Page 9 of The Awakening of Essensia

“Most citizens stay close to home. It’s safer that way.”

He wasn’t wrong. Most people barely ventured beyond the woods or beaches. It made Vaelira wonder how dangerous the journey must have been for him, and what he might have faced to get here.

Movement at the treeline drew her eyes north again, to the low figure moving towards them just within the line of shadow. It stalked slowly on four legs, two pointed ears sticking up from its snouted face. If it wasn’t being so careful to stay out of the light, she may have thought it a wolf, but it was careful, never stepping over the line of shadow.

No, this was no animal. This was a Morgia. A shifter demon.

“We should move,” Eli said, lengthening his horse’s reins.

He bent to lift Freya into the saddle. Freya tried to protest, shaking her head and whimpering, but Eli was right. They had to move.

Vaelira stepped forward to help.

The sudden clatter of hooves and creaking wood broke through the gloom. She spun, relief flooding her as she spotted a horse drawn ambulance cart rumbling towards them, two guards on horseback flanking them, their faces bathed in the last glow of sunlight.

Vaelira’s shoulders relaxed, but her grip stayed tight on the reins.

“Finally,” Eli muttered, his hand still firmly planted on his sword.

From somewhere in the woods behind them, a branch snapped.

3

A Promise

The Sanatorium was empty.

At the far end of the room, a door stood ajar, the scratching of pencil on parchment cutting through the silence.

Vaelira sat in a small chair beside a metal cot, her body stiff as Freya’s splinted leg under the thin sheet. The final task would take place the next morning, but there was no chance of Freya being able to participate now.

“Don’t look so glum,” Freya said, her voice a rasp. “This way I won’t make you look bad.”

Vaelira chuckled quietly and reached over to take her friend's calloused hand. “Maybe Lysander will let you take the final task once you’re healed,” she said, “that way you won’t have to wait until next year.”

A door creaked open. “That’s Commander Lysander to you, young lady.”

Vaelira dropped Freya’s hand and stood, turning to face the Commander. She wanted to be angry at him, but his pained expression upon seeing Freya was enough for her to hold her tongue.

“Stop with the formalities and sit,” he said, dragging a chair from the next cot to join them.

He eyed them both, a Commander surveying wounded soldiers. Seemingly satisfied that neither of them was about to keel over and meet the Abyss, he continued.

“The next task begins at first light. It will take several days before every recruit has been tested, but even if you were to go last, you would not be healed in time, Freya. I am sorry.” He sat tall, but his face was grave.

Freya nodded, accepting her defeat far too easily for Vaelira’s liking.

“Surely you can do something?” she said, heat building in her chest at the injustice. At the sight of one of the strongest people she knew giving up. “She’s the best out of any of us. It’s not fair.”

She knew she sounded childish, but she didn’t care. The idea that Freya wouldn’t join the Guard was incomprehensible.

Commander Lysander hesitated, leaning back in his chair. A glimmer of the man Vaelira had known as a child surfaced, his face softer, his eyes solemn. It wrenched at her heart.

“I promised your father I would watch over you, Vaelira, but I did not promise to bend the rules for you and your friends,” he said.

Vaelira opened her mouth to argue, but he raised his hand to silence her.

“I do not believe that Halric would approve. Not as Captain, and certainly not as your father.” He turned to Freya. “You have performed exceptionally. You should be proud. Next year, once you are back at full health, you may try again. One year is not so long.”