CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The weeks following the Sovereign's banishment were deceptively peaceful.
Deceptive, because Olivia had learned that peace in their world was always temporary. The calm between storms. The breath before the plunge.
She threw herself into building the Thornwood Irregulars, determined to create something that could survive the battles to come.
Their training regimen was unconventional—combining Vanguard combat doctrine with Coven metaphysical techniques, plus Olivia's own innovations based on flexibility, leverage, and unorthodox angles.
"Your team fights weird," Captain Dray observed during a joint exercise. Dray was a tall, muscular woman who led one of the Vanguard's conventional strike teams. "They're all over the place. No formation, no discipline."
"They're not supposed to have formation," Olivia replied. "They're supposed to be unpredictable. Every fighter on my team can operate independently, adapt to any situation, exploit any gap."
"Chaos isn't a strategy."
"It's not chaos. It's controlled improvisation.
" Olivia watched Cass and Marcus spar, their movements fluid and reactive.
"In a conventional battle, your team would win.
But we're not fighting conventional battles.
We're fighting creatures that don't follow physics, cultists who want to end the world, and a being of pure malice that can unravel reality.
Discipline helps. Creativity helps more. "
Dray considered that. "Fair point. But can they hold a line?"
"They don't hold lines. They break them."
The exercise ended in a draw—Dray's team held their position, but Olivia's team infiltrated their command structure three times, "killing" Dray in simulated assassination strikes.
"You're dangerous, Thornwood," Dray admitted, shaking her hand. "I wouldn't want to fight you for real."
"Let's hope you never have to."
Lucas's role in the Irregulars was complicated. Officially, he was Olivia's tactical advisor and combat specialist. Unofficially, he was the team's emotional anchor—the calm presence that kept everyone grounded when things went sideways.
He was also changing.
The golden light that had manifested during the Sovereign battle wasn't going away.
It flickered in his eyes sometimes, especially when he was tired or stressed.
His reflexes had improved beyond even his awakened baseline.
And he'd developed new abilities—healing, for one, his hands glowing as he closed wounds that should have required surgery.
"The tree's energy changed you too," Olivia observed one evening, watching him heal a cut on Marcus's arm. "When we used the Key together."
"I think so. The combination of your energy and mine... it created something new. Something neither of us had alone." He finished with Marcus and sat back, examining his own hands. "I'm not complaining. These abilities save lives. But I worry about the cost."
"What cost?"
"Power has a price, Olivia. Always. My father taught me that. The more you use, the more it takes." He met her eyes. "I'm sleeping less. Dreaming more. And sometimes... sometimes I hear things. Voices. Not the Sovereign. Something else. Older."
Olivia felt a chill. "What kind of voices?"
"Whispers. In a language I don't recognize. They sound... not hostile. Just present. Like I'm tuning into a frequency I didn't know existed." He rubbed his temples. "Aisha says my brain scans are normal. No tumours, no bleeds, no structural damage. So whatever it is, it's not physical."
"We'll figure it out. Together."
"Together," he agreed.
But Olivia could see the worry in his eyes. The same worry she felt in her own gut. They'd won a battle, but the war was far from over. And the next phase might demand more than either of them could give.