Chapter 10

As she walked away, her stride purposeful, I couldn’t help but think of Marcus. He had ruled with an iron fist, demanding loyalty without question. Elara’s approach was softer, steadier, but the road ahead of her was treacherous. I only hoped her strength would hold.

POV: Elara

3 years earlier

The smell of damp earth and pine needles clung to the air as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the training grounds. My father stood at the edge of the clearing, his presence as imposing as ever. His broad shoulders seemed to block out the last rays of sunlight, leaving me to face him in the growing darkness.

“Again,” he barked, his voice sharp and unyielding.

I clenched my fists, the ache in my arms protesting against the command, but I didn’t hesitate. Dropping into a crouch, I focused on my opponent—a wooden dummy scarred from years of practice blows. My muscles screamed as I launched into the sequence: a low sweep, a feint, and finally a strike aimed at the head. My claws barely nicked the wood before my father’s voice cut through the clearing.

“Too slow!” he snapped, his disapproval heavy in the air.