Page 53 of Daughter of the Serpent

As if sensing the shift in energy, he released her just as abruptly as he had taken hold, stepping back.

She stumbled forward, but she quickly regained herself.

"Retrieve your weapon" he said, his voice taut. “Let’s go again.”

For what seemed like an eternity, they circled each other. Axel correcting, coaching, pushing Sylvie at every turn. With each correction, Sylvie's movements became more fluid, more purposeful. The wooden shortsword, an extension of herself, started to feel less foreign in her grip.

"Better," Axel nodded finally, long after thesun had gone down and their only source of light remaining was the burning torches that flickered from the temple walls.

Sylvie’s muscles screamed for rest, her breath coming in ragged bursts, a dull ache climbing up her arms from the constant strain of her weapon, the constant stream of Axel’s strikes.

"But, we will have to double our efforts, if I am to have you ready in time.”

He reached outward for her sword, easily pulling it from her grip. “Tomorrow we will start again, and next time you won’t let me pull this from your fingers so easily.”

He turned, gathering the wooden blades to return them to their place, and Sylvie slumped over gratefully, her hands cupping her knees as she gathered herself.

“And what of my magic?” Sylvie inquired, through her uneven breath. “Are you to teach me how to wield as well?”

“Yes,” He answered, “but for that, I have something special in mind.”

Chapter Ten

The next day Sylvie awoke tired and restless. Shifting her body from her bed, her limbs ached in protest, the stiffness of her muscles a sure cry from the evening's exertions. It hadn’t helped that she had barely slept. All night she had fought to keep her persistent thoughts at bay. Since meeting Axel, she had felt a strange and unsettling feeling. It was as if something had awakened, and her soul and body responded in ways her mind couldn’t understand. Memories flashed in her mind's eye of him standing aside her, his hands directing hers. How it felt when she was pressed against his chest, his arms locking her in place. She licked her lips involuntarily. The mere thought had a certain heat rising in her core before she could help it. It was as if the very sight of him sent her senses reeling - and she couldn’t deny she had never felt this way.

Her whole life, such thoughts had been met with discouragement and shame. Yet, despite the convictions of her faith, she couldn’t deny the pull between them. Against her better judgment, she found herself also noticing Haldor more and more. Her thoughts flashed back to his bare chest, muscles rippling as he engaged in combat.There was something about his presence that captivated her, she could feel the soft whisper of it stirring - subtle, but undeniable.

But with Axel, it wasn’t a whisper.

It was a scream.

It was like all her senses were standing on end, and everytime she was near him her soul lifted from her body in a strange yet welcome feeling. It was like nothing she had ever felt.

Eager to leave her thoughts, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the cool air greeting her skin as she reached for her clothes. Fingers brushing over the soft fabric of her white robes, she hesitated, her gaze lingering on the new fighting leathers hanging beside them. Reaching out to feel them, she couldn’t help but notice the sharp contrast between her usual robes, almost a mirror of her new reality.

From healer, to fighter.

Was this truly her destiny?

She caught her reflection in the small, warped mirror by the window - her soft eyes, gentle hands, the marks of a caretaker. Her fingers, used to wrapping wounds and gathering herbs, had trembled holding a blade. The idea of facing bloodshed and danger felt as strange as these new circumstances she found herself in. How could she, a student of the light, ever consider a life where she might be called to harm?Tokill?

The very notion unsettled her, lingering like an unwelcome shadow.

And yet, she couldn’t shake the truth that she had thirsted for blood. Not just on that fateful night in the forest with Baldr and his men, but with the high priest himself.

There was something about Rederick - something that made her skin crawl, as if his very presence left an invisible stain wherever he lingered. She wasn’t sure why, but deep down, she knew he was the one responsible for so much of Mardova’s suffering. He had woven it all together - the blood offerings, the rituals that twisted faithinto fear.

Rederick had always claimed to be the voice of the gods, and it was clear that it was never the elders who held the reins of power.

It was him.

It had always been him.

His control stretched like a shadow, far - reaching and deeply entrenched. The foothold of the Light had spread through the land, entangling itself into every corner - and Rederick’s hooks were buried in all of it. He claimed to be closer to the gods than anyone dared to question. But Sylvie did, and she wasn’t sure what she feared more - that her doubts were misplaced, or that they weren’t.

For how could a man of the gods so easily take the blood of innocents?

Her thoughts flitted to Tara. Helpless, innocent. Despite their disobedience she never deserved such pain and punishment. Yet he took pleasure in doing so anyway.

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