Chapter 3 #4
But still, I nod, wrapping my hands around the cup, the warmth bleeding into my fingers like a lifeline. Something solid in the storm.
“Thanks,” I murmur, managing a tired smile. “Yeah . . . that’s my best friend.”
The silence stretches again, but it’s different now. Softer. Less suffocating.
Then it hits me.
I don’t actually know who they are. Valen. Thane. This place.
Names, titles, pieces—but not the whole.
I glance at him, studying his posture, his poise, the way he hasn’t once looked away.
“Who are you?” My voice is low but steady. “Valen, you, this outpost—you’re all helping me. But why? You were the ones who showed up at the village, weren’t you?”
He meets my gaze without hesitation. “I lead the Fire Clan. Valen is a mage—and my mentor. He’s also a scholar.”
His answer is simple, but it carries weight. I blink, absorbing the information.
The Fire Clan—one of the most powerful in the realm. He doesn’t carry himself like royalty, but he feels like it.
And Valen—a scholar and a mage. That explains the depth. The control. The calm.
But it doesn’t explain why they’re here. Or what they want from me.
Their supposed Spiritborn.
I blink, letting the words settle, though they feel distant, as if they belong to someone else’s story. My gaze finds Thane again. I study him now—the sharp lines of his face, the quiet strength in his eyes. Gray and stormy, but steady.
He doesn’t look at me with expectation. Just presence.
Where Valen filled every silence with knowledge or prophecy, Thane lets it stretch. As if he understands the pieces have to fall into place on their own.
He exhales softly, then nudges the plate closer. “Eat.”
I glance down. The meal is simple but hearty—roasted meat still warm, thick slices of bread beside a dish of softened butter. Root vegetables—carrots, parsnips, potatoes—roasted with herbs I can’t name but recognize from scent.
And again, I think of home . . . the farm.
I hesitate, my stomach twisting. The idea of eating feels foreign, like something that belongs to another life. But Thane doesn’t move the plate away. He just waits, watching me.
I sigh, almost imperceptibly, then spear a piece of parsnip and lift it to my mouth. The earthy flavor spreads across my tongue, and something about it tethers me—just a little.
Something that says: you’re still here.
I glance back up. Thane is still watching. Not with judgment or concern.
Just . . . there.
Something flickers in me. Curiosity. The first clean emotion I’ve felt since waking up.
I set the fork down, fingers still curled lightly around it. “Why are you here?”
The question escapes before I can think better of it. Thane’s expression is unreadable, so I press on.
“I get why Valen is here—he’s a mage, he probably has to teach me things or figure me out, or whatever.
” I gesture vaguely, the words tumbling forward before I can stop them.
“But you? You’re the leader of the realm.
You rule over all clans. Don’t you have an army to command?
A realm to rule? Shouldn’t you be off doing something important—making political decisions or intimidating your enemies or . . . ”
I trail off, my voice faltering.
“I don’t know. Warlord things.”
The sarcasm bites, but I can’t stop it. Part of me also doesn’t want to know why he’s here—I don’t want to be important.
Thane laughs softly, the sound low and almost amused. “So you know who I am?”
“Everyone knows who the Warlord is,” I snap, too curt, too sharp.
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t challenge the tone. If anything, he seems faintly entertained.
“Good,” he says, leaning back just enough to shift the energy in the room. “That saves us time.” Then, calmly—“And I am where I need to be. Being here is important.”
I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means that since you are the Spiritborn, it’s my duty to train you—to prepare you for what’s coming. Valen’s not the only one you’ll be learning from.”
My brows knit. “Train me in what, exactly?”
Thane exhales. His eyes never leave mine.
“Valen will teach you to wield Elemental magics—how to control and shape them. I’ll train you in combat. How to use your body, your weapons, and your magics as one.”
Then, quieter—
“You’ll need all of it to survive what’s coming.”
The word survive slams into me like a physical blow.
My stomach twists and my breath catches. It’s not just about learning. It’s not some noble path or heroic journey—it’s about staying alive.
Thane rubs a hand over his face. “Damn it. I didn’t mean to put it like that.” He shifts, jaw tight. “I’ve spent too long in battle. I forget not everyone hears things the way soldiers do.”
