CHAPTER 24: CHAPTER 24 - BEFORE THE HUNT

Morena closed her door softly and stood at it for a second, her eyes shifting around the room, yet her mind wasn’t focused on what she saw. Instead, she replayed the conversation in her mind, her father’s voice—steady, warm for once—echoed in the quiet like a ripple that refused to fade.

She crossed to the washbasin, dipped her hands, and splashed some of it on her face. In the mirror’s dull silver, she saw the same face everyone else did: dark eyes, black hair. It was a face she had grown used to over the days, but she hadn’t fully accepted it as her own, not until today.

He’d spoken of her mother.

A woman she had never met, and yet seemed to hold an undeniable spot in her heart. It was a sign that the Morena now and the Morena of the past were one and the same. She couldn’t deny that.

"I’ll keep trying my hardest."

She said to the empty room, and surprised herself by meaning it more than she expected.

"Not just for myself."

She stripped off her coat, slid the knife from her belt to the desk, and drew the curtains half-shut.

"Wake me at first dawn. Busy days are ahead."

[Acknowledged.]

She lay down and, for once, allowed sleep to take her quickly.

The next days moved like a blur. She kept her training light as she allowed her body to settle and stabilize itself. Each morning, she sat cross-legged on the floor, breathing in the pulse-compression rhythm, coaxing the carved letters within her to stop quivering and settle into the cadence of her lungs.

When a node tried to slip or flare, she pressed it back into place with a thought and a thread of will. When her body ached, she stopped short of damage and let the ache fade before pushing again.

Like that, her time flew repeatedly. She would do it for hours on end, start meditating, reach her limit, then stop before pushing it too far. It was a process that would be boring to many, but to Morena, who was used to such repetition, she only found it calming.

[Energy stability increasing: 9%... 13%... 17%.][Overexertion risk: Moderate → Low.]

She took her days easily. Tested strength only in small proofs: a hairline crack drawn across the underside of her desk with an idle press; a steel buckle bent crisp between thumb and first finger; a jump from stillness to the opposite wall and back.

The thing she practiced the most was going from her concealed state to active combat as quickly as possible; it was the thing she needed the most. To be able to react to any threat at a moment’s notice, even when hiding her capabilities.

But unlike before, she didn’t stay locked into her room, she would leave and take walks, eat in the dining hall, and even hold conversations with maids.

Maids were a good source of gossip and information from the outside world. She learned much, even rumors of herself, but none were very helpful; mainly, commoner gossip.

Who was marrying whom, wandering warriors, who made progress, who had an affair, and so on. Nonsense to her, but it helped pass the time while she waited.

It also helped her build a better reputation amongst the maids. Now they no longer simply bowed and moved on when they saw her; many greeted her in a friendly manner, and some even began speaking to her more openly.

If she wanted to cement her position in the family and stand against the elder council, then having the people on her side would be very helpful.

At night, the lingering dreams tried for her again, but they were fainter now, like fish turning in deep water. At best, they would influence her dreams in subtle ways, never as strongly as it was on the first night.

On the fourth evening, a knock came—it was soft, knocking only twice before a soft voice rang out.

"May I enter, sister?"

Morena set down the cloth she’d been using to wrap her hands when she heard the voice.

’What could this younger sister of mine want?’

"Enter."

Alina slipped in, red hair damp from training, a glint of the younger girl’s usual brightness half-muted by something more cautious. She shut the door behind her and lingered instead of marching straight in, which told Morena this wasn’t a scolding.

"So it’s true."

Alina began speaking, and Morena raised her brow at what the girl was referring to.

"You’re coming to the Black Bear’s hunt."

"Ah. So it would seem."

Alina studied her for a moment, then spoke again with a sigh.

"Father didn’t tell me everything. Only that you’d made... ’progress.’ And that he believes you’re fit to join."

Morena raised an eyebrow.

"You don’t agree?"

"I didn’t say that."

Alina quickly jolted out, clarifying that she wasn’t trying to be disrespectful to her sister, her mouth tugged, unsure whether to smile or frown.

