Silent echoes

Elara barely slept. The journal lay beside her, its pages whispering forgotten names and secrets that felt too close to her own. The Valerius line. The Forgotten Sons. The idea that her father had been tied to it all sent a chill through her.

Morning came too soon. When the training bell rang, she forced herself out of bed, pushing the journal deep beneath her mattress. She couldn't afford to be distracted. Not today.

The training yard was already bustling when she arrived. Recruits sparred under the watchful eyes of their superiors, the air thick with the sound of steel clashing. Damien stood near the center, speaking quietly with Keshav and Rhys.

She made her way to her usual spot, gripping the hilt of her training sword. But before she could start drills, a voice called her name.

"Elijah."

She turned to find Damien watching her, his expression unreadable.

"Come with me."

A few recruits cast curious glances her way, but no one dared to question Damien. She wiped her hands against her tunic and followed him toward the shaded area near the weapons rack.

"You disobeyed my orders," Damien said, not bothering with pretense. His tone was measured, but there was something razor-sharp underneath it.

Elara kept her posture neutral. "How?"

"You were told to stay away from Matthias."

She clenched her jaw. Of course, he had eyes everywhere.

"He found me," she countered, choosing her words carefully. "And I didn't get anything useful from him."

Damien's gaze flickered over her, assessing, weighing.

"Is that the truth?"

She met his stare, steady and unwavering. "Yes."

The lie settled like a stone between them.

For a moment, it seemed like he might push further, but then he exhaled, rubbing his temple. "You have a habit of finding trouble, Elijah."

She bit back a sharp response, reminding herself that she was already treading dangerous ground.

"You'll spar with me today," he said suddenly.

Elara blinked. "What?"

"Since you have so much energy for secret meetings, you can put it to use."

The corner of Rhys's mouth twitched in amusement from where he stood nearby, but he said nothing.

Elara suppressed a groan. Sparring with Damien wasn't a challenge—it was survival.

—

The first clash of their blades sent a jolt through Elara's arm. Damien's strikes were controlled, relentless, each one testing her balance.

She ducked, pivoted, countered—but he was always one step ahead.

"Your guard's slipping," he muttered, knocking her sword aside with ease.

She gritted her teeth, adjusting her stance. The others had started watching, the usual drills forgotten.

She couldn't lose. Not this easily.

Elara narrowed her focus. When Damien swung again, she twisted out of reach, using his own momentum to break the rhythm. Their blades locked for a heartbeat, and she met his gaze—closer than she'd ever been to him in battle.

A flicker of something passed through his eyes.

But then he shifted, faster than she expected, and the next thing she knew, her back hit the dirt.

The world tilted.

A second later, Damien's blade was pointed at her throat.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Elara's breath came fast, her pulse a wild drum in her ears.

Damien didn't speak, didn't gloat. His expression was unreadable as he lowered his weapon and stepped back.

"Again," he said.

Elara sat up slowly, brushing dust from her hands. As she stood, she caught Keshav watching from the sidelines, his dark eyes unreadable.

She wasn't sure what he saw.

But she knew this much—

Whatever Damien suspected, he wasn't letting it go.

And neither was she.

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