My eyes flick toward him, surprised. That crack in his composure—it’s small, but real.
He shifts in his seat, his tone softening.
“Look, training isn’t just about fighting. It’s about control, discipline—learning how to move, how to react. It’s not just about wielding a weapon or channeling your Elemental magics. It’s also about learning how to move, when to strike, and when not to.”
His voice is measured now, careful, as if he’s trying to bridge the gap between his world and mine. He studies me for a moment before adding, “I can imagine this isn’t the life you imagined. And I won’t pretend it’s easy. But I promise you—I’m not here to break you. I’m here to prepare you.”
I hesitate. The words settle somewhere inside me, not fully embraced, but not wholly rejected either.
“You’ve been in battle?” I ask quietly.
Thane nods, his features are a mask of calm. “I’ve been fighting for eleven years. Since I was sixteen.”
I blink. Eleven years?
My stomach tightens at the thought. He’s only a few years older than me. And yet . . . he’s lived a whole other life. A harder one. A longer one.
The weight of it sinks in, heavy and sobering.
Then something else he said clicks into place.
Elemental magics. Not Earth magics.
My breath catches. “What do you mean, Elemental magics—as in, more than one?” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be.
I shake my head, the shock settling deep. “I’m from the Earth Clan. We wield the lesser magics. I don’t channel. I’m not bonded to a dragon. I’m nothing—nobody.”
Thane studies me for a moment, then exhales through his nose.
“I heard you earlier,” he says, his tone even.
“When Valen was talking to you—you kept saying that. That you’re nothing, nobody.
” He leans forward slightly, his gaze locking onto mine.
“But tell me—how many nobodies do the Shadow Forces hunt? How many nobodies survive what you did?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
His voice softens, just a fraction. “You don’t know what you are yet. That’s why Valen and I are here. You’re not just Earth Clan. And you don’t just wield ‘lesser’ magics. You don’t just wield one Element.” He tilts his head slightly. “And you are definitely not nobody.”
None of it makes sense.
It shouldn’t be possible.
“I was born of the Earth Clan. My magics should be weak—practical, bound to the soil. Not something that puts a target on my back.” I stare at him, my breath uneven. “No. That’s not—I mean, I couldn’t have.”
His expression remains steady, unreadable. “You did. Maybe you were too panicked to notice, but Valen and I did. The fire, the air, and the earth—none of it was random, Amara. And although it appears that you didn’t wield water that night, you likely can. The Elements—they answered you.”
A chill spreads through me. “That’s not possible.”
Thane tilts his head, calm but unrelenting. “So tell me—what’s harder to believe? That you have more power than you realize? Or that two seasoned warriors just imagined it?” He pauses, then adds, softer this time, “Lyra saw it too.”
The memory punches through the fog of denial I’ve wrapped around that night.
Lyra’s face—wide eyes, stunned, searching—as she looked at me that night. Like she didn’t know who I was. Like she was afraid she did.
Thane leans back slightly, exhaling. “I didn’t believe in The Spiritborn, you know. Not really. Valen insisted, always going on about the prophecies, but I thought it was just stories—legends twisted by time.”
Thane shakes his head slowly. “But then I saw it. I saw what you did. And no one—no one—has ever done that before. And we are here to help you, Amara.”
I swallow hard, my mind grasping for something—anything—that makes sense of this. The way he’s looking at me, makes my skin prickle. Like I’m a myth made flesh.
I shake my head slightly. “That’s not possible. I—I barely control one Element, let alone four.”
But then the memory rises. The fire. The wind. The ground shifting beneath my feet like it was listening. I hadn’t understood it then. I’d been too panicked to question it. But now . . . now the memory burns.
“You’re wrong,” I whisper, but the words sound hollow even to me.
Thane doesn’t waver. He raises an eyebrow, “Am I?”
Then he exhales, running a hand through his hair—the first flicker of weariness showing on his face.
“I’ve seen powerful wielders before. Fought beside them. Against them. But what you did—that was different. It wasn’t just instinct or desperation. The Elements didn’t just respond to you. They bent to you like they knew you. Like they had been waiting for you.”
His voice lowers, steady and certain.
“Fire, wind, earth, water—separate forces that should never have worked in harmony. And yet, they did. For you. No training. No focus. No preparation. Yes, it was chaotic. Yes, it was raw. But it happened. You made it happen.”
