The weeks bled into months, and the rhythm of life within Arelian Keep became steady and consuming. Training began before dawn and ended well after sunset, the days divided between meditation, combat, and the grueling refinement of magic.
By the third month, the weak had fallen away. Of the dozens who had first entered the courtyard with bright eyes and trembling hands, only a fraction remained. Eight potential Sahar and ten potential Guardians—along with seven who had been held back from prior terms—stood at the threshold of the next stage. Each of them bore the marks of progress: calloused palms, sleepless eyes, and the quiet confidence that came only from survival.
Tenzin had not been as distant anymore. He still kept to his routines, his discipline, but the silence between him and Vela had softened. They weren’t friends, not in the way the others laughed and sparred together, but something unspoken had settled, an acknowledgment, perhaps even a quiet respect.
A few days after their evening in the training yard, the Grand Sahar herself had sought Vela out. Sabine’s approach was never casual, her presence commanded the air around her like a change in weather.
“Vela,” she had said, her tone calm but expectant. “Your dedication has not gone unnoticed. One of the Avenarii warriors, a birdfolk from the kingdom of Eouma, will be arriving tomorrow to assist in your training. They specialize in aerial combat; flight coordination, evasion, and wing control.”
Vela had blinked, startled. “For me?”
Sabine’s lips had curved, ever so slightly. “At someone’s suggestion,” she replied, her eyes glinting with quiet amusement. “I happen to agree. Every initiate deserves the best chance at success. I am no stranger to your kind and the state of your people, what you are doing here is important.”
She hadn’t said who had suggested it, but she didn’t have to.
The following days passed quickly. The recruits’ schedules grew heavier as they prepared for the next phase of testing. The camaraderie that had begun to form between them was tempered now by nerves, anticipation, and the weight of what was coming.
Vela’s world, in those few weeks, became flight and ache. She had trained with her wings more in that short span than in her entire life before it. Every day left her back burning, the muscles along her shoulder blades trembling from overuse. Even standing still hurt. The weight of her own wings tugged against her spine until she had to grit her teeth to keep them lifted. When she finally let them droop, the tips brushed the ground, feathers trailing in the dust.
When the appointed day arrived, the twenty-five who remained were gathered in the courtyard once more. The banners of the Order of Arelian fluttered high above them, gilded edges catching the light of the late morning sun. The air hummed with restrained energy, a blend of fear and excitement that tasted like lightning.
The Sahar and Guardians stood intermingled, no longer divided by role. The instructors’ eyes moved over them, measuring, assessing, and perhaps searching for signs of something more.
Tenzin stood near the front, his scimitar sheathed at his side, hands folded loosely over his chest. His expression was composed, but his tail betrayed him, flicking slowly in a rhythm that only those who knew him well would recognize.
The lead instructor, a tall man with a silver streak through his dark hair, stepped forward and raised his voice.
“Congratulations,” the man said, his voice carrying easily over the gathered group. “You’ve made it further than most. The next stage of your training will determine whether you will continue as Sahar or Guardians of this Order.”
The crowd straightened instinctively, the weight of his words sinking in.
“As you know, the bond between Sahar and Guardian is sacred,” he continued, pacing slowly along the front row. “It is not built overnight, nor chosen at random. The Order of Arelian does not create the bond, it only strengthens the threads that already exist between two souls. Fate lays the foundation. We simply help weave it tighter.”
His eyes swept over them, sharp and assessing.
“Over the coming weeks, each of you will be paired with multiple partners. You will train, spar, meditate, and learn beside one another. Our priests of Velmorra will observe these trials closely, searching for resonance, signs that your souls already share a connection. For some, the alignment will be faint. For others…” He paused, his gaze flicking toward Tenzin. “It may be undeniable.”
Tenzin’s jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing. His hands were clasped behind his back, tail still, his expression calm.
The instructor continued, his tone deepening. “There are those rare few who share what we call a fated bond—a connection not forged by the Order’s hand but by the will of the gods themselves. When two fated souls meet, the bond is already there; strong, dormant, waiting to awaken. When the two souls touch, it manifests instantly and completely. Those who experience such a thing are marked by Velmorra herself.”
Murmurs rippled through the group. A few exchanged glances; others looked away, nervous or skeptical.
“But such bonds are rare,” he said firmly, silencing the whispers. “Once in a generation, perhaps, though we are lucky enough to have a Grand Sahar and First Blade with such a bond, but the rest of us must earn our connection through time and trust. That is why these pairings matter.”
He turned to face them fully. “Some of you will find partners whose threads are faint, easily strengthened through shared experience. Others may find no resonance at all and will continue training until the next cycle. There is no shame in that. The gods move at their own pace.”
His gaze returned briefly to Tenzin, lingering there just long enough for several trainees to notice.
“Tenzin is proof of that. He has trained here since childhood, waiting to meet the one whose spirit might answer his own. Patience is as much a test as skill.”
Tenzin did not react outwardly, though his tail twitched once. He had heard the speech before—word for word, year after year. The same hopeful talk of destiny and timing. It had long since lost its comfort, but still, he stood straighter.
