Ten Years Of Training

Lyra's POV

I lifted my bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed at the target.

"Your elbow is too high," Grandpa said.

I corrected it immediately.

"Feet."

I adjusted my stance.

"Breathe."

"I know how to breathe, Grandpa."

"Then do it properly."

I clenched my jaw but obeyed, forcing the nightmare from my mind.

I released the arrow. It sliced through the morning mist and struck the exact center of the target.

Bullseye.

A satisfied smile tugged at my lips.

"See that?" I asked proudly.

"You hesitated," Grandpa replied.

"It still hit the center."

"A dead enemy won't care if you hit the center after hesitating."

I glared at him. "You really know how to ruin a good moment."

"I know how to keep you alive."

His words settled heavily inside my chest.

Grandpa had kept me alive for the past ten years. He had found me that night, saved me, raised me, and trained me.

He loved me in the only way he knew how, by pushing me beyond my limits and making sure I lived long enough to face the world that had stolen my parents.

For the next hour, we trained without stopping. We moved from archery to knife throwing, then hand to hand combat. Grandpa corrected every mistake and never let me rest.

When he attacked without warning, I barely ducked as his wooden staff swung toward my head.

"Seriously?" I shouted as I rolled across the ground.

"An enemy won't announce himself before attacking," Grandpa replied.

"You are not my enemy."

"Today, I am."

I jumped to my feet and raised my dagger.

"Again."

He struck first. I blocked the first blow, dodged the second, and kicked toward his leg, but he barely moved. With a quick twist of his staff, he knocked the dagger from my hand.

The dagger tumbled across the clearing before disappearing into the grass.

I stared at it for a heartbeat, then met Grandpa's steady gaze.

One brow lifted.

"Dead."

I blew out a frustrated breath.

"One of these days, I'd like to hear something else."

"Then give me a reason to."

With an irritated growl, I rushed toward him, but he caught my wrist before I could land a single hit. In one swift movement, he spun me around and pinned my arm behind my back.

Pain shot through my shoulder.

"Ow," I hissed.

"Too emotional," Grandpa said.

"I am not emotional."

"You are angry."

"That is different."

"Anger makes you reckless."

I struggled against his hold.

"Pain makes me stronger," I argued.

"No," Grandpa said quietly. "Pain makes you blind."

Something about the way he said those words made me stop struggling. Slowly, he released me, and I stepped away, rubbing my aching wrist. Even then, my eyes never left his face.

There it was again, that same strange expression I had noticed earlier. It was as though Grandpa was looking at me while seeing someone else entirely. Someone he had lost.

"Grandpa?" I called softly.

He blinked once before looking away.

"Pick up your dagger."

I didn't move.

"You've been acting strange all morning."

"I am always strange," Grandpa replied.

"That is true," I said with a frown, "but this is different."

His jaw tightened. For several long seconds, he remained silent before finally turning toward the cabin.

"That's enough training."

I froze. "What?"

"You heard me."

I stared at him in confusion. The sun had barely climbed above the trees. We had trained longer in the pouring rain, longer while I was sick, and even longer after I twisted my ankle and Grandpa reminded me that wolves didn't care about weak ankles.

Ending training early made no sense.

Especially today.

"It's not even noon," I said, frowning. "We haven't finished today's training. We still have archery, climbing, and tracking."

"Not today."

I narrowed my eyes. "Who are you, and what did you do to my grandfather?"

He didn't smile, not even the faint twitch I had come to expect, and that frightened me more than anything else.

"Go home, Lyra," Grandpa said.

My stomach tightened. "Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That excuse doesn't work anymore."

His eyes darkened. "Don't argue with me today."

I stepped closer, searching his face. There was something he wasn't telling me. I could feel it.

"Grandpa," I said carefully. "What is going on?"

He looked at me then, and for the first time that morning, I recognized the emotion in his eyes. It was fear.

My grandfather, the man who had faced wolves and monsters without ever flinching, looked afraid. Not for himself, but for me.

A cold chill crawled down my spine.

“Leave!” He ordered.

I shook my head. "No. Not until you tell me what's happening."

His expression hardened, but his eyes betrayed him.

"You are eighteen now."

The words settled heavily between us. I waited for Grandpa to continue, but he didn't.

"So?" I asked.

He drew a slow breath before finally answering.

"So some things cannot be stopped anymore."

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"What things?"

Instead of answering, Grandpa turned away.

"Grandpa."

"That's enough for today, return to the cabin, Lyra."

His voice was rough now. Almost pleading.

That hurt far more than if he had shouted at me. For years, Grandpa had never begged me for anything. Not once.

I wanted to demand answers. I wanted to keep pushing until he finally told me the truth. But something about the way his shoulders stiffened stopped me.

He looked tired, older, and almost broken, and I hated seeing him like that.

Slowly, I bent down, picked up my dagger from the ground, and slipped it back into its sheath.

"Fine," I said, even though nothing about this felt fine. "But we are talking later."

Grandpa didn't answer. I turned toward the cabin, but after taking only a few steps, I stopped and glanced over my shoulder.

He was still standing in the middle of the clearing, watching me the same way he had all morning, as though he was afraid that if he looked away for even a second, something terrible would happen.

My chest tightened. I had never seen fear in Grandpa’s eyes before, and I hated it. Most of all, I hated the dread settling inside me, the terrifying certainty that my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t yet understand.

I forced myself to keep walking.

The cabin looked exactly as it always had, small and quiet, a place that had always felt safe. But as I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, one terrifying truth settled deep inside my chest.

Nothing about today felt safe anymore.

Exhaustion claimed me the moment I collapsed onto the wooden floor. I didn't even remember closing my eyes. One moment I was too drained to move, and the next, I jolted awake as cold steel bit into my wrists and ankles.

Heavy chains secured me to thick iron rings bolted into the cabin floor. Panic surged through me as I pulled with all my strength, but the metal barely moved. Every desperate struggle only made the chains dig deeper into my skin.

My heart lurched into my throat. They found me.