Chapter 5 Training by Moonlight

Amara had always thought of power as something distant - a story whispered by mothers to restless children, or a legend inscribed in worn stone and forgotten by morning light.

But now, standing in the shadowed training yard of Blackthorne Fortress, she felt its nearness like a heartbeat beneath her skin.

The moon had risen high, silver and watchful, casting a pale glow across ancient walls. Kael stood opposite her, his posture calm but alert, a wooden staff balanced lightly in his hand.

"Again," he instructed, voice firm but not unkind.

Amara swallowed hard, sweat dripping from her brow despite the cool night air. Her own staff felt heavy, awkward. She shifted her stance, raised it defensively, and waited.

Kael lunged. The clash of wood against wood echoed through the empty yard. Sparks of pain danced up her arm as she blocked, stumbling back a step. But she kept her feet planted.

"Better," Kael said, circling her. "But your balance slips when you anticipate instead of react. Feel, don't just think."

*Feel, don't think.* The words sounded simple, yet her mind was a storm: images of prophecy, her parents' deaths, and the weight of being the last daughter.

They had trained for hours, broken only by brief moments to drink water or catch breath. Each time, Kael pushed her a little further: strikes faster, footwork tighter, movements cleaner.

At first, she resented it. The ache in her muscles. The sting of failing again and again.

But then something shifted.

As the moon rose higher, Amara felt the world slow around her. The cool breeze whispered across her skin. Her breath found rhythm, matching the beat of her heart.

When Kael advanced again, she didn't think. She moved.

Their staffs clashed, and this time she pivoted, slipping under his guard and bringing her staff across in a sweeping arc. Kael parried easily, but a flicker of approval crossed his face.

"Good," he said, voice softer now. "Better."

They paused, breath fogging in the night air. Amara wiped sweat from her brow, muscles trembling from exhaustion.

"I've never fought before," she admitted quietly, staring at the worn stones beneath her boots.

"I know," Kael replied. "And yet here you are, still standing."

She met his gaze, surprised by the gentleness there. "Will this really help? Swinging sticks when prophecy speaks of power beyond imagining?"

Kael walked closer, lowering his staff. "Your gift will awaken in time. But power without discipline destroys as surely as a blade turned in the hand. You must learn control - of body, mind, and spirit."

Amara nodded, though doubt still curled at the edges of her thoughts. *Can I really do this?*

Kael turned away, looking up at the moonlit sky. "Years ago, when I first learned of the prophecy, I thought the goddess had made a mistake. That one person shouldn't bear so much alone."

Amara listened, the rawness in his voice surprising her.

"But then," he continued, "I understood. The goddess doesn't choose the strong or the fearless. She chooses those who can grow stronger through fear."

His eyes met hers again, steady and unwavering. "You don't have to be ready now. You only have to keep moving forward."

Amara felt something loosen in her chest - not a promise that it would be easy, but a promise that she didn't have to be perfect to begin.

They resumed training. The night deepened, shadows stretching across the courtyard like silent witnesses.

Between each strike and counterstrike, Amara began to notice things she hadn't before: the slight shift in Kael's stance before he attacked, the way the wind carried scents of moss and cold stone, the faint vibration of energy that seemed to pulse under her skin whenever she pushed past exhaustion.

Once, as they paused, Kael watched her quietly. "Do you feel it?" he asked.

Amara hesitated. "Feel what?"

"The stir of power within you," he said. "It's faint now, like a spark waiting for breath. But it's there."

She closed her eyes, focusing inward. Beneath the weariness, beyond the ache of muscle and bone, she sensed... something. A flicker, almost like a memory of warmth. It pulsed in time with her heartbeat, fragile but real.

"Yes," she whispered, eyes opening. "I think I do."

Kael nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good. Hold onto that. In time, it will grow."

They ended the night's training as the moon dipped westward. Kael led her through a narrow passageway, their steps echoing against ancient walls.

They reached a small chamber lit by a single lantern. Shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls and worn tomes. In the center stood a stone pedestal, and atop it rested a silver amulet shaped like a crescent moon.

Kael gestured to it. "This belonged to your ancestor - the first High Priestess. The goddess bade me keep it until you arrived."

Amara stepped closer, the air around the amulet humming faintly. She reached out, fingers trembling, and lifted it gently. Cold silver kissed her skin, and a rush of sensation flooded through her: visions of moonlit temples, chanting voices, the overwhelming presence of something vast and eternal.

She gasped, gripping the amulet to keep from dropping it.

Kael steadied her with a hand on her arm. "Easy. The amulet recognizes its heir."

As the rush faded, Amara cradled the amulet against her chest. "What do I do with it?"

"For now, wear it," Kael said. "It will help guide your awakening. But its true power only reveals itself when the bearer accepts who they truly are."

*Who am I truly?* The question echoed within her, unanswered.

Before he left her to rest, Kael paused at the doorway. "Tomorrow, we train again," he said.

Amara managed a tired smile. "At dawn, I suppose?"

"At dawn," Kael confirmed, a trace of humor warming his features before he turned away.

Left alone, Amara sank onto a nearby bench, the amulet heavy in her palm. She traced its crescent edges, feeling the faint warmth that lingered.

Outside, the fortress settled into uneasy silence. Beyond its walls, darkness gathered strength. She didn't know if she could live up to prophecy, if she could carry the burden of blood, fire, and sorrow.

But as exhaustion pulled her toward sleep, one thought burned brighter than fear:

*I will not run.*

Whatever the goddess had planned, whatever power slept within her, she would face it.

And perhaps - just perhaps - she would not face it alone.