Page 31 of When Sisters Collide
Circles like these were scattered across the Western Lands and the Empire—scars from a forgotten age. According to Phoebe, no one knew who’d built them or why. Some believed they were remnants of old gods, others claimed they marked ancient battlegrounds.
Either way, one truth remained: once inside, magic was gone.
The plateau, once covered in dry mountain grasses, had been reduced to frozen mud from months of training. Weapons lay bundled beneath a thick blanket, protected from the cold. Targets hung from boulders and branches, pockmarked by countless arrows.
From the beginning, Phoebe had insisted on archery, citing Alena’s wolf-like senses, her Gift from the Huntress. Wielding a bow had come easily after weeks of repetition.
Swordplay, however, was another matter. Hand-to-hand combat had been the hardest of all.
The Grey-Eyed Maiden had said Alena needed to be ready for war, and Phoebe had taken that to heart. But unlike Katell, who’d grown impatient with every misstep, Phoebe had expected little at first—no lectures, no sighs of frustration, just a hard, watchful silence that stung more than words.
And so Alena had pushed herself. Hard. Not for praise, but to prove—to Phoebe and to herself—that the Mother Goddess hadn’t chosen wrong. That she could be more than a girl with a Gift. That she could stand, sword in hand, and fight.
Little by little, strike by bruising strike, she had improved and earned something she hadn’t expected: Phoebe’s respect. Not that the Amazon would ever admit it.
On what might’ve been the coldest morning of the year, Phoebe had dragged her to the ring of stones at first light andasked a question—one Alena had turned over many times since the Maiden revealed the true purpose of the Omega.
“Have you ever been so angry, Alena, so full of hate that you wished you could kill someone?”
Alena had killed before—the Blood Wolf, and a druid who’d attacked her in the Green Mountains hillfort. She wished it had never happened and hoped it would never happen again. But fighting the Empire and stopping Tarquinius wouldn’t come without sacrifice.
She had thought of the slavers who’d taken her and Katell. Of all the awful visions she’d seen after touching the Blood Wolf’s Mark. “Yes.”
Phoebe had smiled, sharp and unnerving. “Good.”
Then she’d charged without warning.
Every day after, they’d trained and sparred until Alena’s body screamed in protest. She’d drag herself back to their shelter with cuts, bruises, and a bone-deep ache, force down a bowl of food, drink the bitter healing tea the priestesses brewed each night, and collapse onto her bed of furs. And every morning, without fail, she rose again because giving up had never been an option. Not when so much was at stake.
A sharp wind snapped across the plateau, dragging Alena back to the present. She shivered beneath her woollen tunic, breath misting in the cold air. Stepping to the weapons, she picked up the Achaean shield, fitting her arm through the central band, its weight familiar now.
Her other hand grasped the Rasennan sword Phoebe had sharpened for her.
“Ready?” Phoebe called from across the plateau, already in position, sword and shield raised.
Alena nodded, expecting a warm-up, something light to ease into the day. But the Amazon lunged without hesitation, eyes steely, blade cutting through the air in a sharp thrust.
Alena deflected the blow just in time, steel scraping against steel. She moved on instinct now—strike, parry, pivot—the rhythm etched into her body through daily repetition. Boots crunched in the frozen mud, the clash of their swords echoing through the mountains.
Spotting an opening, Alena went low and aimed for Phoebe’s legs.
But the Amazon was faster. She sidestepped and slammed the flat of her blade into Alena’s ribs with a jarringthud.
Alena staggered back, breath punched from her lungs. If Phoebe had been a real enemy, she’d already be dead.
“Keep going.” Phoebe pressed the attack, their blades crashing together in a shower of sparks.
“You might not be as strong as a Silver Shield?—”
Alena stumbled, boots skidding, but recovered, rolling out of reach.
“—you’ll definitely never wield weapons like an Amazon?—”
Phoebe advanced with another sharp thrust. Alena met it head-on, the clash ringing in her ears.
“—and you’ll never match your sister’s skills?—”
Alena’s jaw clenched. She drove forward, swinging her shield with raw force. Each strike came sharper, faster. She ducked under Phoebe’s counter, surged up, and slammed into her shield-first.
