Chapter 3: Secret Training Begins

ELARA

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine through the dense trees, a whisper of cool relief after the heat of the day. The forest stirs around me—leaves rustling in the faintest of breezes, the occasional hoot of an owl breaking the otherwise silent expanse. Above, the moon hangs bright and full, its silver glow spilling between the branches, casting long, slanted shadows against the forest floor.

The packhouse looms in the distance, its towering structure barely visible beyond the thick pines. Inside, the others sleep, warriors exhausted from training, patrols, and the tedious daily tasks of pack life. Or, if you’re Seraphina and her perfect little circle of followers, resting from a long day of lounging and pretending to be important.

I should be asleep, too.

But I’ve spent too many nights awake, listening, watching, always waiting.

The night holds secrets. And secrets have a way of creeping in when no one is looking.

And tonight, I’ve found one.

Or rather—I followed one.

It started with a flicker of movement, a shadow slipping between the trees after curfew. Too quiet, too deliberate to be one of the warriors sneaking off for a drink or a late-night tryst.

I recognized her immediately.

The slight frame. The purposeful movements. The dark hair unbound, spilling over her shoulders in waves that shimmer under the moonlight.

Raven.

From the shadows of the towering pines, I watch her.

There’s something raw about the way she moves.

She has no sword, no armor, no sparring partner—nothing but her own body and the quiet defiance in her bones.

Her breath comes in slow, controlled exhales, misting faintly in the cool air. Her feet shift over the damp leaves, kicking up dirt, but not enough to be careless. Her hands, wrapped in makeshift bandages, curl into tight fists before striking forward—a punch, a pivot, a swift dodge.

She’s quick, but not quick enough.

Precise, but not practiced.

Her form is uneven, but—gods, she’s trying.

I bite the inside of my cheek, arms crossing over my chest as I lean against a tree, watching.

They make her **scrub floors, serve their meals, polish their damn boots—**and yet, here she is.

Training. Alone. In the dark.

Because they won’t let her be anything more.

It’s almost pathetic.

Not because Raven is weak—she’s the strongest damn person I’ve ever met.

But because they made her this way.

They forced her into a **cage, stripped her of her name, her dignity, her rightful place—**and they expected her to just accept it.

Of course she wouldn’t.

I push off the tree, stepping forward, and let my voice cut through the night.

“You punch like an old man.”

Raven whirls so fast she nearly trips over herself, breath coming fast and heavy from her last round of drills. Her hands instinctively rise in a defensive stance, but as soon as her eyes land on me, her shoulders loosen slightly—though not entirely.

She’s always guarded. Even around me.

“What the hell, Elara?” she snaps, though there’s no real bite—just frustration tangled with exhaustion.

I smirk. “What the hell, you?” I gesture lazily at the clearing, where patches of grass have been stomped into dirt from her relentless training. “Out here pretending you can fight?”

Raven exhales, rolling her shoulders, wiping sweat from her brow. The dim light of the moon catches on fresh scrapes across her knuckles, faint bruises peeking from beneath her sleeves. I’ve seen too many bruises on her before, but this is different.

This isn’t from Seraphina’s cruelty or Lilliana’s punishments.

This is from her.

“I don’t have the luxury of a teacher,” she mutters.

I tilt my head, letting the silence stretch between us before responding. “No, you don’t.” I smirk. “But you do have the luxury of a sharp tongue. Maybe try throwing insults at your enemies instead. I’m sure Seraphina would approve.”

Raven groans loudly, dramatically dropping onto a fallen log like her bones have finally given up. “If you’re here to lecture me, go ahead and get it over with.”

I watch her for a beat before stepping closer, boots silent on the damp ground.

I let the quiet settle between us, listening to the distant rustling of leaves, the occasional howl of a wolf far off in the night. Then, finally, I ask, “How long have you been doing this?”

Raven stares at the dirt beneath her feet, dragging the edge of her boot through a line in the soil. “A while.”

I frown, crouching beside her. “And no one’s caught you?”

She huffs out a humorless laugh, wiping at her scraped knuckles.

“No one looks for things they don’t care about.”

Something twists in my chest, dark and ugly and so damn unfair that it makes me want to punch something myself.

I swallow it down.

I’ve spent years watching Raven get treated like nothing—by her own father, by Seraphina, by the entire pack.

But somehow, this—**seeing her out here, fighting a battle no one even knows she’s waging—**is worse.

Because she shouldn’t have to do this alone.

I study her more closely now, taking in the bruises that never fully fade, the callouses that have formed despite her ‘place’ in the pack.

Raven was never allowed to be a warrior.

But she sure as hell isn’t a servant, either.

“You’re serious about this,” I murmur.

Her gaze snaps to mine—fierce, determined. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I exhale slowly.

This is stupid. This is reckless.

If anyone catches her—**if Seraphina finds out, if Lilliana finds out—**they’ll tear her apart worse than they already do.

But looking at her now…

Looking at the fire in her green eyes, the quiet rage burning beneath the surface, the unyielding need to be more than what they’ve reduced her to…

I sigh, shaking my head. Then I stand up.

Raven blinks up at me, confused, as I extend a hand.

“What are you—”

“You’re training like an idiot,” I say simply. “So if you’re gonna do it, you might as well do it right.”

She just stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“You—”

“I’m helping you, dumbass,” I interrupt, shaking my outstretched hand impatiently. “Now get up before I change my mind.”

For a long moment, she just sits there, silent, unreadable.

Then—**slowly, carefully—**she reaches out and takes my hand.

A steady, unspoken promise settles between us.

This is the beginning of something.

Something that will change everything.

And for the first time, I truly believe that Raven won’t just survive this life.

She will rise from it.