“How long do you intend to have us waiting, Machaon?” A man spoke. His deep voice thundered through the void.

  “Apologies, Your Eminence, Lord Sethruez,” another man stammered.

  “We—we are doing the best we can with the knowledge we have.”

  A third voice spoke next, a low, intense rumble…and somehow far more frightening.

  “Are you suggesting,” he snarled, “that we find someone more capable than you?”

  Who are they…?

  Where am I?

  Serena’s thoughts echoed into nothing.

  No ground beneath her, no sky above.

  Just darkness.

  Just voices.

  Another dream.

  “No, Your Eminence. Please, just a little more—ghkk!”

  Machaon’s plea snapped into silence, cut off by the sickening constriction of flesh.

  A tight, crushing sound. “L—Lord… Gael—vhor…” Machaon choked, “p—please…”

  Gaelvhor’s voice rumbled through the darkness, vibrating with barely contained fury. “We have given you time and resources, far more than what you yourself claimed was enough.”

  Footsteps followed, slow, deliberate.

  Then a woman spoke, her voice calm and calculating.

  “Put him down, Gaelvhor. This is not the place.”

  “This pathetic excuse for a Hierophant has already proven himself incapable of fulfilling his task, Kalinthria,” Gaelvhor replied, his voice seething. “I will not be made to wait any longer by this incompetent imbecile!”

  The constriction of flesh tightened.

  “Put him down,” Kalinthria gently repeated. “Now.”

  After a short moment of silence,

  “Hmph!” Gaelvhor snarled. A heavy thud hit the ground, followed not long after by ragged coughing.

  Kalinthria spoke once again.

  “We have high expectations of you, Machaon, and your failure to deliver has caused us much frustration. It is evident why Sethruez and Gaelvhor are angry, yes?”

  “Y—yes, Your Eminence,” Machaon breathed, voice hoarse.

  “Then you will try again, and you will do better than last time,” Kalinthria whispered. “I expect great progress from you when we return, and you will not disappoint us. Do you understand?”

  “I—I understand,” the man gasped. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

  Sethruez’s deep voice echoed in the darkness.

  “How lucky you are.”

  Footsteps followed.

  Then silence.

  Heavy. Endless.

  “What do we do now, Master?” asked another man.

  “Gather…” Machaon replied, breathless. “Gather all my Acolytes.”

  Why am I hearing this…?

  Why do they sound so close?

  Serena tried to move,

  but she had no hands, no legs, no voice.

  And just like before, an explosion followed.

  The sound.

  A vibration that rattled teeth she didn’t even feel she had here.

  Glass shattering.

  Metal twisting.

  Then,

  that shriek.

  Not human.

  Not beast.

  Something between.

  Serena’s breath hitched, if she was even breathing at all.

  What is that sound?

  Why does it feel like it’s right next to me?

  Then the panic unfolded, raw, unfiltered.

  More screams ripped through the dark, overlapping, desperate.

  “SUBDUE THEM!” someone yelled. “HURRY!”

  Multiple blasts discharged, followed by more shrieking, higher now, warped, as if several voices were screaming through one throat.

  “THEIR EMINENCES!” another cried amidst the chaos, breathless. “WARN THEIR—

  AAHHHKK!”

  His cry cut short, smothered by a wet, crushing growl that shook the air.

  Something heavy slammed into the floor.

  Serena flinched, though she had no body to move.

  The screams continued, tearing through the dark like claws on steel.

  Men shouted orders, then the growl answered, closer now.

  Too close.

  “RUN!” a voice cracked. “WE MUST—”

  His voice was swallowed by a second explosion.

  Louder and nearer.

  Serena gasped.

  Her eyes flew open.

  She jolted upright, panting, heart pounding against her ribs.

  What… what was that?

  The remnants of the dream clung to her lungs like smoke.

  She looked around, bracing herself for company, for safety.

  Anything familiar.

  But there was none.

  No warm kitchen.

  No gentle humming.

  No one beside her.

  Instead, she found herself in a strangely familiar palace. The same room she had first woken in after the forest ambush.

  When did… when did we return?

  The chandelier. The table. The open windows. Everything was exactly as she remembered.

  Except there was no breeze.

  The curtains hung perfectly still, like painted silk.

  Her breathing steadied. She didn’t ponder too long how she got back.

  After calming herself enough, she swung her legs over the bed. She slipped into the waiting slippers and crossed to the door, half-expecting a maid or attendant to greet her.

  But when she stepped outside,

  nothing.

  No footsteps nor chatter.