The Sahar instructor’s voice droned somewhere to Vela’s left, explaining the theory of the bonds and how Velmorra’s threads wove between souls. Vela caught fragments of it, faith, resonance, destiny, but the ache in her back drowned out the rest. She rubbed the sore muscle with one hand, letting her gaze drift across the training grounds.
When she looked up, the instructor had shifted focus to Tenzin and her eyes found him instantly. The Leonin stood in the front row, golden fur bright beneath the morning sun, a silhouette carved from stillness. He didn’t look up, didn’t move, but something in his posture spoke louder than words, rigid discipline, the quiet strain of years waiting for something that might never come.
She thought about her own words to him weeks ago, that he was lucky to be safe here, to be cared for. Now, she felt the sting of her own ignorance. He hadn’t chosen safety, he had been bound to it, molded by it. She realized with a slow, uncomfortable ache that he might have lost his family too… or never known one at all.
Vela lingered, her gaze drifting toward Tenzin. The word fate rang in her ears, though she was never sure if she believed in it. Fate had done nothing for her family, her village, her people, but expected so much of her already. Yet, when her eyes found his across the courtyard, something unspoken flickered there, recognition, perhaps, or the echo of something she didn’t want to name.
Tenzin met her gaze only briefly before turning away, his expression unreadable.
❖
Soon after, the pairing exercises began in earnest.
Recruits rotated through match after match, each pairing tested against duos of instructors who pushed them to their limits. The goal wasn’t victory, it was connection. The priests took careful note of every spark of harmony, every moment where movement and thought aligned. For most, it was grueling trial and error.
For Tenzin, it was more of the same.
Each Sahar he fought beside was eager, untested, and terrified. Their coordination failed before it began, magic misfiring, strikes mistimed. He bore the brunt of their mistakes without complaint, though frustration simmered beneath the surface.
More than once, he’d had to shield a partner from their own spell gone wrong. One firecaster nearly singed off half his tail; another froze the ground beneath his own feet, sending them both sprawling. It was chaos, pure and unrefined.
By the fifth rotation, Tenzin’s patience had thinned to threads. His breathing was ragged, fur matted with sweat, his scimitar nicked and dulled from deflecting attacks meant for someone else.
During a sparring round, his partner stumbled over an incantation and clipped his side with a shockwave of raw energy. The impact knocked him to the dirt. He rolled to his feet instantly, returning to guard position, but not fast enough to avoid a shallow cut across his cheek as their opponents pressed advantage.
It was over seconds later. The Sahar collapsed, gasping from magical exhaustion. Tenzin stood beside her, chest heaving, a streak of blood glistening along his face. He didn’t bother wiping it away.
When the instructor called for rest, Tenzin sheathed his weapon and sank down at the edge of the ring. He pulled the waterskin from his belt, uncorking it with a tired flick of his thumb, but didn’t drink right away. His gaze was fixed on the dirt between his feet, brows drawn together.
All around him, other pairs laughed and congratulated each other, some showing real promise, others simply relieved to be done. A few had earned nods from the priests above, small gestures, but significant ones. Tenzin had earned only fatigue.
He drank finally, water running down his throat and into the fur at his neck, cooling the heat that burned beneath his skin. His cut stung when the wind hit it, a sharp reminder that once again, the gods had passed him over. His tail gave a slow, restless flick. He told himself he didn’t care anymore, that waiting was habit, not hope, but the lie didn’t sit well.
Across the ring, Vela was sparring with another Guardian, her wings catching the light as she moved. For all her awkwardness on the ground, she was learning. There was control in her motions now, grace fighting to emerge through grit and exhaustion.
She stumbled mid-step, breath catching, and her partner lunged too late to block a strike. The match ended quickly, but Tenzin’s gaze lingered. When she looked up, just for a moment, their eyes met across the yard and a faint tug returned. Softer than before, but real. A thread, invisible and thin, pulling taut between them.
He blinked, looking away first, pretending to rub his jaw. But the sensation stayed. By the time the next pair was called, he still hadn’t shaken it.
“Alright, break is over. Tenzin and Vela,” the instructor called, his voice carrying across the courtyard.
The instructor’s voice echoed across the courtyard, carrying easily through the cooling air. Dust hung in thin ribbons of gold from the afternoon sun, stirred by the movements of the sparring pairs.
Tenzin rose, rolling his shoulders as he hefted his small shield and drew his scimitar once more. His arms ached, his lungs burned, and his cheek still stung from the shallow cut he’d taken earlier, but none of that showed on his face. What did show, faintly, was resignation.
He didn’t expect much from this pairing. He knew she didn’t like him; that distrust had been clear since the day they met. Still, when he stepped into the ring and saw her already waiting, staff in hand, he offered her a short nod. She returned it after a beat, the motion small but steady.
The fatigue in her posture was unmistakable. Her wings dragged slightly behind her, feathers dulled by dust and overuse. She’d been pushing herself too hard. Even her breathing carried that strained rhythm that came from pain hidden under pride.
He moved into place a step ahead of her, shield lifted, sword held loose at his side. The instructors wanted to see how well pairs complemented each other, and instinct told him she’d rely on her reach and her magic. That meant keeping their opponents away from her, giving her time and space to strike.
