Page 7 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

I lean back on my hands, tilting my face toward the sky. The moon glistens above us—soft, silver, brief. It never stays long in Aladria before the sun reclaims the sky, warming the kingdom with its ever-burning light.

“Yeah, so my dad’s stationed near the Saiyan border,” Junie says from beside me. “It’s relatively quiet there, so he gets to come home a few times a month.” She sips her golden ale and rolls her eyes. “He misses the action, but he’s one pulled muscle away from retirement.”

Sam nods along, asking her more questions as they fall into easy conversation. He’s sipping water like me. We both know we’re straight into training tomorrow morning.

I glance over at Deacon, chatting to a recruit from Might Squad. He must’ve been shooed away from the kitchens. He waves his hands in the air as he tells a story, nearly splashing his drink in the poor boy’s face.

The smell of roasting meat drifts from the open grill nearby, making my stomach growl.

“I’m going to grab some food,” I say to the group. “Anyone want anything?”

They all shake their heads, so I head toward the grill. A few kitchen staff are manning the station, and I grab a plate, joining the short queue. My eyes wander and return to the field. Brynn’s up now, bat in hand, shoulders squared.

He misses three times in a row. Not even close. The swing’s all arms, no aim.

He’s going to need to work on his hand-eye coordination. A lot .

“Don’t want to join in?” a voice asks.

I stiffen slightly, just enough to give myself away before recovering and turn to find Stone beside me, nodding toward the game.

“Ball games aren’t really my thing,” I say.

He arches a brow, the faintest smirk curling his lips. I snort before I can stop myself, realising what he’s thinking.

“Seriously? ”

He shrugs, unapologetic.

“So what is your thing then?” he asks, his eyes following me as I lean forward to lift a serving of grilled steak and garlic-roasted potatoes, still steaming.

I smile faintly and hand him the tongs. “I’m sure you’ll find out.”

And with that, I turn and walk away, my plate piled high, leaving his question—and his smirk—behind me.

* * *

The next morning, I wake to the sound of Trent humming softly as he gets dressed.

“Man, are you always this happy at 6 a.m.?” Deacon groans from the bed beside mine. Junie mumbles incoherently and rolls over, still asleep. We’d all collapsed into bed around midnight.

Turns out Junie’s a hopeless flirt when she’s drunk, and Trent can charm just about anyone within five minutes.

I learnt absolutely nothing new about Stone. After our little chat, he spent most of the night with that girl from Steel Squad, only occasionally checking in with Trent.

I glance at the bed across the room. The sheets are still perfectly made. Looks like Stone never made it back last night.

“I’m one of those people everyone hates—I never get a hangover,” Trent says with a grin when Deacon groans again. “Also, I’m a morning person.”

I prop myself up, wrapping my blanket around me to ward off the early morning chill. The sea brings moisture and a crisp breeze first thing, but it will be quickly chased off by the rising sun.

The door creaks open, and in strolls Stone, shirt rumpled, and the charm on his silver chain sitting at the back of his neck instead of the front .

“Morning, all,” he rasps as he salutes the room, voice rough from lack of sleep.

Deacon grins. “And just where have you been all night?” He waggles his eyebrows.

I draw the covers up to my chin, hiding clenched fists under the guise of keeping warm.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Stone smirks at Deacon and claps Trent on the shoulder in greeting before heading into the bathroom with fresh clothes.

The shower turns on.

“Well, yeah, that’s why I asked,” Deacon mumbles, genuinely confused.

“Not everyone brags about their conquests like you, Deacs,” I mutter.

“Not my fault you need to live vicariously through me, Elina,” he fires back.

“Children, please. The grownups are trying to sleep,” Junie groans, her voice muffled by her pillow as she pulls it over her head.

Deacon and I exchange amused glances as we both get up to start a day of training.

* * *

The weapons yard is already buzzing by the time we arrive. Instructors call names, groups shuffle into formations, and the air smells of steel and sea salt. A line of tables holds various weapons—swords, daggers, spears, the list is endless. And deadly.

Carter’s booming voice echoes through the yard from behind us. “Choose a weapon. Today, you train. There will be no assessments. You will not be pitted against each other—yet.”

“Gods, is he always so loud?” Junie whispers beside me, rubbing her temples with a grimace.

I scan the yard. Stone is across from me, already spinning a dagger with unnerving ease. I bite my bottom lip and quickly avert my gaze to watch Sam as he picks up a staff, twirling it around him, looking so similar to Luchando, the God of War.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Colton choose a huge, long sword.

Obviously overcompensating for something.

The next few hours pass in a blur of movement. Sword drills—slash, block, spin, step, my loose hair whipping around me like a crimson curtain in the wind. Then daggers—more speed, more instinct.

I move to the axe next—brute force, endurance, precision. By the end, my arms tremble, and my tunic sticks to my back, but my mind is blissfully empty.

As the sun sets, Carter’s voice returns.

“You’re all finished. Rest. Hydrate. And come back tomorrow prepared to bleed.”

I breathe deeply, chest heaving. Deacon claps me on the back, and Junie leans against my shoulder, panting as she uses me for support.

The days that follow pass in a rhythm of sweat, bruises, and blunted blades. Each day starts before the sun crests the horizon and ends well after it dips beneath the cliffs.

We train with weapons in the morning, then switch to hand-to-hand, where every muscle is tested and every weakness is exposed. Some afternoons are dedicated to obstacle runs and combat drills that leave us gasping.

By nightfall, we drag ourselves back through the doors to the barracks, too exhausted to talk.

Even Deacon’s usual charm is dulled by fatigue.

Still, somewhere between the bruises and battles, something shifts.

We’re no longer just individuals thrown together.

We’re beginning to form a team that trusts each other.

And yet, as I lie in the dark, my new team around me, there’s one thing I can’t seem to ignore: Stone’s bed is often empty.

And I hate that I notice.

And I hate even more that I care.