Chapter 119: War
A week crawled by. The rhythm of the castle settled into a strange routine. Training. Meals. Silence.
The clang of steel echoed across the training ground. Fin ducked under Arachne’s swift, slicing attack, the air whispering where the blade passed his ear. He pivoted, trying the low block she showed him, deflecting her follow-up thrust. The impact jarred his arm, but the block held.
’Better. Still too slow.’
Arachne flowed backwards, resetting instantly. Her expression held no praise, only assessment. Fin shifted his stance, breathing deliberately, trying to mimic the rootedness she possessed. He felt less like a flailing monkey now, more like a slightly clumsy bear trying to dance. Progress. Small, infuriatingly slow progress.
Across the packed earth, Scarlet drilled knife forms, her movements sharp, aggressive. She occasionally barked corrections at Meg, who practiced staff strikes against a thick wooden post. Meg’s movements were gaining confidence, her footing surer, the white light of her core a steady, faint pulse beneath her simple tunic. She still tired quickly, her face flushed with exertion, but she didn’t stop.
Mara sat on the stone bench near the edge of the training ground. She wasn’t reading, wasn’t sketching. She just watched. Her fear seemed less immediate now, replaced by a quiet, guarded resignation. She looked pale, tired, a captive audience to their strange preparations for war. Fin felt her eyes on him sometimes, judging, weighing.
’She’s still deciding if I’m a monster.’ He didn’t care what she decided. He just needed her quiet.
Arachne lunged again, faster this time. Fin blocked, parried, stepped back. He saw an opening, a brief one, and launched a counter-strike – a straight punch aimed at her shoulder.
She wasn’t there.
Her hand closed around his wrist, redirecting his momentum. Her other hand pressed flat against his chest. He found himself staggering backward, landing hard on his backside in the dirt. Again.
He looked up at her. Arachne offered him a hand. He ignored it, pushing himself up, brushing dust from his trousers.