  Not even from a distance.

  Only silence that pressed against her ears.

  She turned toward the corridor window. Afternoon light poured through, but the chandeliers overhead glowed faintly, as though their light had been drained.

  “Why are the chandeliers so dim?” Serena whispered, her voice sounding small in the emptiness.

  She stepped into the corridor, heading in the same direction Margot had once led her.

  No one.

  She was alone.

  “Is anybody there?” Serena called, her voice echoing down the silent hall. “Margot? Madame Grance? Leif!?”

  Nothing answered her but the stillness.

  She kept walking until she reached the main hall, only to be greeted by deepening darkness swallowing the walls and ceiling. A chill crawled slowly up her spine.

  “This is wrong,” she whispered. “Where’s—”

  “Serena,” a familiar voice called.

  She spun toward the left corridor where the voice had come from.

  There, in the dim light, Edmund stood, blue eyes catching the last fading glow of the chandeliers.

  “Highness!” Serena exhaled, relief flooding her voice. She rushed toward him, desperate for something familiar.

  “Come,” Edmund said, standing perfectly still. “Follow me. There is something I want to show you.”

  “Yes… of course,” she replied.

  But before she reached him, he turned and started walking away, footsteps steady.

  “Wait! Highness! Wait!” Serena called.

  She quickened her steps, heart racing.

  No matter how fast she walked, he remained just ahead of her.

  She turned to another corridor, following the direction Edmund took.

  But he was gone.

  He vanished into shadow. Nothing but the dim hallways lay ahead of her.

  “Prince Edmund?” she called. “Highness!”

  “I’m here, Serena!” his voice echoed.

  Close, yet nowhere to be seen.

  Serena looked ahead.

  Off to the left was a lone door, slightly ajar. Darkness seeped from the crack like ink.

  Slowly, she approached. Her fingers hovered over the wood.

  “Highness?” she whispered. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” Edmund answered, his voice muffled. “Come inside.”

  Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.

  With trembling hands, Serena pushed the door open.

  Darkness.

  A void deeper than the hallway

  A place the light refused to touch.

  She hesitated, glancing back.

  Outside, the sun had already set. Dusk had taken hold of the sky.

  She turned back to the door, calling for reassurance. “Pri—Prince? Are you—?”

  Before she could finish,

  two lights bloomed in the darkness.

  not lamps.

  not candles.

  Eyes.

  Bright, violent purple eyes, staring straight at her.

  “He is here,” came a woman’s voice, tender, low, almost a whisper, drifting from within the dark.

  “He is waiting for you.”

  Serena’s breath hitched.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Who—who are you? Where is the prince?” Serena asked, voice shaking.

  “Edmund is inside,” the woman said.

  “The night will fall soon. It is not safe for you to stay out here, alone.”

  “Come, join him.”

  A hand emerged from the dark.

  Pale, too long fingered, reaching.

  Serena froze. Then she stepped back, refusing to take the offered hand.

  “No. His Highness… show him to me first,” Serena demanded, trying to steady her breath.

  The woman didn’t respond.

  The darkness remained still. Her eyes never wavered.

  Serena could feel her gaze, sharp and unblinking, like a predator eyeing its prey.

  Then, in a heartbeat, her hand extended farther.

  The figure behind it shifting, pushing against the dark as if forcing its way into the world.

  “Come to me,” the woman whispered in a ragged voice. “Take my hand.”

  “No!” Serena cried out, shaking her head. “Stay—stay back!”

  “Come to me!” the woman repeated, her words scraping against Serena’s ears like a command.

  “NO!” Serena screamed, her back pressed to the glass of a window.

  “You,” the woman breathed furiously as her arm extended, “will take—”

  Then, another voice spoke.

  A young man this time.

  “Serena…”

  A whisper.

  Not from the corridor.

  Not from the room.

  From somewhere else entirely.

  She held her breath.

  “Serena!”

  His voice shouted. Clear and urgent.

  And all went black.

  A sharp gasp tore from her lungs as she jolted awake again, chest heaving, sweat beading along her brow.

  But this time, she wasn’t in the palace.

  A small wooden room surrounded her, lit only by a torch set near a stone hearth. The firelight flickered warm against rough walls. The floor was timber, not marble.

  Serena blinked, breath still trembling.

  And beside her stood Tristan, posture rigid, eyes fixed ahead, unwavering as ever.

  He leaned in slightly, concern softening his usually stern eyes.

  “It seemed you were having a nightmare,” Tristan said, his voice low and steady.

