Chapter 50: The Test I

The medical facility’s herbal scent clung to Sophia as she stood by Orion’s cot, her fingers still twisting the edge of her newly tailored cloak.

His agreement to teach her fighting theory, albeit with a smirk and a jab about her motives, left her both relieved and annoyed. She’d gotten what she wanted, but his suspicion still stung.

"Tomorrow," Orion said, his voice rough but steady, his eyes glinting with challenge. "Training grounds, first light. Don’t be late, or I’ll assume you’re not serious."

Sophia gave a sharp nod, biting back a retort. "I’ll be there," she said, turning on her heel.

The stone floor echoed under her boots as she strode out, the door creaking shut behind her. She had no idea what he had planned for her but she was prepared to face it.

The next morning, the sky was a pale gray, heavy with the promise of more snow which wasn’t a surprise since Nirvana and snow were synonymous.

Sophia rose early, the warmth of her newly equipped kitchen, thanks to Ronan’s coin, easing the chill from her bones. The iron stove crackled, heating water for a quick wash, a luxury she still marveled at after days of icy baths.

She dressed in her tailored woolen trousers and a fitted tunic, the fur-lined cloak snug around her shoulders. Her stomach fluttered with nerves, but she squared her shoulders, determined to prove herself.

The training grounds lay on the compound’s western edge, a sprawling expanse carved from the frozen earth, ringed by towering pines dusted with snow. The area was a stark contrast to the rune-etched stone houses of the pack, raw and open, built for function over beauty.

Packed dirt, cleared of snow by constant foot traffic, formed a wide central arena, its edges marked by low wooden fences weathered by years of sparring. Wooden racks lined one side, bristling with swords, spears, and shields, their blades glinting faintly under the weak morning light. Straw dummies, scarred and patched, stood in rows, some pierced with arrows, others hacked by blades.

Warriors moved in disciplined clusters, their breaths steaming as they sparred. Some wielded swords, their steel flashing in precise arcs, while others practiced hand-to-hand, their grunts and shouts mingling with the clatter of wood on wood. Sophia was surprised that there were already people gathered here this early in the morning.

The grounds buzzed with energy, a testament to the pack’s strength, each movement honed for survival against threats. Runes etched into the fences pulsed faintly, warding off the northern cold and unseen dangers, their glow a quiet reminder of the pack’s resilience.

Sophia spotted Orion near the center, seated in a sturdy wooden chair, his broad frame slouched slightly, a blanket draped over his lap. His face was still pale, the faded black veins barely visible on his neck, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the grounds.

Rita, the healer’s apprentice, hovered nearby, her herb-stained apron flapping as she adjusted a satchel of supplies. Her youthful face was set with determination, though her eyes flicked nervously to Orion.

"I don’t need a babysitter, Rita," Orion grumbled, his voice carrying a familiar edge. "I’m not straining myself, just sitting here like a damn invalid. You can stop fussing. I’ll keep my promise to Lysander and not strain myself."

Rita crossed her arms, undeterred. "Lysander said to watch you, and I’m watching. And while you are alpha, he’s my direct boss and truthfully, he’s scarier than you are."

Orion rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, but didn’t argue further. Rita was right, Lysander was scarier than Orion. Even Orion quaked whenever Lysander levelled a glare on him.

Sophia smirked as she approached, catching the tail end of the conversation.

Before she could reach him, a figure stepped into her path. Holly, blonde hair pulled into a tight bun, brown eyes bright with a mix of warmth and calculation, strode toward Orion with a confident smile.

Her leather tunic hugged her frame, a dagger strapped to her thigh, her movements graceful yet deliberate. Sophia paused, recognizing her from passing glances in the compound.

"Orion!" Holly called, her voice light but edged with hope. "Finally out here to train me? I’ve been waiting for that lesson you promised." She stopped beside his chair, her smile widening, a hand resting casually on the wooden arm.

Orion shook his head, his expression neutral. "Not today, Holly. I’m here for something else."

Holly’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What, then?" she asked, her tone sharpening as she followed his gaze. Sophia, now closing the distance, felt Holly’s stare like a blade, sharp and assessing.

Orion’s lips curved into a smirk as Sophia reached him, her boots kicking up small puffs of dirt. "There you are," he said, his voice low, teasing. "Thought you’d chickened out."

Sophia crossed her arms, meeting his smirk with one of her own. "Me? Chicken out?" She turned as if to search for someone else before turning back to him. "Are you sure you don’t have me mistaken for someone else?" She asked him.

Rita snorted, covering her mouth, while Holly’s expression tightened, her eyes flicking between Sophia and Orion.

Orion chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "I like how you always talk big for women so small. But anyway, let’s see if you can back your statement up or if you’ll finally run away."

Sophia raised an eyebrow. "I’m not running away, you and I both know that so let’s get on with it. What’s this theory about? I don’t see any scrolls."

Orion’s smirk widened, "Theory’s not just words...scrolls, Sophia. It’s understanding the weight of what you’re asking for. You want to learn to defend yourself? To fight? You start with a test." He raised a hand, signaling to the side.

A massive figure lumbered forward, his presence commanding the attention of nearby warriors. Gregory, built like a bear, towered over the grounds, his long beard woven with a white-and-red feather, mirroring Brynhild’s style.

His leather armor was scarred, his arms thick with muscle, and his dark eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and amusement. Sophia recognized him instantly, the warrior who’d felled a Skylur single-handedly during the attack, his booming laugh echoing as he brought the beast down. His sheer size made the ground seem smaller, his steps heavy but controlled.

"Gregory!" Orion called, his voice cutting through the grounds’ noise. "Bring me a sword."

Gregory nodded, his beard swaying as he moved to the weapon rack. He returned with a sheathed blade, its scabbard worn but sturdy, the hilt wrapped in dark leather.

The sword was massive, its weight evident in the way Gregory carried it with both hands, his muscles flexing under the strain. He handed it to Orion, who gripped it with a wince, his recovery still raw.

Sophia’s eyes widened as she took in the weapon’s size. It was nearly as long as her arm, its blade broad and heavy, designed for warriors like Gregory or Orion, not someone of her slight frame.

Holly’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement in her eyes, as if she sensed Sophia’s unease.

Orion unsheathed the sword with a slow, deliberate motion, the steel catching the morning light with a faint gleam. The blade was pristine, its edge sharp enough to slice through bone, runes etched along its length pulsing faintly with protective magic. He held it out to Sophia, his smirk now a challenge.

"Your test," he said, his voice steady, "is to unsheathe it."