Page 25

SELENE

M orning arrives before I’m ready, pale light drifting through the narrow window in my assigned room at Vaelith’s estate.

My body aches from yesterday’s grueling sparring session, muscles stretched in ways I haven’t felt in some time.

Despite the discomfort, my mind hums with restless purpose.

Last night, I lay awake plotting how to exploit the cracks in Vaelith’s command, searching for a path that benefits me rather than Orthani.

I suspect those cracks begin with the guards who patrol these corridors, men who cling to their routines and hardly question an order—until subtle whispers urge them otherwise.

I rise, dress in the dark tunic and leggings provided, and slip into the hallway outside.

A single guard stands watch nearby, a slender dark elf named Harken.

He gives me a sharp look, his stance rigid.

I meet his gaze with feigned neutrality, letting the hum of my psionic magic skim just beneath my thoughts.

I’ve learned to be cautious with these powers, especially inside Orthani’s wards, but if I’m careful—if I nudge lightly—perhaps I can sow small seeds of doubt.

“Good morning,” I say, voice calm, stepping closer so I can sense the faint aura of his mind.

He grunts. “You shouldn’t be wandering without permission.”

I shrug. “Commander told me to prepare for training.” I take another half-step nearer, letting the intangible filaments of my psionic sense drift from my consciousness to his.

My aim is minimal: plant a whisper that Vaelith might not be as invincible as they believe.

Make the guard question the unchallenged authority they all cling to.

“Your commander,” I add softly, “he’s overreaching himself, isn’t he? Taking on a purna like me. Dangerous business.” I brush that thought into Harken’s mind, letting it settle as though it’s his own fleeting doubt.

His eyes flick uncertainly. “Danger or not, I follow orders.”

I nod, stepping back a fraction to avoid pushing too hard. “Of course you do. I’d hate to see you paying for your commander’s ambitions if something goes wrong.” I watch him flinch at my words. Perfect. A tiny thread of unease for him to ruminate on.

He scowls, gesturing down the corridor. “This way. The commander waits in the courtyard.”

I follow with a faint smile. My efforts are small, but repeated nudges on multiple guards might create the disquiet I need. If Vaelith’s men begin to doubt him, that friction could become leverage later.

The courtyard is bright with early light.

Vaelith stands at the center, armed with a practice sword, scanning the ring of onlookers—mostly his own soldiers, plus a few high-born officers who occasionally drift by to watch me stumble or triumph.

He spots me and inclines his head, summoning me forward.

His arms glisten with a sheen of sweat, as though he’s been warming up long before I arrived.

A faint pang of admiration flickers through me at how he wields discipline, but I let it pass.

We begin another round of drills, the wooden swords clacking in a sharp staccato.

I’m still sore, but I refuse to show weakness.

Each slash and thrust tests my reflexes.

Our watchers murmur whenever I force Vaelith to block unexpectedly.

The tension between us from yesterday is still potent, crackling in the air each time our weapons meet.

A part of me hates how my blood quickens in response, feeding off the challenge he presents.

I bury that reaction, focusing on every pivot, each parry.

Eventually, he lowers his sword, chest heaving from exertion. “That’s enough,” he says, voice rough. “We have a war council meeting in an hour. You’ll attend.”

I wipe sweat from my brow, ignoring the guard who steps forward with a water flask. “I wasn’t aware purna prisoners were invited to strategic gatherings.”

He shrugs, sheathing the wooden blade at his side. “I want you informed of Orthani’s tactics. You can’t fight with us if you don’t understand our next steps. Besides, the council demanded I keep you under watch. There’s no safer place than at my side in a war council.”

I exhale, adjusting my stance. “Fine. Show me the war room.”

He nods to a soldier who hands him a cloth. He wipes the dust from his arms, then beckons for me to follow. The curiosity of the watchers prickles my senses, but I keep my chin high, feigning indifference.

Inside the estate, we climb a flight of steps to a circular chamber I haven’t seen before.

The door stands carved with Vaelith’s crest. Harken and another guard hover at the threshold, letting us pass but remaining close enough to intervene if I try anything reckless.

The room is spacious, a large round table at the center covered in parchment maps, figurines representing troops, and small notes pinned by metal weights.

