he replies, calm and maddeningly simple. “Channeling magics of that magnitude takes a toll.”
I stiffen. “What do you mean? I don’t even understand what happened.”
He nods—expecting this, maybe even relieved by it. “I’ll explain.”
His fingers shift along the staff, and when he speaks again, his voice is steady but not impersonal.
“You know of the wars against the Shadow Forces.”
I nod once, wary. “Yes. Of course.”
“Then you also know the wards protecting the realm have been faltering.”
My hands tighten around the blanket. “We’ve heard.”
It’s been whispered for months—traders bringing stories from across the borders, whispers of broken wards, entire villages gone silent overnight. People gone missing without a trace. In the market square, voices would lower as rumors passed between baskets of grain and root vegetables.
But it always felt so far away.
Until it wasn’t.
My eyes fill but I blink the wetness away.
Valen watches me closely. “The weakening of the wards has allowed more Shadow Forces to cross through. The attacks have escalated. Villages like yours—” he pauses, as if weighing his words, “have suffered great losses because of it.”
A lump rises in my throat, but I force it down.
“And?” I manage, voice thin. “Why Liora? We’re just farmers . . . Earth Clan. There’s nothing there. We’re nowhere near the borderlands.”
Valen leans forward, the staff still braced in his hand. His expression doesn’t change, but something in the air tightens.
“We have theories.” His voice is too calm. “But what happened to your village wasn’t random, Amara.” He holds my gaze now, every word deliberate. “That’s where you come into the story.”
I blink. “What?”
“We believe the Shadow Forces were looking for you.”
Cold seeps into my spine.
“No,” I whisper. “Why would they—? That’s not possible.”
Valen doesn’t blink. “It is.”
A hollow sound escapes me—half laugh, half disbelief. “This must be some kind of joke. A twisted mistake. I’m no one. Just a farmer’s daughter from a village that barely matters.”
His gaze doesn’t shift. “And yet,” he says quietly, “they came.”
My breath comes faster, my fists clenching around the blanket in my lap.
“No.” I shake my head, hard, like I can shake the weight of his words off my skin. “No, that doesn’t make sense.”
The panic threads faster now, barbed and breathless.
“I’m no one,” I snap—too quick, too brittle. “I couldn’t even—” The words catch. I swallow them, my throat tightening. “—not before that night.”
My pulse beats loud in my throat, hot and sickening.
“I’m like anyone else without a dragon bond. I can barely touch the smallest magics—earthsense. That’s it. I’m not a warrior. I’ve never even left my village before now. There’s no reason they’d come looking for me.”
The next thought scrapes like a blade along the inside of my chest.
“And even if they did . . . ” My voice drops. “The Shadow Forces don’t hunt. They don’t look for people. They just kill at random. That’s what we’ve always been told.”
Valen studies me with that same maddening stillness, like he’s seen this spiral before.
“There’s more to you than you’ve been allowed to see,” he says quietly.
A laugh bursts out—sharp, almost jagged. “This is absurd. How is this happening?”
He leans forward, voice calm, but there’s iron underneath it now. “I understand your shock. But I need you to listen. Because whether or not you believe it—this is happening. And if you want to survive what comes next, you’ll need to understand who and what you are.”
The floor feels unstable, the walls tilt, narrowing in. My pulse roars in my ears.
“This can’t be real . . . ”
“I’m afraid it is,” Valen says, steady as stone.
I push myself up, the blanket falling away. I quickly stand, but my legs are unsteady, barely holding me upright. I fall back onto the bed as the thought hits with the force of a blow—knocking the breath from my lungs.
My stomach lurches, ice flooding my chest.
“If that’s really true . . . ” My voice fractures. “Then my parents died because of me.”
Valen exhales, but his expression doesn’t change. “Amara—”
“No!”
The word cracks like a whip. My fists ball at my sides. “If they were looking for me, then they came to my village because of me! That means—”
The thought hits too hard. My voice crumples.
“That means my parents—everyone—died because I was there.”
The room constricts around me. The walls too close. The air too thin. My breaths turn sharp and shallow, my vision blurring at the edges as panic swells, fierce and fast, dragging me under.
No.
No, no, no. Not this.
Then—his hand finds my shoulder.
Steady. Solid. A quiet warmth. The kind that spreads like breath through the chest, slow and rhythmic—something softer. Centering.
“Breathe, Amara,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “Focus on me. Feel the ground beneath you. You’re here. You’re safe.”
The warmth moves deeper—into my limbs, into the spaces I didn’t realize were clenched. My heart slows. The roar in my ears begins to fade. My body responds before my thoughts can catch up, like it knows something I don’t.
The storm inside me begins to quiet.
I blink, chest still heavy—but the sharp edge of panic has dulled. The world feels a little less tilted. And suddenly, I’m aware of him again. His hand is still on my shoulder, that strange, calming energy is still moving through me.
I stare at him, confused. “What . . . what did you just do?”
Valen watches me closely, his grip steady but not forceful. “I helped you ground yourself,” he says simply.
I shake my head, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. “That’s not an answer.”
The words come out sharper than I meant, but I don’t take them back. My skin’s buzzing. My chest is cracked wide open. I feel like I’m standing on a ledge, staring into a truth I didn’t ask for.
And I don’t know if stepping forward means falling or flying.
I pull back, breaking his touch. But the warmth lingers—like an ember buried just beneath my skin. I don’t understand what he did or how, but the strange calm left behind makes my stomach twist.
Valen exhales, drawing back slightly. “It’s called Marenai. An old technique. Water Clan origin. Not magics in the way most define it—more . . . a way to steady energy. To keep the mind from shattering under too much, too fast.”
I swallow. My pulse is still off-rhythm. “You’re saying I was breaking?”
He tilts his head, thoughtful. Measured. “You were unraveling. A panic response. The mind’s way of shielding itself from a truth it’s not ready to carry.”
Then, quieter—sharper: “And Amara . . . I’m sorry to say this, but you don’t have the luxury of falling apart.”
A laugh tears out of me, harsh and broken.
“Luxury?” My hands are shaking now, and I don’t try to hide it.
“You think I want this? To sit here while you drip out cryptic riddles like some scholar with a god complex?” The grief spikes hot behind my ribs.
“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of this. ”
My voice splinters.
“I just want to go home.”
A tear slips down my cheek. I feel it fall. And I hate that he—a complete stranger—sees it.
But Valen doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t rush to comfort. He just nods, once.
“No. You didn’t ask.” Then he meets my gaze—direct and unapologetic. “But they’re hunting you, Amara. And you need to understand why.”
My jaw tightens, fingers curling into fists beneath the blanket. The fury returns, sharp and clean.
“Then tell me.” The words crack like lightning. “Stop circling it. Stop dancing around whatever this is and just say it.”
Valen holds still for a breath, then another. Then he nods.
“Very well.” His voice drops—low, deliberate, final. “You’re not what you’ve been told.”
A pause.
“You’re not only Earth Clan.”
He lets the words settle. But instead they cut.
“You’re something . . . older. Rarer.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine.
“You don’t even know me.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“No,” he admits. “But I know the prophecy.”
The world tilts.
I go still. “What prophecy?”
“The oldest records speak of a time when the Shadow Forces would rise beyond containment. When the darkness would spread faster than light could hold it back. A time when the wards would fail . . . and the realm would begin to fall.” His gaze sharpens, burning into mine.
“And they speak of one who will rise to meet it. One with the power to turn the tide.”
I shake my head, breath caught somewhere in my throat. “No.”
It comes out like a prayer. Or a plea.
But Valen doesn’t stop.