Chapter Four: Break Me, Build Me
654 Words
Selene’s body screamed before she even opened her eyes.
Muscles she didn’t know she had burned with soreness. Her shoulder throbbed with dull pain from the healing wound. Her back ached from sleeping on the rough cot.
But the moment the first light of dawn filtered through the cracked wooden window, a sharp voice shattered her fragile peace.
> “Get up, princess.”
Nyra.
No softness. No pity. Just command.
Selene groaned but rolled out of bed, her feet unsteady on the cold floor.
> You asked for this, she reminded herself.
You said you wanted to be strong. So earn it.
Outside, the air was colder than the day before, sharp with mountain wind and pine. Selene followed Nyra to a wide clearing behind the rogue base — surrounded by jagged rocks, broken trees, and crude training weapons made from salvaged steel and sharpened wood.
There were others there.
Rogues.
Men and women of all sizes, with scars and watchful eyes. Some eyed Selene with open curiosity. Others with disdain. She didn’t blame them.
> “This is Selene,” Nyra said loudly. “She’s soft, she’s wounded, and she was rejected.”
> Murmurs rose. One woman snorted. A tall, red-haired man crossed his arms, unimpressed.
> “But,” Nyra continued, “she asked to be reborn. And in this place, that’s the only thing that matters.”
Selene swallowed the lump in her throat.
She stood taller.
Nyra threw a wooden staff at her. She caught it, barely.
> “Today we start from nothing,” Nyra said. “You’ll train until your body gives out. Then you’ll rest. Then you’ll train again.”
Selene nodded once.
The training was brutal.
Nyra didn’t hold back.
She taught Selene how to hold her stance, how to move her feet, how to dodge — and when Selene failed, she paid for it. Every mistake earned her a bruise. Every hesitation, a shove to the dirt. Every stumble, another round.
She fell. Again and again.
By midday, her arms trembled. Her legs barely held her. Blood from her palms mixed with dirt. Her body was soaked in sweat. Her hair stuck to her neck.
> “You’re done?” Nyra snapped, standing over her.
Selene coughed, spitting out blood.
> “No,” she whispered.
> “Louder.”
> “No.”
> “Why not?” Nyra shouted.
Selene pushed herself to her feet.
> “Because if I give up now… then he wins.”
Nyra’s lips curved — not in a smile, but something close.
> “Then show me what you’ve got left, Bloodmoon girl.”
Selene charged.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t skilled.
But it was raw. Furious. Desperate.
Nyra blocked easily, but Selene didn’t stop.
She attacked again and again, rage in every swing. She didn’t care that she looked pathetic, or that she couldn’t land a hit. She only cared about standing up. About fighting back.
About not being weak anymore.
Finally, Nyra knocked the staff from her hands and kicked her to the ground.
Selene stayed down, panting, her cheek pressed against the earth.
> “That’s enough for today,” Nyra said, tossing her a water flask. “Tomorrow, you’ll bleed more. You’ll cry more. And you’ll still stand. Got it?”
Selene looked up.
She didn’t smile.
She didn’t cry.
She just nodded.
> “Got it.”
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Later that night, Selene sat outside the cabin, her body wrapped in bandages, her eyes fixed on the moon.
> “You chose Kael for me,” she whispered to the sky.
“But I choose me now.”
Her wolf stirred for the first time in days. A low hum. A flicker of warmth.
She wasn’t healed.
She wasn’t strong.
Not yet.
But she had taken the first step.
And she would never again be the girl who knelt before rejection.
- Writer
