Chapter 10
POWERFUL
TEN
“I feel as if it’s right there, a ghost just outside of my grasp—The answer to the unknown.
What is the “fifth”? What is the element long lost?
My colleagues insist it’s obvious, the Shadow Element.
And that does make sense, mostly. But that little bit of doubt has me questioning.
Maybe my curiosity is unfounded and I’m inventing complexities that don’t exist. I will go back and look for the lore that gave me pause.
Perhaps I am misremembering. Or maybe there is more to the Shadow Element than we know.
Again, I have more questions than answers. ”
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
Thane’s strategy lessons have gotten more intense and detailed—battles, war, the art of command. He’s given me books to study, filled with war philosophies and ancient doctrines written by generals long dead.
I didn’t expect any of it to feel . . . enlightening. There’s something strange about learning the logic behind conflict. To see structure in chaos; purpose in violence. It’s hard to reconcile—this idea that protecting something might require you to destroy something else.
To go from growing life as a farmer to taking lives as a warrior is something I still struggle to swallow. War isn’t just blood and blades. It’s decisions and sacrifice—I’m being taught how to do just that.
The war table is cleared except for a single map, unrolled and weighted down at the corners with small iron figurines. The lines on the parchment are sharp; rivers, ridges, roads, and forests written in black ink.
Thane stands across from me, hands behind his back, expression studious.
“This scenario is based on a real battle,” he says. “Two hundred against a thousand. Outnumbered. Surrounded. Most would call it hopeless.” He pauses, then gestures to the figurines on the map—small soldiers in silver, a dragon carved from obsidian. “But the smaller force won.”
My eyes widen. “How?”
“That’s what you’re going to tell me.” He steps closer, tapping one corner of the map.
“This is your position—north ridge, elevated terrain. The enemy surrounds you on three sides. The river makes retreat impossible.” His finger glides along a thin blue line.
“You have ten Elemental channelers in your ranks, spread across air, earth, and fire. What’s your move? ”
I study the map. “Defend the high ground?”
Thane’s eyes narrow slightly. “That’s what they expected,” he says. “And what got most of the original generals killed in the opening volley.”
He picks up one of the enemy pieces and knocks over three of mine. “In the book, The Art of Steel and Silence, it says—‘When you are outnumbered, do not match force. Create fear. Create confusion. Then strike where they’ve already begun to crumble.’”
I glance back at the map. “You’re saying . . . fight like they don’t see it coming.”
Thane nods. “Use the terrain. Misdirection. Make them think you’re cornered.” His finger traces the river again. “It’s a trap if you try to cross. But if you break the dam upstream . . . ”
“You flood the valley,” I finish.
“And force a retreat,” he finishes. “While your forces fall back with the water—hidden, covered, and alive. This,” Thane adds, “is how you win a battle before it begins.”
I stare at the map. It’s brutal. And brilliant.
I feel something shift in how I see the field. For the first time, war doesn’t feel like chaos, but rather calculation.
And although I’m starting to see it, I’m still having trouble sitting with it. They keep calling me the Spiritborn. Training me to fight and think like one. But inside, I’m still a farmer pretending to be a warrior.
A few days later, after finishing The Art of Steel and Silence, we meet again. The war room is brightly lit, the stone table in the center strewn with hand-drawn maps, miniature figurines, and stacks of worn parchment.
Thane stands at the head of the table, arms crossed. I hover near the opposite side.
“This isn’t sparring,” he says, voice even. “You won’t sweat, but your mind will feel fatigued if you’re doing it right.”
“Great,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “So mental bruises instead of physical ones.”
Thane’s mouth twitches—barely.
“The mental ones last longer.” He gestures to the map. “This valley is where you’ll die if you choose wrong. Read it. Use it.”
I step closer, studying the field: a narrow canyon, high cliffs, a single river cutting through.
“If I take the high ground,” I say slowly, “I can bottleneck the enemy here. Use the cliffs to force them into a narrow pass.”
“Good,” Thane says. “And then?”
“Trap them. Collapse the rocks above when they push through.”
“Better.” He places a figurine on the map. A dragon. Then another—soldiers on the ground. Then three more, surrounding my forces from different angles. “Now what?”
I hesitate. “I . . . didn’t see them coming.”
