Chapter 24: Edge of the Circle

The sun hung low over the camp, its pale light filtered through the haze of ash that always seemed to linger in the air. Lyanna and Alric stood in the center of the training circle, their breaths steaming in the chill morning. Around them, soldiers drilled and sparred, their grunts and the clash of steel providing a steady rhythm of violence.

Lyanna adjusted her grip on Ember and Scarlet, twin swords glinting in the hazy sunlight, their runes faintly glowing in anticipation.

Alric stood opposite her, the edges of his bastard sword already blackened from the previous training match. His broad shoulders rose and fell in measured breaths, a predator gauging the distance to its prey. The faint stirrings of wind around him were unnerving, a harbinger of his magic as he adjusted the currents to his will.

“Ready, Mirrorguard?” His tone was sharp, teasing, but there was steel beneath the words.

Lyanna tilted her head, wiping a smudge of soot from her cheek with the back of her gauntlet. “Try not to hold back, Blackthorn. You might embarrass yourself.”

Their match began in a blur.

Alric moved first, his bastard sword carving a wide arc through the air, his strength and speed a challenge to keep pace with. Lyanna sidestepped, her twin swords dancing in tight, precise motions to deflect and redirect his strikes. Each clash sent sparks flying, the crowd murmuring with every near miss.

Her focus narrowed to a single point: his blade, his movements, the weight of his strikes. She moved like water, flowing around his attacks, keeping her distance as she searched for openings. Scarlet lashed out when Alric overextended, forcing him back with its serpentine reach.

But Alric was not easily deterred. He pushed forward, relentless. Each of his strikes carried a calculated weight, her defense buckling beneath the force. His bastard sword was a weapon of raw power, and he wielded it with a ferocity that left little room for error.

She ducked low, the sharp whistling of Alric’s blade slicing through the space her head had occupied a fraction of a heartbeat ago. She pivoted, her twin swords, weaving a pattern of flashing silver and glowing runes in the ash-filled air.

She felt the weight of a dozen eyes on her—men and women watching the sparring session as if it were a spectacle. Lyanna ignored them, focusing on Alric. He moved like a tempest, his bastard sword carving wide arcs that cut too close for comfort.

The ash underfoot swirled unnaturally, and Lyanna’s instincts screamed. Too late.

A gust of wind surged upward, kicking a cloud of ash into her face. Her world turned to choking gray. Blindness swam at the edges of her vision, as panic surged.

He’s setting you up, Lyanna’s thoughts bit sharply. Focus.

She channeled Ember’s essence without hesitation. The sword hummed in her hand, and the runes etched into its blade flared a molten orange, a surge of power coursing into her limbs and into the ash ground. She activated the ash rune, launching herself upward like a burning comet through the choking cloud.

The ash below churned like storm clouds as she soared, seeking the edge of the ring she knew should be there. She twisted midair and landed in a crouch—but the moment her boots hit the ground, she realized her mistake.

Alric was already there, less than six steps away, a smirk tugging at his lips. His sword was already in motion, a downward slash aimed to split her skull.

Lyanna twisted, Ember rising to meet the blow, the impact ringing through her arms and setting her teeth on edge. She barely had time to pull back, draining the last of Ember’s essence to push herself sideways. The force sent her skidding, the edges of her boots flirting with the boundary of the dueling ring.

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Their movements fell into a rhythm, an endless give-and-take. Alric pressed forward relentlessly, his attacks coming in waves like the ocean crashing against a battered shore. Lyanna dodged and deflected, her body moving as if on instinct. Her twin swords became extensions of herself. Her thoughts raced with every exchange.

Find the openings. He’s strong but overcommits. Just a little longer...

Scarlet lashed out like a viper when Alric’s stance left a gap, the whip-sword’s flexible blade aiming for his exposed side. He spun away, his bastard sword coming up to block just in time, forcing him to reset his assault.

Stay light, she told herself, even as fatigue gnawed at her limbs. Do not let him corner you.

Lyanna will focus on dodging and deflecting Alric blows, her twin swords blurring in the air. Alric will use his wind magic to blow the ash into Lyanna’s facing, forcing her to use Ember to block Alric strike.