Several tall windows let in the morning sun, and tapestries depicting Orthani’s battles line the walls.

I sweep my gaze over it all, noting which curtains hide alcoves, which corners remain unguarded—details that might matter later.

Vaelith guides me to the table. A handful of dark elf officers are already seated, each wearing the black-lacquered armor typical of Orthani’s rank-and-file leadership.

Their conversation pauses when they see me enter.

Some bristle, uneasy that a purna stands among them.

Others eye me with curiosity that edges on hostility.

I offer no greeting, simply meet each gaze with calm boldness.

If they want to see me cower, they’ll be disappointed.

Vaelith takes his seat at the head. I remain standing behind him, arms crossed, scanning the large map that sprawls across half the table’s surface.

Trails of black ink mark roads, outposts, known enemy encampments.

Bright red lines trace potential routes for Orthani’s next campaign.

My mind stirs, recognizing a chance to slip in a sabotage.

If I can misdirect them on a crucial detail, force them to rely on me for correction, that’s a small step toward controlling the narrative.

One officer, a woman with braided hair and a scar across her cheek, taps the map with a gloved hand. “We suspect movement near the southern passes, Commander. Scouts report an increase in orc activity. They might be forging alliances with rogue humans or purna. We must secure it before they unite.”

Vaelith nods. “Agreed. If that region destabilizes, we risk losing supply lines to the warfront. We’ll dispatch a regiment within the week.”

Another officer, a lean man with gold studs on his armor, frowns. “We can’t just send troops blind. We need precise coordinates. Our last recon was incomplete.”

Vaelith glances at me. “Selene,” he says, tone measured. “If you have knowledge of purna or allied groups in the southern passes, you’d best speak. It might save us casualties.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I know of some purna enclaves that used to exist, but many have moved. The orcs could be a wildcard. They don’t trust purna easily.”

One officer scoffs. “We can’t rely on her rumors. We need facts.”

“Rumors are better than sending you into an ambush,” I snap, letting irritation lace my voice. My brashness earns me several glares, but I don’t care. “I can refine your route, but you’ll have to trust me.”

Vaelith straightens. “She’s proven her worth in combat. Let’s see what she offers.” He shifts the map, pointing to a broad forest region near the pass. “We intend to advance through here, set up a forward camp to cut off the orcs’ approach.”

I step closer, scanning the lines. My chest tightens with old memories of those forests, how I once slipped through them to escape a band of Orthani hunters.

A plan forms swiftly. I’ll pretend to confirm the route is correct, then subtly alter a detail that leaves them reliant on me when the time comes.

“Your route goes right through a ravine,” I say, gesturing to a thin black line near the pass. “It’s known for rockslides. If you take that path, your supply wagons might be forced to slow, leaving you vulnerable. You should shift about half a mile west to this vantage ridge.”

I lean over, letting the ghost of psionic energy swirl in my mind, ready to do a gentle push.

With a faint flicker, I manipulate the ink on the map.

A small sabotage: I place my hand near one corner and concentrate, coaxing a subtle swirl of arcane heat to blur and shift the lines.

To any onlooker, it appears I’m merely indicating a route.

But I nudge the ink so the ridge’s location drifts slightly, just enough that the coordinates are off.

The wards of the estate might sense heavier magic, so I keep it minimal, working carefully.

If they follow this altered route, they’ll get lost in the foothills. Then, when confusion reigns, I can swoop in and correct them—assuming I want to help. For now, I keep a neutral expression, playing the helpful captive who points out a supposedly safer path.

Vaelith frowns, leaning in. “Are you certain? This map was updated by scouts. Shifting half a mile west might lead us to unfavorable terrain.”

I let my lips curl in a faint smile. “I’ve traveled near those forests, enough to know the rocky outcrops. But if you doubt me, march as you planned. Don’t blame me when half your regiment is stuck in a ravine.”

His jaw flexes, tension building. He exchanges glances with the other officers. Some watch me with suspicion, others with reluctant acceptance. “Fine,” he says, voice clipped. “We’ll adjust the route. But if you’re leading us astray?—”

“You’ll do what?” I interrupt softly, letting the challenge linger. His glare could melt steel. I see the flicker of rage behind it, though he tamps it down.

“Then I’ll hold you accountable,” he replies, voice cold.