The sunrise tore through my dreams, pale and unforgiving. I felt the storm inside me shift before I opened my eyes, a low hum beneath my ribs that had become familiar, no longer entirely unwelcome. For a moment, I lay still, one hand pressed against the faint glow beneath my skin where corruption had once spread.
I pushed myself up, wincing at the stiffness in my shoulder. The cabin was quiet. Through the small window, the mountains were tipped with gold, the forest below still shrouded in shadow. I dressed quickly, tying back my hair with a strip of leather Elyra had given me.
Outside, the morning air bit at my skin. I breathed in, letting the sharpness ground me as Daro had taught. Three breaths in, three breaths out. The storm settled, coiling like a cat readying for sleep.
"You're up early."
I startled, turning to find Riven leaning against the woodpile, sharpening a knife with long, precise strokes. The sound of stone against metal made my teeth ache.
"Couldn't sleep," I said, voice still rough from disuse.
He didn't look up. "Flynn says you've been improving."
It wasn't a question, but the words hung between us, demanding a response. I shrugged, unsure if he meant it as an acknowledgement or a challenge.
"Today," he said finally, sliding the knife into his belt, "you train with me."
My stomach clenched. In the days since I'd awakened, Riven had watched my progress from a distance, silent and judging. I'd seen how the others deferred to himâeven Thalia sought his counsel. But he'd refused to work with me directly, his eyes always tracking the storm beneath my skin.
"I thought Thaliaâ"
"Thalia has other concerns." He gestured toward the clearing beyond the trees. "We begin now."
I followed him, the storm prickling under my skin. The clearing was small, ringed with smooth river stones. At its centre stood a wooden post wrapped in canvas, marked with the scars of countless blades.
Riven drew a slender staff from the ground and tossed it to me. I caught it awkwardly, the weight unfamiliar.
"Daro says you've begun to feel the storm," he said, circling me slowly. "Show me."
I gripped the staff tightly, uncertain. "Which partâ"
His staff connected with my side before I could finish, sending me stumbling. Pain blossomed along my ribs, and with it, the storm surgedâa reflexive flare of protection.
"Again," he said, voice flat.
I steadied myself, trying to recall Daro's lessons. Feel the boundary. Breathe into the pain. I shifted my stance, watching Riven's movements.
This time, I saw the strike coming and raised my staff to block. The impact jarred my arms, but I held firm. Riven nodded once, eyes narrowed.
"Better. But defensive posture won't help you against a Hunter." He stepped back, twirling his staff. "A Hunter won't give you time to think."
He moved so fast I barely saw itâa blur of motion and intent. His staff swept my legs from under me, and I hit the ground hard, breath knocked from my lungs. The storm howled inside me, lightning crackling beneath my skin.
"Get up," Riven commanded, his voice sharp with derision. "Or is this all the great storm-bearer can manage?"
I struggled to my feet, anger and humiliation burning through me. The storm responded, feeding on my emotions, gathering like thunder in my chest.
"Control it," Riven said, his voice suddenly cutting. "Or end this now. Maybe we should have left you in the forest after all."
I let the storm surge within me, a flicker of lightning crackling between my fingertips. Let him see what he feared.
"Maybe you should have," I shot back, my voice laced with venom. The wind around us picked up, rustling the leaves at our feet. "Would have saved us both the disappointment."
"This isn't a game." Riven advanced, his movements calculated and cold. "Nira was just like you before she turned."
"Stop comparing me with her," I snapped, the words bursting out before I could think. The storm inside me flared in response, lightning dancing beneath my skin.
Riven's eyes narrowed, but something shifted in his expression. "Then prove you're different," he said, voice lower but no less challenging. "So far, you follow the same dangerous path."
The storm inside me twisted, responding to my anger. I felt it pushing against my skin, wanting release. Wanting to show him exactly how different I wasâor perhaps how similar.
He struck again, but this time I was ready. I sidestepped, letting his momentum carry him past me. The storm surged, but instead of fighting it, I let it flowânot out, but through. Lightning coursed down my arms, into the staff, grounding through my feet.
For a brief moment, I felt... connected. The storm and I weren't fighting against each other; we were moving as one.
Riven paused, watching the play of light beneath my skin. "Again," he said, but softer this time.
We moved in a brutal dance, his attacks relentless, my defences growing stronger with each exchange. The storm rose and fell with my breath, no longer fighting me but working with me. I'm starting to get what Thalia meant by partnership.
Then Riven changed tactics.
"Tell me about the boy who died," he said, circling me slowly. "The one you killed."
The storm faltered. My breath caught.
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"Don't." The word came out strangled.
"Was he family?" Riven pressed, moving closer. "A friend? A lover, perhaps? Did he scream when your lightning took him?"
Grief sliced through me, sharp and unexpected. Lior's face flashed in my mindâbright, laughing, aliveâthen lifeless on the festival ground. The storm reacted instantly, surging toward my fingertips.
"Stop," I whispered, feeling control slipping.
Riven moved closer, his voice dropping to a haunting murmur. "Did you watch the light fade from his eyes? Did you hold him as he died? Or did you run, too afraid to face what you'd done?"
My hands trembled. The air around us crackled with electricity.
"He trusted you, didn't he?" Riven continued, relentless. "They always do."
He circled behind me, his breath at my ear.
"Do you still hear his voice in your dreams? Does he beg you to save him, over and over, knowing you'll fail every time?"
"I said stop!" Lightning erupted from my hands, arcing toward Riven. He didn't flinch, didn't moveâjust watched as the bolt struck the ground at his feet, scorching the earth.
"The Hunters will know your weaknesses," Riven continued, his voice merciless. "They'll find the cracks in your armour. They'll whisper his name as they tear you apart. And you'll hesitate, just like now."
