Emma
Several lessons later, the training grounds had stopped feeling like a stage and started feeling like a language.
My body learned in bruises and breath.
Days blurred into a rhythm: early mornings that bit with cold, afternoons that left my muscles humming, evenings where I fell asleep with Lucian’s arm heavy over my waist and woke up with the faintest phantom ache in my shoulders like my bones were still remembering how to move.
Thalia taught me how to read arrogance in a stance.
Amara taught me how to read patience in a heartbeat.
Together, they taught me the thing no one had ever taught me in my human life—how to take up space without apologizing for it.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t some magical montage where I suddenly became unstoppable.
It was slow.
It was humiliating.
