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The elf merely shrugged. “You are free to interpret it any way you want, Anthea. The fact remains you are here under our care.”

She tracked his movements with wariness as he stepped further into her room, her fingers tracing the book’s worn edges. She wondered why he was here.

“Beldor told me about your visit to the town. He said you have been doing well, understanding our ways.” Eldrion had reached her side, his eyes on the book in front of her.

“It’s been . . . informative.” It had been eye-opening, seeing elves treat her with kindness and open curiosity rather than malice. This world didn’t seem so bleak anymore. Anthea snapped the book shut and put it away. “Why are you here?”

“You need to be trained.”

“Trained?” She hadn’t expected that. After they had reached a conclusion with the agreement, and she had agreed to help with the prophecy, Anthea had asked about their expectations to her. Galodir had told her to be patient, to wait as the scouts searched for the markings attached to the prophecy, to wait until they located the so-called abyss—the one she supposedly needed to enter to gather some world-changing knowledge. Aegonar had returned to the Crimson court, while she was to stay here, given the Obsidian court's keener interest in the Crimson court’s activities. The Crimson heir had also hinted at a hesitation for allowing her to share prolonged space with Endreth again. Anthea didn’t know what to make of that.

“Yes, trained. You need to be able to confront any physical challenges you may encounter.”

“What does this training entail exactly?” Anthea got up from her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Back at home, she had not been exactly athletic, preferring intellectual challenges over physical exertions.

The corners of Eldrion’s lips twitched upward, a faint smirk playing across his face.

Leading her through the castle’s corridors, Eldrion guided her toward a path taking them further inside the mountain. Anthea swallowed, forcing her nerves to settle as she tried to control the quickening pulse that seemed to echo loudly in her ears—the last time she had been taken this way, she had been tied to a post and whipped.

“I am taking you to the training ground. The Nephrite legion’s quarters are located there,” he suddenly said, his eyes had caught the flicker of anxiety she hadn’t been able to fully conceal. “And do not worry, I’ll be starting slow with you.”

“You are training me?”

“Yes, Anthea,” Eldrion glanced at her. “I will be your instructor.”

They continued on, eventually reaching the Nephrite legion’s expansive quarters. Nestled within the largest mountain—towering rock pillars combined with robust wooden beams supported the cavern’s lofty ceiling. It was lit by a combination of flickering torches and luminescent moss that emitted a soft, ethereal glow.

Their arrival didn’t go unnoticed. Conversations quieted, heads turned, and each warrior greeted Eldrion with a nod of respect as they passed. Anthea found herself gravitating closer to him. Across the cavernous space, she saw Beldor—engaged in a sparring match with another warrior. His movements were swift, precise, an elegant dance of power and speed. A crowd had formed around them, watching them practice. He was good.

Eldrion led her away from the spectacle, toward a secluded corner of the cavern, toward an intimidating obstacle course carved into the rocky walls. A complex labyrinth of ropes, planks, and iron bars loomed ahead and above.

“We will start here.” He indicated to the horizontal obstacle course. “First, we will test your current strength and endurance,” he added, his gray eyes flicking back to her, searching for a reaction.

Anthea fixed him with a pointed stare. “Eldrion, you do realize I’m wearing a dress?” she said, gesturing to her long green garment. His only response was a quirked eyebrow. But before he could say anything, she continued, “I won’t make a spectacle of myself by climbing up in a dress while this crowd of males watches.”

Eldrion simply stretched out a hand, pointing to a nondescript door nestled within the cavern’s stone wall. “There are training clothes inside. Change and come back when you are ready.”

Anthea hesitated, her gaze flitting between Eldrion and the door. He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a whisper intended solely for her. “You are not a spectacle, Anthea. And I promise you, none of the males here will disrespect you.”

There was a certain firmness in his voice, a protective undertone that tinged his words with a comfort she hadn’t expected. Taking a deep breath, she nodded.

When she emerged, she was dressed in a training attire probably meant for an elven male, someone who was a lot larger than her. Her pants hung low on her hips, barely held in place by a belt, while the shirt draped over her like a voluminous tunic. The loose collar revealed one shoulder, and the lengthy sleeves hid her hands entirely. Despite the laughable fit, she held her head high as she approached Eldrion.

Many eyes were on her, including her instructor’s. An amused spark danced in his gaze as he approached her, drawing his dagger from its sheath.

Anthea flinched slightly at the sight of the blade.

“Stand still,” he commanded, as he worked on altering the outfit, carefully trimming the excess fabric, the blade occasionally grazing her skin, making her stiffen. Eldrion met her gaze, “I won’t hurt you,” he said softly.

Once he was done, Anthea glanced down at herself. The clothing was far from perfect, but it was functional. The trousers now ended just above her ankles and the shirt was cut to her hips, making movement much easier.

“I look like a rag doll,” she grumbled.

Eldrion smiled. “You look ready,” he corrected. “Alright, let’s see how far you can get,” his voice carried a note of challenge as he pointed towards the daunting obstacle course. “Start climbing.”

Anthea squared her shoulders, drew in a fortifying breath, and went to the structure.

Initially, her movements were fluid and swift, her short form easily balancing on the blanks and winding through the poles and ropes. However, upon reaching the quarter mark of the climb, her pace began to falter, her breaths becoming increasingly labored, her side starting to stitch.