Page 113 of Daughter of the Serpent

She moved away from him, deep in thought as she paced the shadows.

“You must understand Haldor - I have to be ready. I have to train, fight, bleed - just like the rest of you. I can’t keep being the one who's treated differently. I need to know that I did everything I could to be a true Mardovian. I want to look back and have no regrets." Her eyes clouded with emotion as she glanced away, the weight of her own words settling heavily in her chest. "And you're right, you can’t always save me, Haldor. When the trials come, you have to fight for yourself - survive. Even if that means you have to let me go."

His eyes darkened, something fierce flashing in them. “Do you really think I’ll just let you die?”

“I won’t die,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. “I have to do this, Haldor. Even if it means risking everything.”

He stepped closer, shaking his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then you know nothing of me.”

She met his gaze, her heart racing. “You can’t protect me forever.”

Haldor’s hand grasped hers, firmly. “Watch me.” His eyes burrowed into hers in all seriousness. “You need to stay away from the trials, Sylvie. Today was proof enough. You’re not ready.”

“I’m not backing down,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her chest.

“And if they kill you?” His words were cruel, laced with desperation. “What then? Can’t you see this is madness?”

“Then I die trying!” she cried, turning away from him, the weightof her words sinking deep into her bones. The words, though firm, turned her insides to muck.

Everytime he told her to back down, to turn away, she felt a piece of her hope, her faith stripped away. Her heart dropped in her chest.

She wanted him to believe in her. She needed him to believe in her.

Yet no matter how much she tried to prove herself, she only proved him more right.

She wasn’t ready.

She wasn’t like them

Maybe she would never be.

Hurt clawed its way up her chest, and burned like acid in her mouth. “I need to go,” She turned, but felt Haldors eyes on her back. “Axel will be looking for me.”

His voice followed her, cold and biting. “And where was he, I wonder, when you needed him most…”

His words cut deep, slicing along her heart with a jagged edge, but she had no answer.

Chapter Eighteen

The late afternoon air carried a chill as she stood waiting at the training grounds the following day. Despite it, heat surged through her veins, her thoughts spiraling. Axel had barely looked at her when she arrived. He had tossed her a blade without ceremony, his gaze sharp, his silence sharper. No greeting, no acknowledgment of yesterday’s wreckage. Just a blade in her hand and a command in his eyes. Her jaw clenched against the torrent of words bubbling up inside her. Questions. Accusations. The crackling anger that had been building since her humiliation in the ring.

He had said he would support her.

He had promised to keep her safe.

And yet, where had he been when Bjorn’s boot had pinned her to the ground and his axe was at her neck, before the jeering crowd?

The memory made her stomach twist, and she searched for welcome distraction. Adjusting the leathers around her left arm where it met her wrist, she let loose a soft sigh, thankful that she had gone to the healers. At least they had all been given the grace to mend before the trials. Before setting sail. The memory of their glowinghands weaving magic into her torn arm and broken ribs was still fresh and she let out a breath of relief.

Now, her body was whole. Every sinew taut. Every muscle, ready.

If only her mind felt the same.

Axel stood across from her, cool and composed, as if the weight of yesterday meant nothing. With a flick of his hand, he drew a glowing rune into the air, its intricate lines shimmering like threads of molten gold before sinking into the earth between them. The energy rippled outward, an invisible hum that raised the fine hairs on her arms.Anzva- the rune for speed and agility.

“Ready?” His voice cut through the air, calm but distant, like the surface of a frozen lake hiding something within its depths. Their training sessions had become increasingly demanding, each one a calculated blend of her magic and combat skills, a trial that forced her to bind her gifts with the raw precision of swordplay.

Sylvie didn’t answer right away. Her anger coiled tighter, hot and sharp in her chest, but she didn’t let it spill.