“You didn’t think far enough ahead,” Thane replies. “Every decision on a battlefield is a ripple—cause and effect. If you want to lead, you need to stop thinking like a fighter—and start thinking like war.”
I look up, surprised by the wording. “Didn’t you mean to say ‘a war?’”
He meets my gaze, steady and unblinking. “You’re not just part of the war, Amara. You are war. And the sooner you understand that, the more people you’ll save.”
The weight of that sinks in—slow, heavy.
“And if I fail?” I ask.
His expression doesn’t change. “Then others die.”
The silence stretches between us.
He breaks it first, voice quieter this time. “But you won’t. You’re already learning faster than most do in a year. And you’re not alone in this.”
Something inside me steadies at that.
He points at the dragon figurine again. “Now . . . tell me how you’d move your Air Channeler unit through a storm with low visibility and a Shadow Force ambush waiting below.”
“Without using Elemental magics?”
Thane raises a brow. “With them. If you’re not using what you are to reshape the battlefield, then you haven’t learned anything.”
I study the map, tracing the river with my finger, the layout settling like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place. “A storm makes it difficult to see. Which means they’ll be relying on sound and movement.”
Thane says nothing, just watches.
“So I don’t fly through the canyon,” I continue. “I send decoys—air illusions, shaped by wind magics, flitting low and loud. I make them obvious. Let the enemy reveal themselves.”
Thane’s brow furrows slightly.
“Meanwhile, I split the actual unit into two. One takes the higher current—above the stormline. Riskier, but faster. The other follows the riverbed, close to the water. The noise of the storm covers them, and wind can be used to bend the water’s surface—mask their reflections, and create stronger water surges—for more noise and chaos” I glance up at him.
“If I know where the ambush is waiting . . . I can collapse the canyon on them instead. Which could save even more lives.”
Silence. He stares at the board for a long moment. Then—
“Clever,” he says. “Using the storm as cover. Illusions as bait. Dividing your forces in a high-risk, high-reward move.” A pause. “That’s not in any of the books.”
I lift a shoulder. “You said I’m war, remember?”
And then I catch it—something in Thane’s face shifting. Pride. Not the kind that comes from a soldier meeting expectations. The kind that says he didn’t see that coming.
He nods once. “Lesson’s over.”
I blink. “Wait—that’s it?”
“You just outmaneuvered an ambush I’ve used twice in real war. I have nothing else to say today.” He starts to leave, but pauses at the door. “And Amara?”
I straighten.
“That was very well done.”
Then he’s gone. The door closes behind him, and I’m left alone in the war room, surrounded by maps, figures, and books, his words hanging in the air.
You’re not just part of the war, Amara. You are war.
I’ve been called many things—village girl, student, chosen. But this . . . this feels different. This feels earned. For the first time, I didn’t just react—I planned, created, commanded.
I glance down at the scattered books and scrolls across the table. Titles written in old ink—treatises on battlefield tactics, elemental integration, psychological warfare, command structure. Most of it still feels overwhelming, but not impossible anymore.
I pull a chair closer and sit, reaching for the topmost book. If I’m going to be war . . . then I’m going to win it.
By the end of the week, my training sessions have grown more advanced. This morning, Valen informed me that I will start practicing on wraiths—multiple threats at once—more like a real battle.
We’re standing in one of the far fields beyond the regular training grounds, where the grass grows wild. Open space and the promise of something brutal.
Valen and Thane stand off to the side, watching. Always watching. Always measuring. Like I’m a weapon they’re still deciding whether to sharpen or sheath. A few other warriors have gathered at the edges of the field, their eyes bright with anticipation.
I’m starting to feel like the entertainment at this outpost; every time I step onto a field, someone is waiting to see whether I’ll fail or succeed.
Or maybe what kind of chaos I’ll create.
Valen says I need pressure. That battle won’t wait for me to feel ready.
But lately, all I feel is the weight of eyes judging me.
I glance at Valen and Thane.
My mentor stands with his usual calm, unreadable as ever. But Thane—I see it in him. The calculation etched into every line of his face. The way he watches me, silent and still, that mask of control pulled tight but not flawless. It slips, just enough for me to see what’s underneath.
To him, I’m not just a student. I’m the answer.
The key to winning this war.