Page 30

That She’s Alive

A n open field stretches before me, with Gorgoroth looming in the distance.

It feels like the Academy is nestled within an immense clearing, encircled on all sides by dense jungle.

To my left, the long, rectangular building we came from appears square, gray, and out of place against the untamed wilderness.

Most of its rooms and corridors lie hidden below ground.

To the right, about twenty huts line the forest’s edge, spaced a few elf-lengths apart. Far, far away.

We move on, crossing a brook that winds through the field. Its waters trickle softly before disappearing back into the jungle.

Reaching the other side takes only two quick steps across the wet stones. Several large stone blocks stand in a ring, each covered in strange black markings, broken arcs, triangular spears, symbols resembling lightning, and others that seem to signify death.

“Shadow warriors, you called them?”

“That’s right. Shadow warriors, the finest warriors we have. Over there is where the apprentices live alongside their masters.” Netharu’el motions toward the huts.

“Masters? Like teachers?”

“Something like that.” He points at the stones. “This is their meeting place.”

“What do all these markings mean?”

“They’re in Arzakean. Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

The place was deserted when we arrived, but now I see two figures approaching in the distance.

A tall man and a short woman. Both are star elves, swords strapped in sheaths along their thighs.

Just the thought of combat sends a rush through me, my senses sharpening, my muscles tensing.

The woman also carries weapons. That means it’s accepted here.

A flicker of envy clenches my jaw and tightens my throat.

Maybe there’s something to be said about the star elves’ culture.

“Nimuala serves as a training ground. You’ll need to stay alert while passing through this area. Even if you don’t see anyone, they might still be here. There are countless places to hide.”

The area is filled with groves, boulders, waterfalls, and streams, much like the garden, but with a wide, empty field at its center.

At first glance, it appears to be an ordinary park.

There are no visible targets and no training equipment.

But a closer look reveals the truth. The stones are scarred from sword strikes, the bark on the tree trunks is splintered, and the ground around our feet is trampled and worn bare.

Blood spatters stain the rocks, arrows float in the stream, and daggers are embedded in the soil.

The star elves reach us, the man looming over us, a head taller than Netharu’el, with a single horn protruding from his forehead.

His thick, pitch-black hair gleams faintly in the sunlight, while his skin is gray as river stones, matching the color of his eyes.

White markings, lines, and symbols cover him, even across his face.

“Baalvon.” Netharu’el quickly kisses the man and then turns to the woman. “Acranta.” He gives her the same brief kiss on the lips.

What’s going on? Why is everyone kissing each other?

“Netharu’el,” they say in unison, the man’s voice deep, the woman’s voice lighter.

Her gaze shifts to me, her eyes as blank and white as Akares’s, yet they study me intently.

“This is Iszaelda,” Netharu’el says, gesturing in my direction as if answering the unspoken question. “Forgive me, what was your second name again?”

“Vínnoel. Iszaelda Vínnoel of Parae.” I still can’t let it go. Why is everyone kissing each other? It’s revolting.

He nods a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Thank you. This is Baalvon K’Stra of Ulrak and Acranta Nox of Apastlor.”

They greet me just as Kathraanis did, clasping my elbow and pressing their forehead to mine. First Baalvon, then Acranta. It’s over so quickly I barely have time to feel uneasy or break into a sweat.

Acranta rests a hand on her slim waist. “Not to sound rude, but what are you doing here? If you know what I mean?” She runs her other hand through her hair, which falls straight to her shoulders, as if it’s been recently cut. Straight and jet-black. “You’re a sun elf, aren’t you?”

“I woke up here against my will. It wasn’t my choice. And by all the fires, I’m not staying.”

“Oh!” Her freckled cheeks light up as she clasps her hand over her mouth. “You’re that sun elf, aren’t you? I see now. Oh, congratulations! It’s wonderful that you’re finally awake. It was about time, don’t you think?”

She throws her arms around me before I can react.

“Let go! What are you doing? Let go!” I stumble back into the grass, gasping for air. I feel crushed, pinned, the heat pressing in. My heart races. What is she doing? Has she lost her mind? Is she trying to seduce me?

She releases me, flashing a warm smile, then rests her foot on one of the stones. “We’ll talk more later, Zelda. Can I call you that?”

“No,” I say sharply, my arms still aching. But at least she didn’t try to kiss me.

