“—fear loses power.”
The clearing is so quiet Seren can hear the wind dragging through the trees beyond the training grounds. Can hear leather creak as shoulders tighten. Can hear hearts hammering behind ribcages not built for war.
“Today,” Teddy says, turning so every soldier must see him, “you learn to run into the fray.”
Run into the fray.
Seren knows immediately why Teddy wants to teach this. Knows immediately that it isherwho has refused to run into the ocean’s ferocity. Instead, she has withstood it at the boundary.
The exact place he stands with her.
A ripple of unease moves through the ranks.
He doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Seren,” Teddy says.
Her name is not loud. But it lands like command anyway.
She steps forward before her mind catches up with her body. Before she can question why her chest aches. Why her throat tightens. Why his voice still has the power to pull her in like gravity.
He does not look at her the way he did in his quarters. Does not look at her like she might disappear if he blinks. Does not look at her like she’s fragile.
He looks at her like a weapon he intends to sharpen.
Good.
Better.
Less painful.
“Stand here,” he instructs, gesturing to meet him at the front of the ranks.
She makes her way to him, lifting her chin and pulling her shoulders back as she walks.
All eyes are fixed on her, and murmurs hum through the ranks.
“The witch,” they whisper.
“She killed a man with a magic lasso,” someone says.
“She bleeds black,” another breathes.
She brushes her braid behind her shoulder, stalking to the front, impervious to the mutterings of men who are afraid of their own shadows.
The General positions her so her body stands opposite him, at least ten paces away.
His face angles to the ranks, as he walks toward her, stepping behind her, and dragging his heavy boot through the packed dirt to draw a line in the earth.
“You will partner up,” he commands. “You will draw a line in the dirt behind each of you, and you will not retreat behind it. You will enter the fray. Move into the space between you, and do what you must to keep your feet, and claim the territory of your opponent. Your instincts will scream at you to defend your own territory, to wait, to root down. You must move anyway.”
Murmurs of agreement ripple across the soldiers.
“In the fray, you will not be told what to do. You will not be instructed. War is not loyal. It does not care who leads, who falls, or who you once followed. In war, the mission outlives the commander,” he announces, and the words feel like a warning. Gooseflesh snakes up Seren’s spine.
The General strides slowly back to his position opposite Seren, his eyes still dragging across his army. “If command breaks, formation holds. If leadership falls, the objective remains. If strategy fails, instinctsmustlead. So, our training is about sharpening your instincts. About what happens inside the fray.”
He pauses.