  Serena’s gaze drifted to the fireplace, the crackling logs casting a soft glow. She reached out toward the warmth, needing the reassurance of something real. Her palms still bore faint lines where she had clutched the blanket too hard. And beneath it all, that hollow ache in her chest.

  “I’m… awake,” she whispered, as if convincing herself.

  “Exhaustion, most likely,” Tristan replied. “From yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” Serena blinked, confused for a moment. Then memory trickled back, slow and heavy.

  “Oh… right. Training.”

  Tristan nodded once. “You pushed yourself harder than you realized. It’s common during your first time using magic in combat,” he paused, choosing his words with care, “to overlook your limits.”

  Serena drew a slow breath. “I suppose… you’re right.”

  She pressed a hand briefly against her chest.

  The ache lingered. Fading, but not gone.

  “With that said,” Tristan continued, “would you like to join me for breakfast?”

  She contemplated.

  “Yes… certainly,” she replied, still a bit unsteady. “I just… need to get changed.”

  “Of course,” Tristan said with a respectful nod. “I’ll see you in the dining room.”

  He stepped out, closing the door gently behind him.

  Left alone, Serena turned toward the window. The first light of dawn was creeping over the horizon, warm and quiet.

  “It was just a dream,” she whispered, as though saying it aloud might make it true.

  “Just… a bad dream.”

  Then, with a steadying breath, she rose from the bed, gathering her courage with the morning light.

  Not long after, she made her way to the dining room. It was modest but inviting; a long oak table, torchlight lighting the room, steam rising gently from porcelain cups. Morning light filtered in through narrow windows, catching motes of dust that drifted lazily in the air. The warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of tea.

  It felt… real. Solid. A great contrast to the cold solitude she had woken up from.

  Tristan sat alone at the table, quietly having bread. The moment Serena entered, Tristan rose immediately.

  Without a word, he pulled out a chair for her.

  An old-fashioned gesture, but done with quiet sincerity.

  “Oh, you don’t need to do that,” Serena said gently.

  “Please, allow me,” Tristan replied. “It is only customary.”

  Serena gave him a small smile and took the seat.

  “Thank you, Tristan.”

  “Would you like tea, or perhaps coffee?” he asked.

  Serena let out a soft, almost embarrassed chuckle.

  For a heartbeat, the warmth chipped away at the unease still sitting in her chest.

  “I’ll have tea, please… Sir Tristan.”

  “I shall prepare it at once,” the young man said, offering a brief bow before stepping away to serve her.

  “The king and the others are outside, taking a walk,” he added. “They should return soon.”

  Serena watched as he prepared her tea. Even when he accidentally brushed his hand against the hot pot, his composure never once faltered.

  With only the two of them present, Serena tilted her head, curiosity softening her earlier tension.

  “Why do you act so formal all the time… even when it’s just the two of us?”

  Without raising his eyes from the cup he was steeping, Tristan answered with the same unwavering politeness he always carried.

  “I wish to follow my father’s footsteps and become a proper knight. Maintaining such behavior is… practice, of a sort.”

  “But you said… he didn’t like being a soldier,” Serena replied. “Would he let you… become one?”

  Tristan set the finished cup carefully before her on a saucer.

  “My father assured me that whatever path I chose, he would stand behind it.

  Knighthood included.”

  “I see…” Serena murmured. In the back of her mind, Idun’s words resurfaced, spoken the day she accepted Renault’s offer.

  After finishing her tea, Tristan offered her a piece of warm bread before taking his own seat. She accepted, biting gently into the warm loaf. Little by little, the world felt solid again.

  The two sat in quiet comfort for a time. Then, after a slow sip of his tea, Tristan was the one to break the silence.

  “It wasn’t only my father who inspired me,” he said.

  Serena looked up, attentive.

  He rarely spoke unless she asked him something, and yet now… he continued.

  “According to our history,” Tristan continued, “Trinovantes was founded by a knightly order, the Order of Logres, who defended our lands from barbarian invasion.”

  Serena gave him her full attention. There was something different in his tone.

  Not formality, but reverence.

  Tristan’s gaze remained lowered, his voice steady and practiced.

  “Later, that same Order led the rebellion against the Kingdom of Magenholt,” he went on, “and from that victory, the Ducal State of Trinovantes was born.”

  He paused briefly before continuing, eyes reflecting a quiet pride.

  “Then, together with Durandal and Aldana, Trinovantes faced the second invasion of the Sordonian Empire in the west, and from their triumph, they founded the great Kingdom of Beldomagne.”

