Chapter 5 #3
“Thane, I get that you’re worried about the approaching war, but you said it yourself—the woman has been through a lot in a very short amount of time. She’ll come around. Just let it breathe.”
I exhale hard, squeeze my eyes shut, then open them again. Gods. I wish it didn’t get to me.
“What do you need, Jarek?” I nod my chin towards him, remembering he was calling my name a minute ago.
Jarek sobers, his grin slipping. “Oh right—Kethraki have been spotted by the outpost nearest Greythorne Keep. Just got word from Captain Elaris. He’s planning to send out five riders to scout the area and put an end to them.”
My jaw clicks. “What the bloody hell are they doing in the realm?”
Kethraki? Inside the realm?
That hasn’t happened since . . . gods. If they’re getting through the wards, then they are weakening faster than the scholars believed.
If the wards are failing and Kethraki are slipping through, we don’t have time for grief or doubt. We need the Spiritborn now—ready or not.
AMARA
The next few days pass in uneasy silence. I keep to myself, avoiding Thane and the weight of everything pressing down on me. But I know it’s only a matter of time before I’m forced to face it.
That night, the dream comes for the first time.
I see my parents—whole, alive, standing in the doorway of our home, their faces cast in the golden glow of lantern light. My mother smiles, but there is something behind her eyes, something heavy.
“You were meant for more, my sweet girl,” she whispers.
The words curl through the air, wrapping around me, sinking deep into my bones.
The dream shifts.
Flames rise—not threatening or burning, just there. Shadows flicker inside the fire, forming shapes I don’t understand. A ruined place—stone fractured beneath some unseen force. Symbols scorched into the walls, shifting, alive.
I know them . . . and I don’t. They press into me, like they’ve been waiting for me.
Then pulsing energy. A force deep within me stirring for the first time.
A woman’s voice—but not my mother’s. It cuts through the crackling fire, soft but heavy with meaning.
“Amara,” the voice calls, familiar yet unknown.
The voice reaches inside me, pulling at something buried, something waiting to be found.
I look around, but no one is there. Only the ruins and the fire. My parents are standing at the edge of it all. The voice speaks again, woven into the air like a thread of fate unraveling.
I jolt awake, heart hammering. My skin tingles, as if something invisible brushed against me and left a mark.
I don’t sleep again that night.
The next day, I push it aside. Just a dream. I’m still adjusting to this place, to everything that’s changed. My mind’s inventing symbols and fire because it doesn’t know what else to do.
But the second night, the dream returns.
The same vision—my parents, the destruction, the symbols in the ruins. The same voice, whispering to me, pulling me forward. The same pulse of energy, growing stronger.
One symbol stands out—twisting flame inside a circle of stars. I don’t know what it means. But I feel it, like heat behind my ribs.
I wake again, breathless. My fingers tingle, my chest tight with something I don’t understand. But I shake it off. Just stress. Just grief.
The third night, I stop pretending.
This time, when I see my mother, she steps forward, placing a hand against my cheek.
“It’s time,” she murmurs. The flames burn higher, the ruins clearer, the pulse of energy within me no longer a whisper but a roar. I feel it beneath my skin, wrapping around my ribs, pressing against my heart.
I wake gasping, the air too thick, my skin alight with something I’ve never felt before.
And then I see them.
My parents, standing at the edge of the dream. Their forms shimmer like heat waves.
My father’s gaze is steady and proud. My mother’s eyes hold something deeper—understanding, sorrow, hope. Woven together like threads in the same cord.
“You were meant for more, Amara,” she whispers again.
I step toward them, my throat tightening. “I don’t know how,” I say, my voice shaking. “It’s all too much. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know if I can.”
My father’s gaze softens.
“You’ve always been stronger than you realize,” he says. “You used to cry when the goats ran too close. But when the storms came, you stood outside, arms wide. That’s who you are, Amara. Not the fear, but the standing.”
He smiles and my heart aches.
“Strength isn’t about knowing the answers. It’s about stepping forward even when you don’t have them.”
My mother lifts her hand to my cheek—just a feather-light touch. Warmth, more than weight.
“We’re with you,” she murmurs. “But you have to move forward. Holding onto what’s gone won’t change what’s coming. Even when you feel alone, you are not.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I miss you,” I whisper, my chest aching with the weight of all I’ve lost.
“We know,” my father says gently. “And we are so proud of you.”