“You’re going to love it here,” she continues, as if she hadn’t heard me. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know. We’re going to have the best time together, aren’t we? It’ll be wonderful!”

“Netharu’el’s already told me everything I need to know.”

“You.” Her hand lands lightly on my shoulder, her gaze glinting like sunlight on ice.

I pull away, stepping back. Her eyes no longer resemble Akares’s at all.

“There’s more. Trust me.” She blinks, her lips moving silently.

I can’t decipher what she’s mouthing, and I start to speak, but the words never come. I’m left speechless as she turns, giving a quick wave before hopping down from the stone and following after Baalvon, who’s already moving ahead.

“Well, would you look at that,” Netharu’el says dryly. “You’ve managed to make a friend, after all.”

“It seems I’m one up on you now.”

“Be silent and pay attention. You might learn something. They’re about to start sparring.”

Acranta and Baalvon position themselves opposite each other, bowing their heads in silent acknowledgement.

Acranta’s grin is wide, while Baalvon towers, powerful and imposing.

I can’t pinpoint the moment it begins; one instant, they’re still, the next, they’re locked in combat.

My breath catches. I can’t look away. Their movements are mesmerizing, a dance of raw power and precision.

Baalvon’s massive frame shifts with the smooth agility of a great cat, while Acranta’s lithe form moves like a striking cobra.

Their swords flash and sing as they collide, too fast for my eyes to follow.

One moment, the blades clash above their heads; the next, they skim the ground at their feet.

They roll, leap, scale boulders, rush through streams, sprint, stalk, and weave through the grass, locked in perfect synchronicity, their eyes never leaving each other.

“Are they both masters?” I settle onto one of the sun-warmed stone blocks at the gathering place, the heat seeping through the thin fabric. There were few clothes to choose from, and those available were strange.

I took the only pair of breeches and top I could find. It ends just below my breasts, more like a chest wrap than a proper garment, nothing like what I’m used to.

“Of course not.” Netharu’el gives me a look of superiority as if the answer is obvious. “Baalvon is the master. There’s a vast difference in their skill, without question. However, I understand why you might think so. Acranta is talented. She’s learned quickly.”

“How long does one need to train?”

“The apprentice trains intensely for half a sun cycle, and if she passes the final trials, she’ll be recognized as a shadow warrior. The master may then take on a new apprentice unless they choose to rest.”

“And then? Why do they want to become shadow warriors?”

“Why do some crave meat while others prefer plants? I couldn’t say.

” He shrugs, his gaze drifting to Baalvon and Acranta.

“Shadow warriors become exceptionally skilled and are often the first choice when new leaders are chosen. Most head straight for the front lines of war, where they claim the most coveted positions.”

I remember the clash of blades on the monster’s back, how Akares toyed with me, defeating me with nothing but a flick of his wrist. He’s beyond me. He’s had thousands of sun cycles to perfect his skill when I didn’t even exist. And yet I expect to defeat him? He’ll kill me. Again.

But what if I were a… shadow warrior? Would I have a chance then? Here, women wield weapons as freely as men. It isn’t questioned—it’s expected. Accepted. A culture that sees only my will and skill, not my gender.

What would that feel like? To fight and still be myself? To belong and to be trained in their art of war?

It doesn’t matter. I must save Naeva, and I’ve already lost two lunar cycles. I can’t lose more. I can’t risk reaching her too late.

“Then I understand.” I can hardly conceal the curiosity in my voice. “Sounds exciting.”

“You think so?”

“Shame I have to keep moving. Otherwise, I might’ve stayed for that.”

“You?” He meets my gaze and smiles, one hand slowly tracing the tips of his horns. “Are you saying you’d like to become a shadow warrior?”

“No, a sun gnome. What do you think?”

He laughs and drops onto the stone block beside me, slipping into the shade of two trees crowned with feathery plumes. “You can’t become an apprentice.”

“And why in the fires not?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He sweeps a hand around us. “How many sun elves have you seen here today?”

“None.”

“You’re the only one.”

“So?” I drag my nails across the stone, toes curling tightly around the grass beneath me.

“This is an academy for star elves, and star elves alone.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He closes his eyes, shakes his head, and drags the back of his hand over one of his dull horns. “Because we’re the strongest of all elven kind, of course.”

“You’re joking.”