Chapter 10: A Lesson in Daggers

The morning fog clung low to the forest floor, thick as breath and laced with dew. Somewhere high above, the sun tried and failed to pierce the canopy, leaving the air dim and dreamlike.

Lyra stood barefoot in the clearing behind Soreya's root-home, a dagger balanced in her palm.

It was not made of steel.

Not like the polished weapons of the Citadel guard. This was bone, carved and curved, etched in runes that shimmered faintly when her fingers closed around the hilt. It felt alive. Like it watched her.

Kael stood a few paces away, arms crossed. "It's too light."

Soreya ignored him. "It's not meant for weight. It's meant for will."

Lyra flexed her fingers. The bone blade warmed under her touch, responding to the heat in her blood. "It's reacting to me."

"As it should," Soreya said. "Daggers are not tools. They are truths made sharp."

Kael scoffed quietly. "It won't matter how sharp it is if she hesitates."

Soreya turned to him, cool and calm. "Then let her learn not to."

Kael's jaw twitched, but he didn't argue.

Lyra looked between them, heart thrumming. "So what's the lesson?"

Soreya's smile was not comforting. "Survival."

Before Lyra could ask what that meant, Kael was already moving.

Fast.

Too fast.

He closed the distance in seconds, a blade in each hand, steel flashing in the filtered light. Lyra barely had time to react, she ducked the first swing, stumbled back from the second, and caught herself on the mossy ground just in time to roll away from a third strike.

"What are you doing?" she shouted.

"Teaching you."

Kael's voice was flat, focused. He moved like a shadow, no wasted motion, no pause for mercy. The next swipe came low. Lyra jumped, heart hammering.

"I'm not ready for this!"

"You won't have time to be ready," he snapped, lunging again.

She blocked on instinct, the bone dagger clashing with his steel. Sparks flew, and something sang in her ears, the sound of power vibrating through bone. She staggered back, breath ragged.

"I thought you were supposed to protect me!"

"I am," he growled. "By making sure the next time someone comes for you, they don't leave you bleeding in the dirt."

Lyra's fingers curled tighter around the dagger. Rage flared, bright and sharp. She met his next strike, gritting her teeth, forcing her feet to stay planted.

"Then stop holding back."

That surprised him.

Only for a second.

But it was enough.

She twisted, using his momentum to push past his guard and slash upward. Not deep, she didn't want to hurt him. But the blade kissed the leather at his ribs, slicing clean through.

Kael stepped back, nodding once.

"Better."

Lyra's chest heaved. "You weren't pulling your strikes."

"No," he said. "And I won't. Neither will the ones who come next."

Soreya watched from the edge of the clearing, her face unreadable.

"You move well," she said. "But your fire's not in your feet. It's in your focus. And it's still tied to fear."

"I'm not afraid," Lyra lied.

Kael caught it. "You are. It's not weakness."

"It feels like it," she muttered.

"It's only weakness," he said, "if you let it stop you."

Lyra closed her eyes. Her cheek still ached from the hunter's cut. Her muscles trembled. But deeper than all that, was fire. It didn't burn this time. It waited. It listened.

"Again," she said, eyes opening.

Kael gave the faintest smile. "As you wish."

They trained until the sun touched the edge of the sky, and her arms were numb. The dagger grew warmer with every pass. It molded to her grip. Learned her rhythm. By the time Kael stepped back for the final time, she could barely stand.

But she was grinning.

"Not bad for someone who couldn't hold a blade two days ago," he said.

Lyra wiped sweat from her brow. "Careful, you almost complimented me."

"I'm evolving."

Soreya stepped forward and handed Lyra a flask filled with cool mint-scented water. "You are shifting."

Lyra drank deeply. "Is that good?"

"It's necessary," the Seer said. "You cannot stay who you were and become who you must be."

Kael's smile faded.

Lyra caught the shadow in his expression. "What is it?"

He shook his head, jaw tight. "Nothing."

But it was a lie.

And when Kael lied, it meant something was coming.

Later, after the fire was lit and the training daggers put away, Lyra found him sitting alone beneath the tree's outer roots, sharpening one of his real blades.

She sat beside him in silence for a time.

"You know something," she said finally. "Don't you?"

He didn't stop moving the whetstone.

"Yes."

Lyra waited.

Kael exhaled slowly. "The Ascended know you're missing. That you're alive."

Her stomach turned. "How?"

"One of the hunters lived."

She cursed softly. "How long?"

"Not long enough," he said. "But they'll move quickly. They'll want to silence any chance of the prophecy rising again."

"Then we have to move faster."

Kael finally looked at her. "You're not a soldier, Lyra. Not yet."

"I'm becoming one."

He nodded. "You are. But war doesn't wait for us to be ready."

She looked down at the dagger she still carried. The bone felt heavier now.

A weapon made from something once living.

"So what do we do?" she asked.

Kael's gaze drifted to the horizon. "We find the others. The ones still hiding. The rebellion needs more than fire and a sword. It needs hearts willing to bleed for more than vengeance."

Lyra swallowed. "And if they won't help?"

"Then we remind them what they're fighting for."

That night, Lyra dreamed of daggers.

Not bone, but obsidian.

Rows of them, lined along a long table soaked in moonlight. Each was marked with a name she couldn't read, but somehow knew. They were all hers.

When she woke, her hand was still curled around the hilt of the bone blade.

The pain beneath her skin was quiet.

But not gone.

It would never be gone.

And that, Lyra realized, was what made it a weapon.