Chapter Six: First Lessons with Ma Erene

Zara stepped out into the garden, her legs still stiff from the sparring test. The night air was sharp, biting at the cuts along her arms and the bruises along her ribs, but she didn’t stop. 

She moved through the winding paths with purpose, listening to the distant howl of wolves beyond the fortress walls. Each step brought her closer to Ma Erene’s small clearing at the edge of the training yard. 

The old woman was already there, kneeling beside a circle of stones, her hands busy tying herbs into small bundles that smelled of smoke and something wild Zara couldn’t name.

“You’re late,” Ma Erene said without looking up, her voice rough like dry leaves rubbing together. Zara knelt on the cold stone beside her, brushing at the dirt on her knees. 

“I am not late,” she muttered, and the older woman’s gray eyes finally met hers. They were sharp, unreadable, and full of expectation. 

“You think that matters,” Ma Erene said, tapping the edge of a bundle with her gnarled staff. “What matters is if you survive the lesson, not when you arrive.” Zara’s throat tightened, but she kept her eyes down, waiting for instructions.

Ma Erene stood slowly, gesturing for Zara to follow. She led her to a small circle of flat stones, each marked with scratches and faint stains.

 “Watch me,” she said, lifting a cup of water. She rotated her wrist just slightly, and the water trembled, ripples spreading without the cup moving. Zara blinked, leaning closer. 

“You see it move?” Ma Erene asked. Zara nodded, though she didn’t understand how it happened. The woman’s smile was small, tight, and not kind. 

“Not the cup,” she whispered. “The air bends where you learn to notice. Your mind bends first. So watch first, and move later.”

The first exercise was simple enough…. And Zara followed the motions Ma Erene demonstrated, shifting her weight from foot to foot, moving her hands in the same small, deliberate patterns. 

At first, nothing happened. Her palms pressed against the stone felt dull. She swore she could hear the witch’s eyes on her, judging every slight twitch, every missed gesture. Then a whisper of movement caught her attention, it was a flicker in the air near her fingers. She adjusted, and a tiny ripple formed over the stone where her hands hovered. 

Ma Erene’s eyes moved up, approving only just enough to make her heart pound with an unfamiliar warmth.

Hours passed as they continued with the training. Zara’s knees were already aching, her palms were raw, and her shoulders burned, but she stayed in the circle, trying again and again. 

Ma Erene’s corrections came as sudden touches or shifts of the wrist. 

“Do not think with strength,” she said, pressing a finger against Zara’s forearm, guiding it. 

“Think with presence. If you rush, the air will swallow you. And if you hesitate, it will strike you before you react.” Zara followed, mimicking the motions, sometimes too slow, sometimes too quick, but always moving. Sweat ran into her eyes, stung, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand without pause.

The exercises grew harder and harder. Ma Erene tossed small rocks, first one, then a handful, and Zara had to anticipate their path, catching or deflecting them with hands or feet before they hit the ground. 

The rhythm became a test of instinct, of observation, of noticing the slightest shift in weight or gesture. When she stumbled, Ma Erene was there with a quick adjustment, an instruction, or a light tap against her shoulder. 

Zara’s breathing grew ragged, muscles trembling, but the fire in her chest expanded with every successful block, every small motion executed just right.

By the end of the lesson, Zara’s body felt battered and heavy, but her mind buzzed with a strange clarity. Ma Erene crouched beside her, pressing her hand to Zara’s wrist, feeling the pulse beneath the skin.

 “You endure,” she said, voice soft but filled with firmness. “Not because you strike, or because you bite. But because you stand and continue when every part of you begs to stop. 

That is strength. So always remember it.” Zara’s lips parted, wanting to speak, but she only nodded. Her muscles ached, her cuts stung, but there was that little satisfaction she had now, a satisfaction that she hadn’t known since the fight in the sparring ring.

Zara made her way back to the servants’ quarters as night deepened. The fortress was quiet, broken only by the occasional shuffle of a guard or distant howl. She sank onto the thin mat, flexing her stiff fingers, noting the bruises and scratches that marked her skin. 

Her thoughts lingered on the lessons, on the subtle gestures, the way Ma Erene had guided her attention to things she hadn’t noticed before. 

Outside, the wind rattled the stone walls, and for the first time since her arrival, Zara felt a small measure of control. 

She didn’t know what the future held, or how far this path would take her, but she understood one thing, which was that she had begun to take steps that were her own, not a step for the pack’s, nor for Hunter’s, it wasn't for anyone but herself.

Before sleep claimed her, Zara’s last thought returned to Ma Erene’s words, repeating them quietly in her mind: “Think with presence. If you rush, the air will swallow you. And if you hesitate, it will strike you before you react.” 

She touched the bruises on her forearms with careful fingers, tracing each line. The pain was there, yes, but beneath it, a spark of something stronger, and unyielding warmed her chest. 

She would endure, she had decided, and she would learn to fight back in ways no one had expected. Her body relaxed finally, heavy with exhaustion, but her mind remained alert. In her silent thoughts, she knows that tomorrow will be another test, another lesson, and she will be ready. Because it's going to be fine.