He pauses.
“But grief is not a cage. It is a path. You must keep walking, my girl.”
Hearing my father call me his girl makes my eyes sting. I know this is a dream and yet I feel the tears roll down my cheeks.
The flames flicker, the ruins shifting around me, and I feel the pulse of something deeper, something waiting.
My mother steps back, her form beginning to fade. “Trust yourself, little star,” she says, her voice distant, carried away by the wind.
Then, like smoke on the wind, they are gone. I know, now, this isn’t just a dream.
It’s a calling.
Not a choice, not yet. But maybe . . . a step forward, even if I don’t know where it leads.
The next morning, at breakfast, I push my food around my plate, still feeling the weight of the dreams clinging to me. I don’t feel like the same person who went to sleep.
Finally, I set my fork down and glance at Lyra at my side. She’s watching the two blonde-haired men that are often at Thane’s side.
“I’m going to give it a try,” I say, the words tasting unfamiliar on my tongue. “The Spiritborn thing.”
Lyra doesn’t even blink. She grins, like she’s been waiting for me to say it.
“I knew it,” she says, nudging my arm. “Took you long enough.”
I huff out a laugh despite myself. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable,” she teases, her eyes shining.
I study her for a moment longer, then speak softly. “Why are you staying?”
Lyra turns to me, startled by the question. But before she can speak, I gently place a hand over hers on the table.
“I know you said you’d follow me anywhere—and I love you for that. Truly. But what about your parents? Your family back in Liora? You still have roots there. A life.”
I swallow, the words catching slightly in my throat.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I’ll be okay, Ly. You don’t have to stay for me.”
She places her other hand over mine, just like we used to as children—our fingers stacked, a quiet promise between palms. Her eyes meet mine—steady, earnest—and a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“Mara, I want to be here for you . . . but more than that, I want to fight.” Her voice is quiet at first, but it gains strength with each word. “I’ve always wanted to. The village—it was never big enough for me.”
She looks out one of the windows along the wall, where sunlight spills across the stone floor.
“I used to stare at the mountains beyond the farms and wonder what was beyond them.” Her thumb brushes gently over the back of my hand. “I wanted more than fields and festivals and waiting for someone else to decide my future. I wanted a choice.”
She takes a breath, then straightens her spine before looking back at me. There’s a fire behind her eyes now, the same spark I’ve seen when she would get into mischief back home—unyielding, bright.
“For the first time, I have it. A chance to fight for something that matters. To stand for something bigger than myself.”
She lets go of my hand only to place it over her heart, her jaw set with quiet defiance.
“I don’t want to sit on the sidelines while others bleed for this realm. I want to face it. All of it. The danger, the grit, the truth of the world.” Her voice drops, softer now. “And yeah, it scares me.”
She looks back at me, and there’s no hesitation in her eyes.
“But it also thrills me because for the first time, I’m not just watching life pass me by—I’m living it.”
She leans in, bumping my shoulder with hers, her smile half mischief, half heart.
“And I get to do it with you. That’s everything.”
I look at her, heart twisting. A part of me wants to argue—to protect her from what I don’t yet understand. But I see the fire in her eyes, the spark I’ve always known. She was never meant for a small life.
And deep down, I know—she does understand. She’s just choosing to face it anyway.
A lump rises in my throat. I blink hard, then whisper, “You’re braver than me, you know that?”
Lyra scoffs lightly, but her smile softens.
“I’m still scared,” I admit. “I still want to run. But if I do, someone else will pay the price. And I don’t want that on my hands.” I take a breath. “My parents wouldn’t want that.”
I pause.
“But I’m glad I’m not alone.”
My voice breaks a little on the last word, and Lyra just squeezes my hand again, no words needed.
After breakfast, I go to find Valen.
I spot him in the training yard, locked in a sparring match with another soldier.
I pause at the edge, watching. Despite his age, Valen moves with a fluid grace, his staff whirling through the air as he counters every strike with calculated precision.
Then, with a swift motion, he disarms his opponent, sending the blade skidding across the dirt.
I exhale, impressed.
When he notices me, I step forward.
“Can I ask you something?”
He wipes sweat from his brow and nods. The soldier sparring with Valen steps to the water pitcher to give us privacy.
“Of course.”
I hesitate. “Can I stop?”
He frowns, a question in his eyes.
“If I try—can I walk away later? If I decide I can’t do it?”