I fell to my knees, pain washing over me. The corruption at my shoulder pulsed, black veins spidering outward. Not now. Not after all this progress.
"Look at me," Riven commanded.
I raised my eyes, expecting condemnation. Instead, his gaze was steady, unflinching.
"Now control it. Not for me. For him."
Something in his words reached through the chaos. For Lior. For Mira and my mother. For the village I had fled to protect.
I closed my eyes, focusing inward. I found the stormâwild and thrashingâand the corruption feeding on it. Instead of fighting either, I breathed into the space between them.
"The storm is yours," Riven said, his voice distant but clear. "The corruption is not."
I pictured Liorânot dead, but alive. Laughing in the orchard. I pictured Mira's smile, my mother's hands. I let those memories feed the storm, not with grief but with something else. Something like...love.
The corruption retreated, inch by painful inch. The storm quieted, still present but no longer desperate to escape. When I opened my eyes, Riven stood before me, his expression unreadable.
"Get up," he said again, but without the earlier coldness.
I rose shakily, knees weak but spirit intact.
"Again," he said, raising his staff.
We trained until midday, neither of us speaking beyond necessary instruction. By the end, my body ached with exhaustion, but the storm inside me felt clearer, more defined. As if, in pushing me to my limits, Riven had helped me find its boundaries.
As we walked back toward the cabin, Riven paused. "You're not Nira," he said quietly, not looking at me. "Not yet."
It wasn't praise, but it wasn't condemnation either. Coming from Riven, it felt like the beginning of something I hadn't dared hope forâacknowledgement.
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Elyra's hands were cool against my skin as she examined the corruption mark. I sat on a low stool in her workroom, afternoon light filtering through herb bundles hanging from the rafters. The air smelled of dried moss and something sharperâa tincture she was brewing over the small hearth fire.
"Remarkable," she murmured, tracing the fading edges of black crystal embedded in my shoulder.
I glanced down at the wound. Where once jagged veins had spread toward my heart, now only a concentrated patch remained, glinting like obsidian beneath my skin.
"I don't understand," I said. "After what happened with Riven this morning, I thought it would be worse."
Elyra smiled, reaching for a clay pot of salve. "The corruption feeds on resistanceâon the battle between you and your storm." Her fingers worked the salve into my skin, gentle but firm. "When you worked with the storm instead..."
"It helped fight the corruption," I finished, still amazed by the concept.
She nodded, wiping her hands on a cloth.
"Drink this. It will help with the muscle strain."
I accepted the cup she offered, wincing at the bitter taste. Elyra watched me with those quiet, observant eyes.
"You held your own against Riven," she said, a note of approval in her voice. "That's not easy."
I set the cup down, thinking of how ruthlessly he had pushed me. "Do you think I'll ever earn his trust?"
Elyra's hands stilled. The silence stretched between us, thoughtful rather than tense.
"I don't know," she admitted softly. "Riven carries his own wounds. Some days I wonder if any of us truly understand him."
Her honesty surprised me. "But you trust me," I observed.
She glanced up, her expression uncertain for the first time since I'd met her. "I want to. I see how hard you're fightingânot just against the corruption, but for something more."
"For what?"
"I can't answer that for you." She gathered fresh bandages, working with practised efficiency. "But I notice how you touch that bracelet when you're afraid."
My fingers froze where they'd been tracing the woven leather. "Mira gave it to me. Before I left home."
"Care to share?" Elyra asked, her voice gentle but curious.
I hesitated, surprised by how much the question ached. "She was... is... my closest friend. She never looked at me differently, even after what⦠happened."
"She sounds brave."
"She is." I swallowed hard. "She waited for me the morning I left. Somehow, she knew I would try to go."
"And the bracelet?"
"We made them together as children. This one was hers." The memory surfaced, warm and bittersweetâMira's small hands working the leather strips, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. "She said it would remind me of who I am."
Elyra nodded, something like recognition flickering in her eyes. "Anchors help. They remind us of who we were before..." Her voice trailed off.
"Before the storm," I finished.
"Yes." She touched my shoulder gently. "I think that's part of why you're healing differently. You haven't let go of who you were."
"I feel like I've already lost so much," I admitted.
"We all have." Elyra's voice softened. "But we hold on to what we can."
I watched as she sorted through her herbs, movements precise but tired. "Do you have something like this?" I asked. "An anchor?"
Her hands paused over a bundle of dried flowers. "These, I suppose." She gestured to the herbs hanging above us. "My mother taught me their names, their purposes. When everything feels like it's falling apart, I return to that knowledge." A small, sad smile. "It's not always enough."
The admission revealed a vulnerability I hadn't seen in her before. "What do you mean?"
Elyra touched a scar along her collarbone, a gesture so automatic I doubted she realised she was doing it. "Sometimes I try everything I know, use every herb and remedy, and it's still not enough." Her eyes met mine, honest and uncertain. "The corruption... I don't fully understand it. No one does. I just do what I can."
The confession settled between usânot comfortable, but real.
"And yet you keep trying," I said quietly.
"What else can we do?" She reached for a fresh bandage. "Hope is a kind of medicine too."
As she wrapped my shoulder, I thought of Mira's face when she gave me the bracelet, of my mother's hands setting out two bowls each morning, of Lior's laugh in the orchard. Of all I had left behind.
"I'm afraid," I admitted suddenly. "Not just of the corruption or the storm, but of forgetting them. The people I left behind."
Elyra's hands were steady, but her eyes held a flicker of understanding. "Then don't. Keep them close." She finished tying the bandage. "That's not weakness, Kaela. It might be your strength."
Her words weren't a promise or a certaintyâjust an offering, a possibility. And somehow, that made them easier to believe.