  Serena didn’t recognize every name or place he spoke of, but it was clear how deeply these stories meant to him. For the first time since they met, Tristan allowed himself a small, genuine smile. Faint, but unmistakably real.

  “I want to accomplish something like that,” he said softly. “Someday.”

  Mesmerized by the tales and Tristan’s drive, Serena tilted her head and asked a modest question, “What is… Beldomagne?”

  Tristan looked up, finally meeting her gaze, his smile unwavering. “It’s a long story, but from what I learned, it was a kingdom where even peasants lived in luxury.”

  “Luxury?” Serena asked.

  Tristan nodded his head, “Trinovantes prides itself on having once been part of that kingdom, where everyone lived in comfort.”

  “They say it was the most magnificent kingdom on the continent, perhaps even all of Hemera.”

  “What about you, Lady Serena?” Tristan asked.

  “I know the alvarynn detest violence. What made you decide to pursue learning combat?”

  Serena’s gaze lowered, her fingers curling slightly in her lap.

  She hesitated before speaking.

  “I… I want to help Prince Edmund,” she said softly, her voice thin with shyness.

  “Help?” Tristan tilted his head.

  “I meant…” Serena fidgeted her fingers harder now, cheeks warming.

  “I want to… protect him too.”

  “He helped me learn to read and speak… and introduced me to everyone too. I want to return the favor, his and the king’s kindness.”

  Tristan went completely still.

  Not out of judgment.

  Not out of surprise.

  But because she had said something genuine, something weighty.

  Something a knight would never dismiss.

  He lowered his cup slowly.

  “Wanting to protect someone,” he said, tone quieter but deeper, “is a noble reason.”

  Tristan’s response made her smile return somehow.

  Just then, Renault entered the dining room, having returned form his stroll.

  Serena and Tristan immediately rose and bowed.

  “Good morning, Serena, Tristan,” Renault greeted, inhaling the warm aroma of bread and tea. “A lovely morning, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Indeed, Majesty,” Tristan replied. “I can feel the cool breeze from the window, just right for the season.”

  Renault then turned to Serena, a faint note of concern in his tone. “I hope you rested well last night. You pushed yourself far too much yesterday.”

  Serena set aside the memory of her nightmare, trying to steady her breathing.

  It was just a bad dream, she reminded herself. Tristan, the king, this warm lodge—everything is right. Everything is fine.

  Serena’s breath caught for a moment.

  She swallowed the truth down.

  “It was… a pleasant night, Majesty,” she answered.

  Tristan glanced her way. He knew she wasn’t telling the truth, but he remained silent out of respect.

  “That is good to hear,” Renault nodded. “We can continue your training today or postpone until tomorrow if you prefer.”

  The young alvarynn shook her head.

  “I’m ready to continue today,” Serena said without hesitation, determined to understand her abilities.

  “Very well,” Renault replied. “When you’re ready, meet me and your mentors outside.”

  He stepped away, leaving Serena and Tristan to finish their tea in quiet conversation. When they were done, they placed their cups aside and headed outdoors.

  The two headed for the door when Serena abruptly stopped,

  trembling ever so slightly.

  Her eyes darted from one corner to the other.

  Her breathing became ragged.

  She heard a whisper.

  The night will fall.

  A chill crawled up her spine. Her heartbeat thudded once, hard.

  She gasped and looked back at the dining room, then at the stairs leading to her room.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling she was still being watched.

  “Is everything all right?” Tristan asked from the doorway. “Do you still need some more time to rest?”

  “Oh—uh, no,” Serena shook her head quickly. “I’m fine. I just… thought I forgot something.”

  Tristan studied her for a brief moment, then nodded. “Shall we?” He opened the door, stepping aside for her to pass.

  Not far from the entrance, Renault and Sir Felix were deep in discussion. Sir Gilbert practiced thrusts further down the clearing, each movement sharp and purposeful, while Master Turenne examined a cluster of charred trees, though “burned” hardly described their state.

  When Serena stepped outside, the veterans paused to acknowledge her. Flustered, she approached the mage first.

  “Sorry, Master Turenne… I didn’t mean to blast those trees yesterday.”

  Turenne turned toward her, thumb brushing thoughtfully along his beard before he looked back at the scorched trunks.

  “It’s perfectly fine,” he said. “This is why we came here, to test your limits safely. Better a few trees than the capital.”

  Serena rubbed the back of her neck, cheeks warming.

