POV: Soraya
Night in Ashra has its own pulse.
The heat of the day finally bleeds out of the sand, leaving the dunes shimmering like silver scales under the twin moons. The air smells faintly of cool stone, distant incense, and the crisp promise of quiet. Most of the fortress sleeps at this hour—except the guards, the restless, and those who cannot silence their thoughts.
I belong to all three.
Kaide meets me in the lower courtyard, where the shadows are long and the stone floor still remembers the day’s warmth. He stands with two wooden practice blades in hand, arms crossed, expression as unreadable as ever.
“You’re late,” he says.
“I nearly turned back.”
“Good thing you didn’t,” he replies, tossing me a blade. “You’ll need this.”
I catch it clumsily. It feels heavier than the one Vienne gave me earlier—less forgiving, more real. Kaide raises a brow at my grip.
“That is… awful,” he mutters.
“I’m new to this.”
“You’re new to a lot of things,” he says, stepping behind me. He adjusts my shoulders, my feet, the angle of my wrist. “But you’re learning.”
To my surprise, the words warm something inside me. Kaide rarely gives praise; when he does, it feels earned.
“Again,” he says, stepping back.
I mimic the stance he showed me. Knees loose. Spine long. Blade up but not stiff. I breathe in the cold night air and try to push everything else away—the whispers, the stares, the memory of what I became in that alley.
For a moment, I almost manage it.
Kaide circles me slowly. His movements are graceful in a sharp, dangerous way. “This is not about strength,” he says. “It’s about presence. Intent. When someone looks at you, you don’t let them see fear first.”
“I don’t want them to see anything,” I mutter. “I just want to blend in.”
He laughs—short, humorless. “Storm girl, nothing about you blends in.”
I grip the blade tighter. “That’s not a good thing.”
“It is when you learn to control it.”
A breeze sweeps through the courtyard. The moons catch the edge of Kaide’s blade, painting it in pale light. He raises it.
“Strike.”
I blink. “Strike what?”
“Me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You want to survive, don’t you?”
“I don’t want to wound you!”
“You won’t,” he says dryly. “However, if it makes you feel better—try.”
I hesitate, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even breathe wrong. He waits for me to choose.
So I move.
My swing is clumsy, but Kaide blocks it with casual ease. Wood cracks against wood. My arms tremble. He pushes back, gentle but firm.
“Again.”
I strike again. He blocks again. And again. And again.
The rhythm becomes strange and hypnotic—swing, block, adjust, try not to fall on my face. My heartbeat steadies. My movements start to loosen. The weight in my chest lifts, if only slightly.
“Better,” Kaide says. “Now faster.”
I try, but my thoughts get tangled with the motion. Every mistake shows instantly. Kaide corrects me without shaming me, guiding my wrist when I over-extend, tapping my shoulder when I leave my guard open.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours.
My arms burn. Sweat dampens my hairline. But something else happens too—something quieter, softer.
I’m not afraid.
Not of the blade. Not of the courtyard. Not of myself. For the first time since I shifted, I feel almost… whole.
We pause. I lean on my knees, catching my breath. Kaide hands me a flask.
“Drink.”
I do. The water is cool, laced with mint. “How long have we been out here?”
“Long enough,” he says. “Your feet are getting heavy. Means you’re tired, not sloppy.”
I straighten and hand back the flask. “Thank you. For this.”
He studies me for a long moment, eyes softer than I expect. “You’re stronger than you think, Soraya.”
I swallow around something thick. “I don’t feel strong.”
“You will.”
Before I can ask what he means, his gaze flicks to the shadows on the far wall.
“Don’t react,” he murmurs.
My stomach tightens. “What—”
“He’s been watching the whole time.”
I don’t need to ask who.
Raevan. Even without looking directly, I can feel the weight of him—dark, focused, burning like a silent wildfire. His presence is unmistakable: a low thrum in the air, a pressure along my skin, a pull in my chest I wish I didn’t recognize.
“Why is he here?” I ask, voice barely a whisper.
“Because he can’t stay away,” Kaide says bluntly. “Even when he should.”
Those words cut deeper than the blade ever could.
A gust of wind reveals Raevan for an instant—leaning against the stone archway, cloak half-unraveled, eyes like molten gold locked on me. But before I can fully meet his gaze, he fades back into the dark.
“He’s worried,” Kaide says.
“I didn’t ask him to worry about me.”
“You don’t have to. He does anyway.”
My pulse stumbles, confused and unwanted. “I don’t want him watching me like this.”
Kaide turns to face me fully. “Then you need to decide how long you’re going to hide behind anger.”
I stiffen. “I’m not—”
“You are,” he interrupts. “And no one blames you. But Raevan won’t stop hovering in doorways, or watching from shadows, or torturing himself unless you give him a direction. Push him away for real. Or talk to him. Those are your choices.”
I look at the archway again, but Raevan is already gone. Only a faint echo of his scent remains—cedar smoke, cold iron, and something darker that stirs my wolf.
“I don’t know what I want,” I whisper.
“That,” Kaide says, “is still better than pretending you want nothing.”
He sets the practice blades aside and starts gathering things. “Training’s over for tonight. Same time tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I say, surprising myself.
He nods once. “Good. You’re improving.”
As Kaide heads toward the inner gate, I stay in the courtyard a moment longer, looking up at the moons, listening to the silent desert.
Somewhere in the shadows, Raevan is still there.