But the dueling ring was unforgiving. The edge of the ring loomed closer with every exchange. Alric’s strikes grew more aggressive, his bastard sword carving heavy, deliberate arcs that forced her back. She tried to maneuver, to steer herself away from the boundary, but he anticipated her every move.

She froze when her foot touched the edge of the circle The moment was infinitesimal, but it was enough. Alric feinted left before bringing his sword down in a heavy overhead slash. Lyanna saw it coming and panic caused old instincts to rise up, Scarlet rising to meet his blade head-on.

The impact was catastrophic.

Pain lanced through her hand as the force wrenched Scarlet free from her grip. The sword flew from her hand, spinning through the air before clattering to the ground behind her. Her mangled fingers throbbed, blood dripping from where the hilt had torn into her flesh.

She stumbled, Ember trembling in her remaining hand. Alric pressed his advantage, a flurry of strikes driving her to her knees. Her last defense shattered as his bastard sword slammed into Ember, tearing it from her grasp and sending it skidding across the dirt.

Lyanna fell hard, her back hitting the ground. She gasped for air, her chest heaving as she stared up at Alric. He loomed over her, his blade pointed at her throat, the ash cloud settling around them like a shroud.

Alric kept his blade poised for a moment longer before stepping back, offering Lyanna his hand. “You did well today,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “You managed to avoid using Scarlet to block most of the duel. You’re learning to dodge and deflect more often.”

Lyanna scoffed, wiping dirt from her cheek with the back of her hand. “If I’d done well,” she muttered, brushing ash from her armor, “I wouldn’t be sprawled on the ground like a fool.”

Alric laughed, a sound that was more wind through trees than mirth. “You’re too hard on yourself. You’re not at your old level of mastery yet, I’ll admit that. But you’re much closer than you think—and a hell of a lot better than you were just a few days ago. Old instincts are hard to break, but you’re breaking them.”

Lyanna sighed, the weight of his words sinking in. He wasn’t wrong—her progress was undeniable, but the gap between her and her former self still loomed large. She rolled her shoulders and motioned toward a nearby figure hovering at the edge of the circle. “Kate! Over here.”

The young woman jogged over, her red healer’s robe rubbing against the ash. Kate was one of the new camp aides, Lyanna had appointed. Her face was flushed from exertion, stray auburn curls escaping her tightly bound hair.

“Commander,” Kate said, her voice formal but not without warmth. “Let me see.”

Lyanna extended her injured hand without protest, and Kate’s fingers hovered over the torn skin. A soft green glow enveloped Lyanna’s hand, the soothing warmth of the healing magic dulling the pain almost immediately.

As Kate worked, she hesitated. “Commander,” she began carefully, “the soldiers… they’re exhausted. They’ve been drilling all morning. Some of them were hoping for a break.”

Lyanna turned her gaze toward the training yard. The soldiers were clearly weary—shoulders slumping, steps dragging as they sparred. Even the sharp clang of swords had grown muted. Her expression hardened, and when she spoke, her voice was loud enough to carry to the entire yard.

“The monsters out there won’t ask if they’re tired before they attack,” she said firmly, her eyes scanning the soldiers. “We drill until it’s second nature because hesitation gets people killed. The healers are not to cure exhaustion—not theirs and not mine—until the end of the day. Only injuries. I won’t have another man or woman die under my command.”

Her words hung heavy in the air. Kate paused for a moment, catching her breath, before nodding and finishing her work.

She stepped back and bit her lip as she glanced between Lyanna and Alric. “Understood, Commander,” she said softly, and then moved to tend to Alric.

Alric met Lyanna’s gaze as Kate began healing his bruises. “You push them hard,” he remarked, his voice quiet.

“I push them to survive,” Lyanna replied, her tone steely.

For a moment, neither said anything more. The sounds of the camp—steel ringing against steel, the dull thud of boots on packed ash—filled the silence. Alric gave a small nod, his usual smirk missing.

“Fair enough,” he said simply, his voice low but firm.

Lyanna turned back to the ring, the ache in her hand forgotten. There was always more to do.