CHAPTER 19: CHAPTER 19 - PLANS IN MOTION

Morena closed the door to her chambers and leaned against it, her hand lingering on the cold brass handle for a moment longer than necessary. The hall’s warmth and her father’s words still clung to her, the conversation replaying in her mind.

She pressed her back against the door and shut her eyes.

He didn’t say it outright, but he might as well have.

Prove yourself—or be cast aside.

Her breath left her in a quiet sigh. The old Morena would have wept in silence after such a meeting, pacing for hours in shame, desperate to think of a way to earn his approval.

But that girl was gone.

Morena had no interest in chasing praise like a starving dog. Still... the words struck deeper than she wanted to admit, maybe it was some remnant of that lost girl, maybe it was something else.

But none of that mattered anymore.

She pushed herself upright and began to pace, her boots tapping against stone.

Her father was right in one regard; she hadn’t given proof yet. Training was progress, yes, but slow, incremental, barely worth noting to men who measured worth by strength, not effort.

A Rank 2 Warrior like her father could see through shallow gains at a glance; to him, it would be nothing. To the council, it would be a reason to rush her out.

Slow would not be enough.

Her pacing quickened, thoughts spilling faster than she could tame them. The journal. The pendant. The cracked stone. They held potential, raw and dangerous, but none of it was usable yet.

What good were whispers of unknown power when what she needed was visible progress now?

She stopped by the desk, her hand brushing over the closed drawer where she’d hidden them. The wood felt warm under her palm, as though it remembered the touch of what lay within.

She swallowed and drew back.

Not yet; as much as she wanted to keep investigating them, she couldn’t yet.

She resumed pacing, arms folded across her chest. Her mind ticked through the options, calculating, ruthless.

Stick to training? Too slow. The council would laugh at her meager results.Delve into the journal completely? Too reckless. The letters already pressed on her mind like leeches; if she tried abandoning all reason and focused on it, she might go mad.

Not to mention, it provided no sure way to power; it was merely a promise, not an insurance. She needed something she knew would work, something that would give her strength.

Experiment with the pendant? Dangerous. She’d barely escaped the last time intact.

Her lip curled in irritation; no matter what idea came to mind, her rationality could find flaws in it.

And yet there was a thread she couldn’t ignore.

The markings in the journal moved energy, bent it, shaped it; that much was obvious from what little contact she had with them. The pendant’s engravings leaked their own influence, subtle but undeniable.

Two different forms, yes, but at their heart, weren’t they the same? Weren’t they both about control? Weren’t they both a way to manipulate energy?

Sure, the form of energy may be different, but what if she could use that to control elemental energy better?

Her steps slowed, her eyes narrowing as the idea solidified.

What if she could use them to improve her warrior method?

Not directly—not the way a madman might scrawl symbols into their skin and hope for miracles. But indirectly. Feed them to the AI, let it analyze and merge what it found into something practical.

A modified training method, still based on warrior breathing but subtly enhanced with the principles behind the marks.

Not enough to make her suspiciously powerful, just enough to accelerate her growth, to give her something her father and the council couldn’t ignore.

Her heart thumped once; it was eager. Eager to try this path, to try something new.

But her mind immediately countered.

The risks.

What if the AI couldn’t properly interpret the markings? What if the influence bled into her method, twisted it into something uncontrollable? Would she end up crippled? Or worse—something less than human?

She rubbed her temples, closing her eyes.

"Damn it all..."

She muttered under her breath, not out of anger but the sheer tension of knowing time was slipping through her fingers.

Would it be worth it?

If she succeeded, she’d have her proof. She’d carve a place no one could deny; she would have been able to do something that no one else thought she could.

But if she failed... well, she already knew what failure meant.

Her steps carried her back to the desk. She stopped, staring at the drawer as if it might open itself under her will.

Her father’s words echoed again.

’You’ll need more than words. Prove yourself.’

"Screw it, all great progress comes with a little bit of madness mixed in."

Her hand slid the drawer open. The journal, the pendant, the stone—all waiting like jars of poison for her to drink, but she didn’t touch them yet.

Instead, she straightened her shoulders and called out.

"AI."

[Listening.]

Her voice steadied as she spoke, careful and deliberate.

"I want you to evaluate a possibility. Hypothesis: the journal’s letters and the pendant’s engravings both manipulate forms of energy. If they can be deciphered, integrated, even partially, could you construct a modified warrior training method that accelerates progress?"

The pause before the response stretched, though she knew it wasn’t hesitation—just the AI sifting through her words, running its endless simulations.

[Feasibility: Theoretical. Unknown variables present. Integration is possible only with partial accuracy until further data is acquired.]

"Unknown variables..."

Morena paced again, biting the inside of her cheek.

"Of course, I know that means risks."

[Affirmative. High probability of mental strain or physical instability if patterns are misinterpreted.]

She nodded, not surprised.

"I expected as much. But that is a risk I would need to take if I want to have anything to show."

Her hand hovered above the journal, but didn’t open it. Instead, she continued.

"How long until you can decipher the letters? Even partially?"

[Estimated timeframe: Unknown. Translation progress is limited by the lack of comparative samples. Current accuracy: 12%. Increase possible with repeated exposure and cross-referencing.]

"Not enough."

She muttered, her tone sharp with frustration.

Still, 12% was better than nothing, especially since she only had the book for a few hours. If she continued feeding it more, the accuracy would climb.

"And the pendant’s symbols? Can you analyze them without letting whatever influence they carry bleed into me?"

[Conditional. Indirect observation is possible using sensory proxies. Prolonged direct contact is not recommended. Risk mitigation strategies available.]

Morena exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening a fraction. That was something.

She could let the AI study them without touching the cursed thing again; that way, she was less likely to be affected by whatever it did to her before. It would lower the speed at which the AI worked, but it was something she had to do.

Her fingers drummed against the desk as she went over the pros and cons in her mind over and over.

Pros: accelerated progress, undeniable proof, potential leverage against the council.

Cons: risk of instability, the unknown influence of the language, and the chance of exposure.

Her lips curved, not into a smile but something close—a hard-edged grin.

"The risk is always there. What matters is making it mine before it makes me its."

She returned to her chair, settling heavily into it. For a long moment, she just sat, her eyes fixed on the journal’s cover, her heartbeat steadying, then she finally built up the courage to do it.

"AI."

[Listening.]

"Begin phased analysis. Prioritize safety, but don’t hold back on data collection. Record everything. If I slip, if I change, if even my thoughts shift in ways that aren’t mine—I want it documented. Every breath, every fluctuation."

[Acknowledged. Recording protocols expanded.]

She leaned back, closing her eyes. The exhaustion from the night before still lingered, but the spark in her chest burned hotter now.

There was no avoiding the path ahead; she had made her choice, and now she had to walk it.

Prove herself—or vanish. And Morena Ravenscroft had no intention of vanishing, at least not without a fight.