The watchtower stood crooked against the darkening sky, its stone worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain. Ryn's arms burned from carrying the chest up the cliff path, his breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged the chill evening air.
He paused at the base of the tower, squinting upward. No light shone from the narrow windows. No smoke curled from the chimney. If not for the fresh bootprints in the mud, he might have thought the place abandoned.
"Took you long enough."
Lira's voice came from directly behind him. Ryn startled, nearly dropping the chest as he whirled to face her.
The captain stood with arms crossed, her scarred face unreadable in the twilight. She'd changed out of her soldier's coat into a simple tunic and trousers, a long knife at her belt. Without her usual layers, Ryn could see the hard lines of muscle beneath her skin, the network of old wounds that mapped her arms like pale rivers.
**[Captain Lira | Body Astra]**
*Enhanced strength and durability*
*Former weapons master to House Kael*
*Current status: Unimpressed*
Ryn opened his mouth to speak, but Lira held up a hand.
"Save your breath. You'll need it." She turned toward the tower. "Follow me."
The interior was a single large room, surprisingly clean despite the crumbling exterior. A narrow bed stood against one wall, a table and single chair against another. In the center of the room, a fire pit glowed with fading embers.
Lira pointed to a spot near the fire. "Put that down."
As Ryn set the chest down, his knees nearly buckled. The climb had taken more out of him than he'd realized. His hands were raw from scrambling through the manor ruins, his bare feet cut and bruised from the rough terrain.
Lira made no comment. She simply opened the chest and removed the items one by one, examining each in the firelight.
The dagger she tested against her thumb, nodding approvingly at its edge. The cloak she shook out, checking the seams. When she unfolded the note, her good eye flicked to Ryn's face, then back to the parchment.
After a long moment, she refolded it and tucked it into her belt.
"Your father was a fool," she said matter-of-factly. "But he knew steel." She tossed the dagger to Ryn, who barely caught it. "That's shadow-forged. Rare. Don't lose it."
Ryn turned the blade over in his hands. In the firelight, the metal seemed to drink the glow rather than reflect it. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, worn smooth from use.
"Now," Lira said, rolling her shoulders. "Let's see what you're made of."
Before Ryn could react, she lunged.
Her fist connected with his stomach hard enough to fold him in half. As he gasped for air, her knee came up to meet his chin. Stars exploded behind his eyes as he crashed onto his back, the dagger skittering away across the stone floor.
Lira loomed over him, her expression unchanged. "Get up."
Ryn's vision swam. His mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. When he tried to push himself up, his arms trembled like newborn colt's legs.
"I said get up." Lira's boot connected with his ribs.
Something inside Ryn snapped.
With a wordless cry, he surged upward, swinging wildly. Lira dodged the blow with contemptuous ease, catching his wrist and twisting until Ryn cried out.
"Pathetic," she spat, shoving him away. "You fight like a noble's brat."
Ryn wiped blood from his lip. "I am a noble's brat."
"Not anymore." Lira circled him like a wolf sizing up prey. "That life is ashes. Those skills are useless here." She feinted left, then struck right, her open palm cracking against his cheek. "You want to kill Malrik? First you have to survive me."
The next hour was a blur of pain and humiliation.
Lira dismantled him with brutal efficiency. Every block was too slow. Every strike telegraphed. By the time she called a halt, Ryn could barely stand, his body a tapestry of bruises.
"Enough." Lira stepped back, barely winded. "You're worse than I thought."
Ryn spat blood onto the stones. "Thanks for the encouragement."
"Encouragement?" Lira barked a laugh. "This isn't a poetry reading, boy. Malrik will do worse than bruise you." She picked up the shadow-forged dagger and tossed it onto the bed. "Tomorrow we start proper. Dawn. Be ready."
She turned toward the fire, clearly dismissing him.
Ryn hesitated. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"
Lira didn't look back. "The stable's still standing. Mostly."
Outside, the wind had picked up, carrying the scent of rain from the sea. The stable leaned against the tower's eastern wall, its roof half-collapsed but the interior dry. A single stall remained intact, its straw bedding musty but serviceable.
As Ryn lowered himself onto the straw, every muscle protested. His ribs ached where Lira had kicked him. His knuckles were split and swollen.
He stared at the stable's sagging ceiling, listening to the wind howl through the cracks. Somewhere out there, Malrik was alive. Breathing. While Ryn's father...
The thought was a knife to his gut.
Ryn rolled onto his side, curling around the pain. He expected tears, but none came. There was only a hollow ache, a yawning void where his family had been.
Sleep took him like a thief in the night.
---
Dawn came too soon.
A bucket of icy water shocked Ryn awake, his body jerking upright with a gasp. Lira stood over him, empty bucket in hand.
"Up," she commanded. "The dead sleep. The living train."
Ryn's body protested as he staggered to his feet. His bruises had deepened overnight, painting his skin in shades of purple and blue.
Lira didn't comment. She simply tossed him a hunk of hard bread and a wedge of cheese. "Eat. Then meet me outside."
The morning air was crisp, the sky streaked with pink and gold. Lira stood in a cleared area behind the tower, her stance relaxed but ready.
"First lesson," she said as Ryn approached. "Astra isn't magic. It's not some gift from the gods." She tapped her chest. "It's in your blood. Your bones. Your breath."
Ryn frowned. "My father said—"
"I don't care what your father said." Lira's voice was sharp as a blade. "You're not learning courtly dueling. You're learning to survive." She held up her hand. "Watch."
A faint shimmer ran along her skin, like heat rising from stone. As Ryn watched, the bruises on her knuckles faded, the split skin knitting together.
"Body Astra," Lira said. "Every strike I take makes me stronger. Every wound teaches my flesh to resist." The glow faded. "Your turn."
Ryn stared at his hands. "I don't know how."
"Of course you don't." Lira stepped behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Close your eyes."
When Ryn obeyed, she continued, her voice low and measured. "Breathe in. Feel the air in your lungs. The blood in your veins. That's Astra. Now push it outward."
Ryn tried. He imagined energy flowing through him, pooling in his hands. Nothing happened.
Lira's grip tightened. "Stop thinking. Just feel."
Ryn exhaled sharply. He tried again, letting his mind go blank. For a moment—just a moment—he felt something stir beneath his skin, like a breeze through tall grass.
Then it was gone.
"Again," Lira commanded.
They spent the morning like that—Ryn straining for that fleeting connection, Lira barking corrections. By midday, Ryn's head throbbed, his body slick with sweat despite the chill.
Lira called a halt as the sun reached its zenith. "Enough. We'll try again tomorrow." She tossed him a waterskin. "Now eat. Then we'll work on footwork."
The afternoon was no less brutal. Lira drilled him on stances and strikes until his legs shook with exhaustion. When he faltered, she struck him with a practice sword. When he complained, she struck him harder.
Only when the sun dipped below the cliffs did she relent.
"Enough," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. "Tomorrow we'll—"
A sound cut her off—a high, keening whistle from the cliffs below.
Lira's head snapped up. Her good eye narrowed. "Trouble."
She moved to the tower's edge, peering down at the winding path below. Ryn joined her, squinting into the gathering dark.
Three figures climbed toward them, their torches flickering in the twilight. Even at this distance, Ryn recognized the crest on their cloaks—a black wolf's head.
Malrik's men.
Lira spat over the cliff edge. "Seems someone's looking for you, boy."
Ryn's heart hammered against his ribs. "What do we do?"
Lira's smile was all teeth. "We show them why this tower's been abandoned for twenty years."
She turned and strode toward the tower, calling over her shoulder:
"Fetch your dagger. It's time for your first real lesson."