  “The important thing,” Turenne continued, “is that we now understand the scope of your power and how to help you control it. Remember, gather only a small amount of energy, focus it, and release it as a controlled burst. The Draemhyr is gone. You won’t need the force you used against it.”

  “That is correct,” Renault added as he approached. “Calm your mind, Serena. You are not in danger here. Guide the energy, don’t let it overwhelm you. Release only what Turenne instructs. Nothing more.”

  He turned to Tristan.

  “Often, victory in battle comes from endurance, not overwhelming force. Isn’t that right, Tristan?”

  “Certainly, sire,” Tristan replied. “In most cases, those with better control of their power prevail over those who rely solely on brute force, whether in war or in duels.”

  Better control, Serena repeated silently. Not brute strength.

  “Like healing,” she murmured to herself. “Healing needs control and gentleness. Fighting shouldn’t be any different.”

  Though she spoke barely above a whisper, Tristan was close enough to hear. He blinked, surprised she had spoken without halting.

  Serena lifted her head, her eyes firm with new resolve.

  “I want to try again, Master Turenne.”

  Turenne exchanged a glance with Renault before facing her.

  “That’s the spirit,” he said. “Don’t worry about the trees. But don’t forget, reduce the amount of ether you release.”

  Serena nodded.

  “It will be difficult at first, so you must concentrate,” Turenne continued. “I can guide you in shaping your power, but the amount itself, only you can determine and understand.”

  The king, the master, and the knights stepped aside to give Serena space.

  She walked forward until she stood before a towering tree, its height almost imposing.

  “Now,” Turenne instructed, “shape your energy into a lance. Aim for the trunk and pierce it.”

  Serena drew a deep breath, letting the sounds of the forest settle around her.

  The birds, the small creatures moving through branches, the soft rustling of leaves.

  Slowly, she gathered her power into her palms. A sphere of light formed there, bright and warm like a tiny sun.

  “That’s it,” Turenne murmured.

  Serena obeyed. She focused on controlling the release.

  Shape it into a lance, she repeated in her mind.

  The sphere trembled, then elongated, narrowing as it transformed.

  First an oval, then the beginnings of a lance.

  “Just a bit more,” her mentor coaxed.

  Serena’s breath strained. Her eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched, hands shaking under the pressure of holding it steady. Keep… holding it…

  But her control faltered. The energy surged, and she released it with a forceful throw.

  The blast struck the tree, tearing a massive hole through its side.

  Panting, Serena pressed a hand to her chest, trying to settle her breath. When she looked up, her heart skipped at the sight. The damage was far wider than she had intended.

  Turenne stepped forward, examining the destruction.

  “Hm,” he muttered, stroking his beard. “It’s much wider than what one would expect from a spear or lance.”

  Serena’s eyes lifted anxiously.

  “But!” Turenne added, brightening with genuine approval, “a great improvement from yesterday. At this rate, you should have full control of your energy release by the time we return to the palace. Then we can begin real training.”

  Serena’s lips curved, joy breaking through her exhaustion.

  Renault crossed his arms, smiling with quiet pride.

  “Well done. I never doubted you’d manage it.”

  Turenne nodded to the king. “Indeed, Majesty. The moment I first sensed her power, even from afar, I knew she held great potential.”

  Serena bowed her head gratefully.

  “Thank you, Master Turenne.”

  “Let’s try a few more times before lunch,” Turenne said. “Afterward, you can rest and practice the basics of sword-handling with Tristan and Sirs Gilbert and Felix.”

  “Yes, master,” Serena replied gleefully.

  She stepped forward again, gathering energy into her palms, shaping it, aiming once more at the tree.

  But then, a faint wind brushed her cheek.

  Unnatural, cold, out of place in the still clearing.

  Then—

  Reach forth.

  The whisper returned.

  Serena halted. She looked around, her head turning from one side to the other.

  Drink deeper.

  Serena remained still,

  hands trembling, but not from the cold.

  “Is everything all right?” Turenne asked after noticing her hesitation. “Do you want to stop for now?”

  Serena tried to steel herself and turned to him, “No, Master Turenne. Everything is… fine,” she responded.

  Just as before, she gathered her energy in her palm, letting it grow as she shaped it into a lance.

  But before she could release it, the earlier rustling in the forest grew louder.

  No longer gentle, no longer distant.

  It came suddenly.

  A shift in the air.

  A presence.

  Something unforeseen forced Renault’s hand,

  compelling him to draw a certain blade for the first time.

  And with it, the whisper rejoiced, trembling with quiet delight.

  Let the night fall.