Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
ALENA
Snow filled the mountain crevasse, hiding sharp, jagged rocks beneath its deceptive blanket. From her perch atop a flat slab of stone, Alena watched thin rivulets run through the snow, icy veins collecting droplets that trickled down the mountainside.
Winter had come to an end.
A golden eagle cried in the distance, its dark form a speck in the vast blue sky. Every morning, Alena came to these rocks, eyes fixed on the narrow trail leading down to the valley.
The path would open soon. The path that would lead her back to San and Kaixo.
But not yet.
The snow still clung stubbornly to the pass, as if the mountain itself wasn’t ready to let her go.
Slinging the bow across her shoulders, she turned from the precipice and made her way back towards the settlement.
Cold wind threaded through her hair, catching strands against her lips.
As she walked, the priestesses gave quiet nods, their woollen hoods drawn up against the chill.
She returned the gesture, though her mind was elsewhere.
The Grey-Eyed Maiden hadn’t returned—not since their first encounter the day after Alena had arrived. While Phoebe had seemed concerned at first, she’d concluded the goddess likely had other pressing matters.
“She’s immortal,” Phoebe had said with a shrug. “They don’t perceive time and space like we do. But she’ll be back.”
Alena wanted to believe her, but spring was coming, and the Maiden had yet to reappear.
The stone path through the settlement was slick with melting snow and churned mud.
Alena followed it past the clustered huts until she reached the furthest one, where Phoebe sat sharpening a sword Alena had often trained against all winter—a Rasennan blade as short as its Megarian counterpart, but broader, with an elongated triangular tip.
“Can we descend yet?” Phoebe asked without looking up. Only Alena ever came this close; the other priestesses still kept their distance, wary of the battle-hardened .
Alena stretched her hands over the small campfire, coaxing warmth back into her numb fingers. “Not yet. But soon.”
The thought made her chest tighten. After almost half a year on the mountain, training daily until her body ached, it was nearly time to leave.
She yearned to find San and Kaixo again and tried not to dwell on the worst. Even with the coin they’d paid the elderly farmers, winter had been harsh, with freezing nights and abundant snow.
“We’ll head down as soon as it’s clear,” Phoebe said, rising and sliding the whetstone into her belt pouch. “Until then, we keep training.”
She tossed the sword to Alena, who caught it by the pommel and gave it a quick spin, testing its weight.
“Time you tried the mighty Noric steel the Rasennan legions love so much,” Phoebe said, fastening a cloak over her shoulders.
“The Rasennan sword was designed for thrusting and stabbing. Paired with a shield, it’s deadly in tight formations.
” Her gaze flicked to Alena’s face, unreadable.
“Your sister and the Black Helmets will be using it.”
A pang struck Alena’s chest. Up here, the world below felt distant and muffled, reduced to the scraps of news Phoebe’s contact in Tiryns managed to send, and even those were rare.
No word of Katell.
No word of Leukos.
All she knew was that the Megarians had reached Tiryns safely, the alliance with the rebels held, and they’d be heading there next to join the others, then continue to the Western Lands.
There’d been no mention of a wedding.
Alena told herself it was a good thing, perhaps it hadn’t occurred yet, yet any thought of Leukos still hollowed her out.
I wouldn’t trade the time we shared for all the Gifts in the world.
Her heart ached at the memory, pain as sharp and fresh as if no time had passed. She would never forget the look on his face the last time they were together—how he’d gazed at her as if she were his entire world, as if walking away had torn a piece of his soul.
She followed Phoebe further up the winding path to their usual training spot—a narrow plateau with a ring of ancient standing stones at the far end, their surfaces weathered and cracked with age.
Alena had quickly learned they held power.
Old magic, Phoebe had said.
Within the circle, Gifts vanished. The moment Alena crossed the threshold, the Huntress’ magic disappeared as if blown out by a sudden gust of wind. Training there meant relying solely on physical strength and skill with the blade.
Circles like these were scattered across the Western Lands and the Empire—scars from a forgotten age. According to Phoebe, no one knew who’d built them or why. Some believed they were remnants of old gods, others claimed they marked ancient battlegrounds.
Either way, one truth remained: once inside, magic was gone.
The plateau, once covered in dry mountain grasses, had been reduced to frozen mud from months of training. Weapons lay bundled beneath a thick blanket, protected from the cold. Targets hung from boulders and branches, pockmarked by countless arrows.
