Chapter 11: Chapter nine

Fallon

I wake up before the sun rises. The academy is still cloaked in the soft silence of early morning, the only sound the distant hum of wind cutting through the trees outside. My breath is steady, but my mind is already racing. I've been training harder than ever these past few weeks, yet every time I close my eyes, I see the same thing: my sword slipping from my grip, my legs giving out, failing in front of everyone. Failing in front of Kane.

I can still feel his gaze on me, sharp and relentless. He's harder on me than anyone else, and at times, it feels like he's always watching, waiting for me to break. The way he pushes me—pushing me beyond what I think is possible—it's frustrating and infuriating, but there's a part of me that knows it's exactly what I need.

I throw off the blankets and sit up on the edge of the bed, my feet touching the cool stone floor. The first thing I do is grab my sword, still sharp and unyielding, and run my fingers along the edge. It's a constant reminder of the weight of my destiny, of what I've been trained for since I was a child.

The world outside my window is still dark, but the hunger for strength in my chest pulls me forward. I can't afford to rest—not yet. Not when I've got so much more to prove.

I slip into my training gear—tight leather pants, boots that fit like a second skin, and the form-fitting tunic that hugs my frame but allows for the freedom of movement I need. My golden-blonde hair, still damp from the night's rest, is tied back tightly, and I look at myself in the mirror, my ocean-blue eyes staring back with a fierce determination.

I've spent my entire life fighting for this, and I won't let fear stop me now. Not after everything I've endured. Not after everything I've sacrificed.

I don't need anyone's approval, least of all Kane's. But his approval is the only one that matters right now, and I hate that it's true.

The rest of the academy is still sleeping when I slip into the courtyard. The stone ground is cold beneath my feet, the air still crisp with the faint scent of dawn. I start to run, my feet pounding against the hard ground, each step a reminder of the struggle I face. My mind wanders back to my first day at Vyrden Academy, when everything seemed so simple—when all I had to do was train and fight. But now, it's more than that. It's about who I am, who I'm supposed to be. And right now, I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to become the warrior I need to be.

I slow my pace as I near the training arena, the familiar clang of swords and shouts of the other trainees filling the air. I can see the flickers of movement from inside, and I know the others are already preparing for their morning drills. Kane's drill, the one I've been dreading, is about to start.

I've avoided him this past week, giving myself the excuse that I'm too focused on my training to think about him. But the truth is, I don't want to face him again. I don't want to face the fact that I'm not good enough, not strong enough to meet his expectations.

As I step into the arena, I'm not surprised to find Kane waiting for me. He's already there, standing in the center with his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the arena as if he owns it. His short buzzed hair looks sharp against his tanned skin, the scar across his left eye standing out in the low light. His green eyes are colder than the dawn itself, and I can feel the weight of his gaze even before he looks at me.

"Draythar," he says, his voice low and commanding, like he always speaks to me. There's no greeting, no acknowledgment of anything beyond the task at hand. "Today's training will be different."

I swallow the lump in my throat, my body tense as I step closer. I've learned to read him, to understand that every word he says is a challenge. The air between us always crackles with that unspoken tension, like he's constantly judging me, testing me.

He doesn't wait for me to respond. Instead, he motions for me to take my position across from him. I do as instructed, my sword gripped tightly in my hand. I don't know what kind of challenge he's going to throw my way today, but I'm ready to face it. I have to be.

"We're going to spar," he says simply, as if sparring with him is as easy as breathing. "But this time, it's not about technique. It's about your instincts."

I stare at him, confusion flickering across my face. I thought everything was about technique. That's what we've been trained for since day one—precision, control, perfection. But Kane always has his own methods, his own way of breaking down everything I've been taught.

"Instincts?" I echo, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You're too controlled," he says, narrowing his gaze. "You fight like a soldier. You've been taught to rely on technique and strategy, but you need to trust your instincts. You need to fight like a warrior."

I can't help the laugh that escapes me, though it's bitter. "You're telling me to just... fight? Forget everything I've learned?"

Kane doesn't flinch, doesn't give an inch. "You're afraid of making mistakes," he says, his voice hard as steel. "And that's what's holding you back. You're not going to become a Valdyr by thinking through every move. You'll get yourself killed if you wait too long to react. You have to trust your instincts—your instincts will save you when your mind falters."

His words are like a slap to the face. He's right, but I don't want to admit it. I've always relied on control, on being calculated, on being prepared for every scenario. The idea of letting go, of trusting myself without any safety net, is terrifying.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. This is it. This is the moment where I decide who I'm going to be. And I'm not going to let Kane be right about me.

I charge at him first, my sword raised high. I swing it with all my strength, aiming for his shoulder. But Kane is faster. He sidesteps effortlessly, grabbing my wrist in a swift motion and twisting my arm behind my back. My breath catches in my throat as he forces me to my knees.

"You're still thinking," he growls in my ear, his grip unyielding. "Stop thinking."

I push against his hold, trying to break free, but it's useless. I can feel his strength, his skill, and it reminds me just how far I still have to go. He's not just physically stronger than me. He's mentally sharper, and it's that edge that scares me.

I grit my teeth, willing myself to stay calm. He's right. I have to stop overthinking, stop doubting myself. I close my eyes for a brief moment, taking a breath, then I do what I've always been afraid to do—I react. I twist my body, using the momentum to break free from his hold. It's not graceful, not perfect, but it's instinctive.

Kane doesn't move immediately, watching me with that same calculating gaze. But there's something in his eyes that wasn't there before—something like approval.

"Good," he says, his voice low and almost approving. "You're starting to get it."

I stand up slowly, still panting from the struggle, but I can't hide the thrill that's bubbling up inside me. He's right. I've been holding myself back, afraid of making mistakes. But now, I can feel something shifting.

"I'll get it," I say, my voice quieter, more determined. "Just you wait."

Kane doesn't respond right away, but I can see the smallest flicker of something in his eyes—something like respect, but also something more. Something that makes my chest tighten in a way I'm not sure I want to acknowledge.

For the first time, I think I've made a step toward understanding Kane Vaelrik. And maybe, just maybe, he's starting to see me for who I truly am.