"I’m just saying this isn’t a garden outing. Nobles will be there. House guards who think they’re untouchable. People who like games more than rules. The hunt is the excuse. The point is everything around it."

Morena quickly picked up on what her little sister was trying to say, even without the same experience she had.

"Tricks."

"Yes. Tripping someone’s horse at the stream. Loosing a pheasant with a flash charge so it spooks your quarry into someone else’s sights. Poisoned bait, if they think they can get away with it. Nothing fatal, usually."

She hesitated, then added, softer,

"I just—don’t get hurt because you decided you’re ready to start trying again."

Morena watched her for a few seconds and, to her own surprise, felt something warm thread through the steadiness. Alina wasn’t trying to cut; she was bracing. A younger sister who had seen the estate’s whispers and learned where to put her weight.

She genuinely wasn’t trying to be rude or demean her, she was just warning her, worried that her sister was overestimating herself and could get harmed.

"I appreciate the warning."

Morena said as she stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Truly."

Alina huffed and brushed her hand off with an eyeroll.

"You don’t have to appreciate it. Just listen."

"I am. But I’m not worried about the petty tricks of some childish nobles."

Morena let a sliver of mischief into her tone.

"After all, I plan to place well? Maybe even the top."

That earned the full scowl.

"You won’t."

Morena’s mouth curved.

"We’ll see."

Alina groaned, then laughed despite herself—the sound brief and bright.

"Fine. Prove me wrong or whatever, if you do, I’ll... I don’t know. I’ll buy you something ridiculous from the market. A hat with a peacock on it. But it’s not going to be easy, even if you’re an official apprentice now. I’ve been training much longer, and I plan to win."

"I’ll hold you to that."

They spoke a little longer—routes they might take, the layout of the Blackbear woods, which attendants from which houses always caused trouble, and a bit about the nobles that usually attend. When Alina left, Morena stood a moment in the hush and chuckled to herself.

She hadn’t planned to be grateful for a sister’s worry. But there it was, small and steady.

She didn’t dwell for long, though. She turned back to her regimen, drew in a breath, pressed the letters into rhythm, and let the night pass without waste.

Dawn on the day of departure found the estate humming: grooms at the stables, wheels checked, provisions counted. Morena was summoned to the main hall and found her father there, not in plate or parade coat, but in plain black linen.

"Come."

He said, and led her to a side table where three items lay on dark cloth.

The spear was the first thing her eye found: a black shaft, a head of burnished steel that caught light without gleam, weight spread so evenly when she lifted it, she found that her hand moved by instinct to the right balance point.

"It’s made to your height and reach."

Lord Ravenscroft began to explain.

"You’ll find it turns as quickly as a knife and sets as steady as a staff. A hunter’s spear, not a battlefield pike. It’s yours, for the hunt and afterwards as well."

The armor came next: layered leather worked thin over the ribs and shoulders, mail only where small links would not betray noise. When she buckled the cuirass, it hugged into place as if it had known her body before she did.

"For movement, it’s not the best when it comes to durability. I expect you to avoid being hit."

Morena’s fingers paused on the last piece. The dagger’s hilt was simple, the kind of black wood that didn’t stand out, but the pattern engraved onto it caught the eye.

She eased it free from its holder. The blade was honest blacksteel, the edge maintained, the spine scratched with faint marks that showed it had been used once before.

"It was your mother’s. I wanted to give it to you sooner. I kept waiting for the right time and learned there isn’t one. There’s only now."

The room fell into silence as Morena didn’t know how to reply to the man, her eyes lingering on the dagger. She slid the dagger back into its sheath and nodded once, because anything more wasn’t needed.

"Thank you. I’ll put it to use."

"Good."

He looked at her for a few seconds, thoughts running through his mind. Shaking his head, he stepped back and allowed her to take her leave.

"Be careful. Be good. Try your best. All the banal things fathers say that are only banal because they’re true."

She almost smiled.

"I’ll remember the banalities."

He grunted, which was his version of a casual laugh.

"And—place well."

"Top five, I remember."

He clasped her forearm in parting. Strength in the grip; a father’s faith in the release.

"Go then."