Page 11 of The Awakening of Essensia

Arlon nodded solemnly. “I would like to apologise on Rurik’s behalf.”

Vaelira stared at him, wondering if he too could hear the futility of the words. They weren’t going to undo what Rurik had done, and they weren’t going to improve her chances in the next task.

When she didn’t speak, the priest drew a slow breath and nodded once more. “I will leave you to your thoughts.”

Vaelira waited until his footsteps faded before letting out a long breath. She wasn’t sure why she’d come, but now she knew her father used to, it felt like a mistake. It hadn’t saved him, and these statues wouldn’t save her. Only she could do that.

Despite the detour, the sun had barely risen by the time Vaelira entered the barracks. The halls were quiet, save for a few guards heading to their bunks or entering the dining hall for some breakfast.

Many of the guards chose to live at the barracks, but the idea sat uneasily with Vaelira. Their cottage only had one bedroom, but it had been just her and Jon for so many years now that the thought of living anywhere else felt like abandonment.

Vaelira made her way up the wooden staircase and took a left down the hall. She stopped in front of a plain door, the only sign of its importance being the words that had been carefully carved into the wood. Commander.

The door at her back seemed to watch her, tugging at her to turn and look, but she kept her eyes forward. Now was not the time for distractions.

Commander Lysander’s voice sounded from the other side, and Vaelira entered the office. It was a simple room. A meticulously organised bookshelf took up the right side of the wall, and in the centre stood a sturdy wooden desk with a worn leather top, a yellow candle dripping onto an iron saucer.

Behind the desk, a small curtainless window was obscured by the man seated before it, the light from the candle throwing the lines of Commander Lysander face into deep shadow.

He looked up then turned to peer out the window. “You’re early,” he said, arching a brow.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

The Commander pushed his chair back, crossing his arms over his chest. He was on edge, and the dark circles under his eyes told of a night with as little rest as her own.

“Go to the stables, then report to the main gate,” he said. “We will meet you there. No weapons.”

Vaelira’s heart pounded against her ribs. Something was wrong. The trials never took place outside the walls. Archery had been an exception, but they had gone as a large group, the risk had been minimal. Something twisted in her gut.

She had heard whispers of recruits being pulled aside and given trials meant for higher ranking positions.

Was this what was happening? Not possible. She may have been training longer than the average recruit, but she was far from the best. Her fight against Rurik proved that.

She hadn’t prepared for this. She had expected a challenge within the village. Maybe an obstacle course, or a riddle followed by an obstacle course. Guards were never supposed to reveal the details of the final task, but rumours always spread, and there was always some sort of obstacle course.

Either way, if she failed what came next, it was over, all her plans gone.

“You’re ready,” Commander Lysander said, as if reading her thoughts.

It couldn’t have been further from reality.

Rain fell to the ground in icy sheets that cut through Vaelira’s skin like blades as she galloped towards the cliffside. The storm had come out of nowhere, and the lack of sunlight had her nerves spiking.

Demons venturing into a storm wasn’t unheard of, but it was rare. Those that did take the risk were more often killed by a slither of sunlight breaking through the clouds than by any blade, and a demon had to be truly desperate to take that risk.

She kept her head low, trying to shield herself from the wind that whipped mercilessly at her face, but she was frozen by the time they reined in the horses.

The Eastern Outpost wasn’t much to look at, just a crumbling stone structure not fit for anything more than a simple lookout, though it hadn’t been manned in a lifetime. They led their horses inside, the doors banging wildly until Eli closed and secured them again. After tying up the horses, Commander Lysander motioned for Eli and Vaelira to follow him back outside.

Rain lashed against the cliff, and the sea roared against the rocks below, the wind snatching at their cloaks with every step. The Commander walked ahead, glancing back as he reached the edge of the cliff.

Then he stepped over it.

Vaelira gasped, reaching out as if she could catch him, instinct moving her forward.

A firm arm wrapped around her waist. Eli held her in place. His heat seeped into her, his grip unyielding, the hard lines of his stomach pressing into her back.

She struggled against him, furious that he would allow Lysander to do something so reckless. Furious that he would restrain her and prevent her from stopping him.