Lucielle’s body burned with exhaustion, but she didn’t stop. Her blade of light slashed through the air in swift, precise movements, the golden glow illuminating the training grounds even under the eternal glow of Luminara’s skies. Each strike, each movement, was meant to silence the turmoil in her mind, but no matter how much she trained, the doubts remained.

  She gritted her teeth as she struck again, the Aetherforged sword humming with power. Her father’s decision weighed on her, his words echoing endlessly in her thoughts. Why did he hesitate? What was he thinking in that moment? Why had he chosen to sit in the council instead of leading on the battlefield, despite being a warrior—a man she had once looked up to?

  “Your focus is off.”

  Lucielle’s sword stopped mid-swing as the voice reached her. She turned to see Kevin standing at the edge of the training ground, arms crossed. He was a fellow Aetherforger, one of the top graduates from the academy, and someone who had been annoyingly persistent in his attention toward her.

  “I don’t recall asking for advice,” she replied, turning away to resume her training.

  Kevin sighed and stepped closer. “You may not have asked, but anyone with eyes can see that you’re distracted. You’re swinging your sword like it’s a chore rather than a conviction. What’s wrong?”

  Lucielle tightened her grip on her weapon. “Nothing that concerns you.”

  Kevin chuckled softly. “You always say that.”

  She tensed. He wasn’t wrong. Kevin had been a shadow around her since their academy days, always offering to train with her, always watching. She never understood why. Unlike the others, he never fawned over her status or sought favor from her father. Instead, he seemed genuinely… invested. But she didn’t want his concern.

  “I don’t need your help, Kevin.”

  “Maybe not. But everyone needs someone to talk to.”

  She remained silent. After a few moments, Kevin sighed again and stepped back. “At least don’t push yourself to exhaustion. You won’t do your house any good if you collapse before the next battle.”

  With that, he turned and left. Lucielle exhaled, lowering her sword as she watched him go.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Later, as she made her way back to her quarters, her steps slowed when she passed the portrait hanging in the hallway. Her mother’s face stared back at her—a striking resemblance. The same golden hair, the same piercing eyes. But Lucielle barely remembered her. She had died in the war when Lucielle was only four.

  She lifted a hand, brushing her fingers over the edge of the portrait’s frame. Had she been fighting for her mother’s memory? For revenge? For the glory of House Aldraine? Or had she been fighting simply because it was all she had ever known?

  Her thoughts darkened as she wondered—how many mothers, fathers, and loved ones had been lost in this endless war? How many had fought believing in their duty, only to become another casualty of the cycle?

  For the first time in years, Lucielle questioned the very war she had sworn herself to.

  Varithra sat on the edge of her bed, a thick leather-bound book resting in her lap. She wasn’t truly reading it, though. It was her third day of suspension, and the isolation was both a relief and a curse.

  A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. “Come in.”

  The door creaked open, and Maria stepped inside, her familiar warmth filling the room. Varithra didn’t look up, but she felt the older woman’s gaze on her.

  “You’re angry with your mother, aren’t you?” Maria asked gently.

  Varithra remained silent, staring at the pages of her book without reading a single word.

  Maria sighed and walked over, sitting beside her on the bed. “She just doesn’t want to lose you.”

  Varithra finally turned to look at her. “She doesn’t trust me.”

  “That’s not true.” Maria placed a hand on hers. “She’s scared.”

  Varithra frowned. “Of what?”

  “Of losing her only child, just like she lost your father.”

  Varithra’s expression darkened. Her father… the man she had never met. He had died before she was even born, another soldier lost to the endless war. She had grown up knowing only his name, his legacy, but never his face.

  Maria continued, her voice softer. “Varessa loved him deeply. When he died, she was already carrying you. She had to raise you alone, and this war has never given her peace. She only wants to keep you safe.”

  Varithra’s grip tightened around the book. “Then why does she keep sending me to fight?”

  Maria sighed. “Because that is the way of our world. She doesn’t want you to fight, but she knows no other choice. None of us do.”

  Varithra looked away. She hated that answer. She hated that their entire existence was dictated by an endless cycle of war and death. But wasn’t she the same? Hadn’t she thrown herself into battle without question?

  Maria gave her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re stronger than you think, Varithra. And you are not alone.”

  She pulled the younger woman into a hug, holding her tightly before pulling away with a small smile. “Get some rest.”

  As Maria left, Varithra remained seated, staring at the door long after it closed. Her father had died before she was even born. Her mother fought to protect her, but in doing so, forced her into the same cycle of war.

  Was there truly no other choice?

  She leaned back against her pillows, closing her eyes. Perhaps, for just this one week, she could pretend there was a world without war.

  Perhaps.