From the beginning, Phoebe had insisted on archery, citing Alena’s wolf-like senses, her Gift from the Huntress. Wielding a bow had come easily after weeks of repetition.
Swordplay, however, was another matter. Hand-to-hand combat had been the hardest of all.
The Grey-Eyed Maiden had said Alena needed to be ready for war, and Phoebe had taken that to heart. But unlike Katell, who’d grown impatient with every misstep, Phoebe had expected little at first—no lectures, no sighs of frustration, just a hard, watchful silence that stung more than words.
And so Alena had pushed herself. Hard. Not for praise, but to prove—to Phoebe and to herself—that the Mother Goddess hadn’t chosen wrong. That she could be more than a girl with a Gift. That she could stand, sword in hand, and fight.
Little by little, strike by bruising strike, she had improved and earned something she hadn’t expected: Phoebe’s respect. Not that the would ever admit it.
On what might’ve been the coldest morning of the year, Phoebe had dragged her to the ring of stones at first light and asked a question—one Alena had turned over many times since the Maiden revealed the true purpose of the Omega.
“Have you ever been so angry, Alena, so full of hate that you wished you could kill someone?”
Alena had killed before—the Blood Wolf, and a druid who’d attacked her in the Green Mountains hillfort. She wished it had never happened and hoped it would never happen again. But fighting the Empire and stopping Tarquinius wouldn’t come without sacrifice.
She had thought of the slavers who’d taken her and Katell. Of all the awful visions she’d seen after touching the Blood Wolf’s Mark. “Yes.”
Phoebe had smiled, sharp and unnerving. “Good.”
Then she’d charged without warning.
Every day after, they’d trained and sparred until Alena’s body screamed in protest. She’d drag herself back to their shelter with cuts, bruises, and a bone-deep ache, force down a bowl of food, drink the bitter healing tea the priestesses brewed each night, and collapse onto her bed of furs.
And every morning, without fail, she rose again because giving up had never been an option. Not when so much was at stake.
A sharp wind snapped across the plateau, dragging Alena back to the present. She shivered beneath her woollen tunic, breath misting in the cold air. Stepping to the weapons, she picked up the Achaean shield, fitting her arm through the central band, its weight familiar now.
Her other hand grasped the Rasennan sword Phoebe had sharpened for her.
“Ready?” Phoebe called from across the plateau, already in position, sword and shield raised.
Alena nodded, expecting a warm-up, something light to ease into the day. But the lunged without hesitation, eyes steely, blade cutting through the air in a sharp thrust.
Alena deflected the blow just in time, steel scraping against steel. She moved on instinct now—strike, parry, pivot—the rhythm etched into her body through daily repetition. Boots crunched in the frozen mud, the clash of their swords echoing through the mountains.
Spotting an opening, Alena went low and aimed for Phoebe’s legs.
But the was faster. She sidestepped and slammed the flat of her blade into Alena’s ribs with a jarring thud.
Alena staggered back, breath punched from her lungs. If Phoebe had been a real enemy, she’d already be dead.
“Keep going.” Phoebe pressed the attack, their blades crashing together in a shower of sparks.
“You might not be as strong as a Silver Shield—”
Alena stumbled, boots skidding, but recovered, rolling out of reach.
“—you’ll definitely never wield weapons like an —”
Phoebe advanced with another sharp thrust. Alena met it head-on, the clash ringing in her ears.
“—and you’ll never match your sister’s skills—”
Alena’s jaw clenched. She drove forward, swinging her shield with raw force. Each strike came sharper, faster. She ducked under Phoebe’s counter, surged up, and slammed into her shield-first.
Phoebe hit the ground with a solid thud, snow and mud scattering.
Alena stood over her, breath ragged, shield arm trembling.
“—but praise the Huntress,” Phoebe said, wiping sweat from her brow, “you can hold your own in a fight, Alena. And when war comes, you’ll be ready.”
Alena allowed herself a small, satisfied grin.
“What are you smiling at?” Phoebe jumped to her feet with infuriating ease, rolling her bruised shoulder like nothing had happened. “Drink some water, and let’s try that again. That last hit was pure luck.”
Once the snow melted, revealing the treacherous mountain path, Alena and Phoebe prepared for their descent.
Alena’s thoughts raced ahead to what news might await them in the valley.
Had there been more Rasennan attacks? A full legion would struggle through the deep winter snow, but she wouldn’t put it past the Emperor to try.