He meets my gaze, unwavering.
“I don’t know how or why, but I know what I saw. And I believe the prophecy now . . . I believe in you.”
I sit frozen, thoughts spiraling out because they’re too vast to hold. My hands clench around the blanket, desperate for something solid.
Thane watches me for a moment, then nudges the plate closer. “Eat.” His voice is firm but not unkind. “You’ll need your strength.”
I pick up my fork again and spear a piece of chicken, chewing slowly at first. But the moment the savory meat hits my tongue, I realize just how hungry I am. I haven’t eaten for days. I take another bite, then another, until half my plate is gone before I even think to slow down.
Thane doesn’t comment, but I feel his gaze flicker over me, appraising. After a moment, he gives a small nod, as if satisfied that I’m eating.
When I slow, he finally speaks. “How are you feeling?”
My fork hovers above the plate.
“Oh, fantastic.” My voice is dry. Bitter. “Nothing like losing everything you’ve ever known and being told you’re the realm’s savior to brighten your day.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
I look up, expecting some kind of reaction, but he just waits. The silence stretches. And something inside me cracks.
I drop my gaze, the edge slipping from my voice. “I don’t know how I feel.”
I push the food around absently.
“Overwhelmed. Lost. In disbelief. Like I’m trying to wake up from a nightmare that won’t end.”
Thane nods. “That sounds about right. If you weren’t feeling that, I’d be worried.”
I glance up, surprised by his honesty.
He leans back, arms folding loosely across his chest. “The world isn’t fair, Amara. If it was, I’d still have a mother.” His jaw tightens momentarily. “It just throws you into the fire and expects you to survive.”
Then, softer—
“But you’re still here. That counts for something.”
I huff out a breath, shaking my head. “Yeah? And what if I don’t want to fight?”
The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and unguarded. Thane doesn’t respond right away. Just studies me, like he’s weighing my words, measuring my resolve.
“Then don’t,” he says at last.
I blink, stunned.
No speech. No duty. Just . . . that.
He shrugs. “No one can make that choice for you.” But then he holds my gaze, steady and clear.
“But if you stop fighting . . . ” His voice tightens.
“Then the ones hunting you win. Your friends, your home, the entire realm—gone. And something tells me you’re not the kind of person who lets others decide her fate. ”
A shaky breath escapes me, my chest tightening.
The realm.
My choice.
My responsibility.
And then, like a wind off the edge of the world, grief crashes in. My parents. My loving, gentle parents who always made me feel safe, who would have done anything to protect me. Gone. Turned to nothing but ash and memory.
My hands grip the blanket tighter.
I shake my head, my voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t ask for this.”
Thane doesn’t argue—doesn’t tell me I’m wrong. He just nods, like he understands. “No one ever does,” he says.
Silence settles again. Heavy. Real.
My mind screams that it’s too much, too impossible. But somewhere beneath that panic, beneath the grief, a smaller voice stirs—quiet, but stubborn.
He’s right.
I stare down at my half-empty plate, my appetite gone. The weight hasn’t lessened, but it’s shifted—like I’ve taken the first breath after drowning.
I don’t know how to carry this. But I know one thing. I don’t want the Shadow Forces to win. Or what’s the point of it all.
I exhale, slow and shaky. My fingers loosen their grip on the blanket. The pain is still there, sharp and staggering—but I can breathe through it.
The world doesn’t care if I’m ready.
Thane doesn’t push me for an answer. He keeps watching, waiting, giving me space.
The tea on the tray has gone lukewarm, but I reach for it anyway, wrapping my hands around the cup. The warmth is faint, fleeting. Like everything else I’ve lost.
I swallow hard, staring down at my hands. “I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s too big. Too much.”
Thane leans forward, eyes steady. “Then take it one step at a time.”
The fire crackles in the background, filling the silence that stretches between us. The warmth of the flames is distant, but I focus on the sound and feel my hands loosen their grip.
After a moment, Thane stands, reaching for the tray. “Rest,” he says simply. “You’ll need it.” Without another word, he turns and walks toward the door.
And then I’m alone. With the silence. With the fire. With everything I’m still trying to understand.