Chapter 20

The night was heavy with silence, the village nestled beneath the vast expanse of the desert sky. I lay on my cot, my head still aching faintly from the fall, but my thoughts were sharper than ever. The warmth of Caelestis's touch lingered on my hand, his words echoing in my mind.

"You're safe now… I'm here."

Safe. The word felt foreign, almost mocking. How could I be safe when I was powerless? When I couldn't even protect myself, let alone the people who now depended on me? The weight of my helplessness bore down on me, threatening to crush the fragile hope I had left.

I stared at the ceiling, my mind restless. Every breath felt shallow, my heart heavy with the burden of expectation. The sword, Lacronis, rested by my bedside, the cold metal glinting faintly in the darkness. I reached out and touched the hilt, feeling its strange warmth under my fingers. It had responded to me once, allowing me to release a sound after so long. Was it calling to me again? Or was I imagining things, desperate for any sign of strength?

I couldn't continue like this, living in fear of the power within me, afraid to take the first step towards reclaiming my destiny. I had to do something. I had to fight.

It was late when I slipped out of bed, the chill of the desert night biting at my skin as I wrapped myself in my cloak. The sword was a comforting weight in my hands as I made my way towards the village walls. The moon hung low, casting long shadows on the sandy ground, guiding me to the only person who could help me.

Beyond the safety of the village, the desert stretched out endlessly, the sands cool beneath my feet as I ventured into the open. Czar was waiting for me outside the walls, his figure barely discernible in the dim light, a cigar glowing faintly between his lips. His single visible eye, cold and calculating, tracked my approach. He was a man of few words, and even fewer expressions, his rough exterior hiding any emotions he might have felt.

I stood before him, holding the sword tightly, and without a word, I presented the sword to him. My eyes met his, pleading silently for the guidance I couldn't voice.

He took the sword from my hands, inspecting it with a reverence that made my heart skip. Then he looked at me, his expression unreadable.

"Lady Kyrene," he began, his voice rough and low, as though unused to speaking. "This sword… it carries the weight of your ancestors. Are you certain you wish to wield it?"

I nodded, my resolve firm. But how could I explain the storm of emotions raging within me? The fear, the hopelessness, the desperation to protect my people? Words failed me, as they always did, so I knelt down in the sand, my hands trembling as I began to write.

"I am lost."

"I am afraid."

"I want to protect them, but I don't know how."

The words appeared jagged, uneven in the sand, as if they were tearing their way out of my heart. I glanced up at Czar, hoping he could see the depth of my despair in those simple, broken sentences.

He studied the words for a long moment, his gaze softening ever so slightly as he knelt beside me. His hand reached out, brushing some of the sand away, making space for something new.

"You are not alone, Lady Kyrene," he said gently, his voice gravelly but kind. "The burden you carry is heavy, but it is not yours to bear alone. This sword… it's a part of your legacy, yes, but it's also a tool. A tool that will help you carve out your own path, to protect those you love."

His words resonated with me, touching something deep within that had been dormant for too long. He placed blade back in my hands, and for the first time, it didn't feel like a relic of the past, but a part of me—an extension of my will, my determination.

"We will train, every night if we must," Czar continued, his voice steady. "You will learn to wield this sword, not just for your ancestors, but for yourself. And in doing so, you will find your strength."

Tears welled in my eyes, but I held them back, nodding as I gripped the sword with renewed determination. I would learn. I would fight. For my people, for my future, and for the chance to rewrite my destiny.

The following nights became a gruelling routine of training under the open sky. Each night, after the village had settled into sleep, I would slip out past the walls, where Czar waited with a silent nod, his presence a steady anchor in the sea of uncertainty.

The desert was vast and still, the stars above a silent audience to our efforts. At first, every movement with the sword felt foreign, my hands clumsy, my balance off. The sword was light and agile, but it required precision, control that I didn't yet possess. Every mistake was a reminder of how far I had to go, but Czar was patient, guiding me through the basics, correcting my form, showing me how to harness the sword's power rather than fight against it.

"Focus, Lady Kyrene," he would murmur, his voice a rough whisper in the night. "This sword responds to your intent. You must be clear in your purpose."

His words were simple, but they cut through the fog of doubt that clouded my mind. Each night, I found myself growing more attuned to the sword, to its rhythm, its demands. The connection between us deepened, and slowly, the movements began to feel less forced, more natural.

But it wasn't easy. My body ached, my hands were raw, and the weight of the sword felt heavier with each passing hour. Yet, I couldn't stop. Not when I was starting to feel the stirrings of hope, the faintest whisper of strength returning.

In those quiet moments after each session, Czar would walk with me back to the village walls, ensuring I returned safely to my room. He never spoke of the past, but in those silent walks, I sensed his own resolve, his commitment to my cause. He was a man who had seen too much, lost too much, yet here he was, guiding me when I needed it most.