The sun dipped below the horizon, casting jagged shadows over the Knight Academy’s towering stone walls. The vast training grounds, once alive with the shouts and clang of sparring trainees, were now a silent expanse under the deepening twilight. Aria Chase stood at the center, her compact, muscular frame a stark figure against the emptiness. The warm glow of her brown skin caught the last golden light, but her sharp green eyes smoldered with frustration and determination.
She raised her fists, encased in massive stone gauntlets that grew and cracked with her every motion. Each swing sent tremors through the ground, rippling outward in defiance of the quiet. The gauntlets were her connection to her Giant’s blood, the raw power her father had infused into her to save her life. To most, they’d be a burden; to Aria, they were a promise—a reminder of the strength she was meant to wield.
Her strikes grew sharper, angrier, as her mind replayed the confrontation with Cordelia Silverly a few days earlier.
----------------------------------------
It had been a bright afternoon in the training yard, but Cordelia’s presence darkened the space like a storm cloud. The heiress of the Silverly family moved through the Academy as though she owned it, her flawless blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and her icy blue eyes glinting with haughty amusement. That day, she had set her sights on Aria.
“Chase,” Cordelia called, her voice saccharine yet dripping with malice. Her entourage of well-dressed cronies stood behind her, their sneers ready to echo her every insult. “I’ve been meaning to ask—how do you manage to lug all that stone around? Compensating for something, maybe?”
Aria remained silent, her face an impassive mask. She had learned long ago that responding to Cordelia only gave her satisfaction.
“Oh, still nothing to say?” Cordelia took a step closer, her height giving her an unearned air of superiority. “I suppose it’s for the best. Everyone knows you don’t belong here. No amount of effort will ever make you one of us.”
The snickers from her entourage stoked the fire in Aria’s chest, but she refused to give in. She wouldn’t give Cordelia the pleasure of seeing her falter.
Cordelia’s voice dropped to a cutting whisper. “I wonder what your father thinks, knowing his daughter is such a failure. The great General Torid Chase, with a daughter who can’t even control her own strength. How many times have you lost control in this yard, Chase? Imagine the shame he must feel.”
Aria’s fists clenched, the earth beneath her feet shifting in response to her fury. Her father’s legacy was a double-edged sword, one she carried with pride and pain. General Torid Chase, the Knight General of Leona, had given everything to save her life, fusing her with the blood of giants. That sacrifice had cost her mother her life and left Aria with the constant pressure to justify it. Every failure felt like a betrayal of that sacrifice.
Stolen story; please report.
Straightening her back, Aria fixed Cordelia with a steady gaze. Her voice was calm but firm. “You’re right. I’ll never be like you. I don’t need to be. I work for what I have. You wouldn’t last a day in my shoes.”
Cordelia’s laughter was cruel and hollow. “You’re right. I wouldn’t. Too much failure to carry.” She turned on her heel, her cronies following with mocking smiles, leaving Aria alone in the yard.
----------------------------------------
Now, as the memory faded, Aria slammed her stone-covered fists into the ground, shattering the gauntlets into jagged fragments. The impact sent dust rising into the cold air, but it wasn’t enough to shake Cordelia’s voice from her mind.
Aria’s thoughts drifted to the dagger she’d found days ago. It had been late, the training yard deserted, when she’d stumbled upon it. At first, it had been hidden beneath a loose stone, its ornate hilt glinting faintly in the moonlight. As soon as her fingers brushed the weapon, a strange chill ran through her. The dagger was unlike anything she’d seen—a dark blade etched with an unfamiliar symbol: a sun shrouded in wings of shadow.
The air around it had felt heavier, almost alive with a foreboding energy. It wasn’t a standard Academy weapon. It felt… wrong like it didn’t belong here at all. Aria had pocketed it quickly, a sense of unease prickling at her neck. The Academy had been abuzz with rumors of assassination plots and unrest, and the presence of such a weapon seemed too coincidental.
Who had left it there? And more importantly, why?
Her father’s voice echoed in her memory, a reminder of the path she walked. “Your strength is a gift, Aria,” he had told her. “But strength without control is nothing. The world will test you, and you must be ready.”
The dagger felt like one of those tests. But was it a warning? A trap? A threat aimed at her, her father, or someone else entirely?
She slammed her fists together, re-forming the stone gauntlets. Cordelia’s taunts and the mystery of the dagger intertwined in her mind, fueling her resolve. If the rumors of assassination were true, she had to act. The instructors wouldn’t take her seriously without proof, and the trainees were as likely to spread gossip as they were to help her. No, this was her burden to carry.
Aria thought again of her father, of the legacy he had entrusted to her. His blood ran through her veins, but that alone wasn’t enough. She couldn’t rely on her lineage or her strength alone. She had to prove herself—to herself, to her father’s memory, and to the world that doubted her at every turn.
Her fists stilled, the stone crumbling away as she exhaled slowly. Her grip tightened around the dagger, its cold weight a reminder of the storm looming on the horizon.
Cordelia’s mocking voice echoed in her mind once more. “You’ll never be enough.”
Aria smirked, her green eyes blazing with defiance. I don’t need to be enough. I just need to be stronger than you.
As the last light of day slipped away and shadows cloaked the Academy, Aria turned toward the dormitories. She would find answers—about the dagger, about the whispers of assassination, about the zealots who might be working in the shadows. And when the storm broke, she would face it head-on.
She wasn’t born good. She wasn’t born noble. But she had been born to fight.
And fight she would.