He gave her a curt nod. “Ready?”
Vela only nodded back, the motion stiff but resolute. Her wings twitched as she adjusted her grip on the staff. The feathers trembled faintly, catching the light in streaks of pale gold and gray. She looked exhausted — the kind of exhaustion that came from giving everything and refusing to quit anyway.
Tenzin’s tail flicked once as he crouched slightly, weight shifting to the balls of his feet. When the instructor raised the flag, he licked his lips and muttered under his breath, “Let’s make it count.”
Their opponents surged forward as soon as the match began; one Guardian with a longsword, one Sahar already gathering energy in her palms.
Tenzin charged first, a blur of movement and muscle. His shield met steel with a loud crack, pushing the blade wide before twisting his wrist to shove his opponent off balance. He shifted immediately, stepping sideways to intercept another strike aimed for Vela’s flank. His scimitar flashed, cutting through the air in clean, precise arcs.
Vela was already moving. She wasn’t as fluid as he was, but her staff struck hard, finding the rhythm he set without tripping over it. For someone who had only recently found her footing, she adjusted fast, keeping her distance, darting in when he opened an opportunity, backing out when he pivoted to guard.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was working.
He blocked high; she swept low. He shoved an opponent back; she struck from the side. Their timing wasn’t rehearsed, it was instinctual, like the space between their movements was alive with unspoken understanding.
Dust rose around them in faint spirals. Sweat darkened Vela’s tunic, her feathers trembling with each exertion. Her muscles screamed, but she kept going. Tenzin moved like a storm around her, deliberate and efficient.
For a moment, Vela forgot her exhaustion. Fighting beside him felt… effortless, but fatigue catches even the strongest eventually.
Tenzin’s arm buckled slightly under another blow, his shield ringing from the impact. He grunted, pushing back hard enough to knock his opponent off balance, but his movements were slowing. His tail flicked sharply, a small tell of frustration.
Across the ring, the other Sahar’s chanting grew louder. The air around her shimmered, heat waves rising from her palms. Vela recognized the sound, the pattern, a combustion weave, unstable and strong. Her breath hitched, he hadn’t seen it. Over his shoulder, she saw the glow building, threads of magic twisting together, too bright, too volatile. She knew what was coming, and there was no time to warn him.
“Move!” she shouted.
Tenzin turned, confusion flashing in his eyes as she stepped forward. Her hand met his chest, palm pressing flat against warm fur and for a heartbeat, nothing happened. The world held still.
Then the air shifted.
It started as a hum under her skin, a pulse that wasn’t her own. The wind picked up, spiraling around them in a slow, powerful current. Energy surged through her hand, through him, through both of them, not like her magic, not like anything she had ever felt before. It was as if the space between their hearts had collapsed.
Tenzin’s eyes widened, his body seizing under the shock of it. The light began to bloom where her hand met his chest, golden at first, then silver at the edges, blinding in its brilliance. Around them, the other trainees staggered back as the wind whipped outward, scattering dust and feathers. The instructors shouted for them to hold position, but no one dared move closer.
Vela felt her knees weaken. The warmth under her palm deepened, spreading through her arm, her chest, her mind. Images flooded her… flashes that weren’t hers. A stone courtyard under moonlight. The sound of metal striking metal. A child’s laughter cut short by a cry. Pain, loss, longing.
It wasn’t her memory… It was his.
And as his memories bled into her, he saw hers. The hidden cellar. The muffled sobs. Fire consuming the walls. Her mother’s voice whispering become what you’re meant to be. He gasped as the wind roared around them.
Vela tried to pull back, but she couldn’t. The light tethered them, threads of silver and gold unraveling into the air; binding, weaving, converging, until, at last, the mark took shape. A white patch seared faintly into the fur of his chest where she had touched him in the shape of a moon.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the world snapped back into silence. Tenzin fell backward, landing hard on the packed dirt, his scimitar slipping from his hand. His chest heaved, eyes unfocused. Vela staggered where she stood, clutching her hand against her chest, her wings trembling violently before she collapsed to her knees.
“Stop the match!” the instructor’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
He rushed forward, followed by two others, weapons lowered but ready. The rest of the courtyard stood frozen, all training forgotten.
Tenzin looked up at her, still breathless, still stunned. He could feel her; her confusion, her fear, the rapid thrum of her heartbeat, echoing faintly inside his own chest.
The instructor stopped short, eyes widening as he saw the mark burned into Tenzin’s fur, the faint shimmer still glowing on Vela’s skin. For a moment, the only sound was the faint rustle of wind and the distant toll of the temple bells.
“By the gods…” he murmured. Then, louder, voice ringing with awe: “Congratulations, Tenzin.”
He looked between them — the Leonin still on the ground, the Seraphelle kneeling frozen in shock, her wings slumped in the dying light.
“It seems,” the instructor said softly, reverently, “you’ve finally found your partner.”
The courtyard erupted into whispers. The priests of Velmorra bowed their heads in silent acknowledgment, their eyes gleaming with the reflection of the still-glowing sigil.
Tenzin’s gaze rose to Vela once more, uncertain, breath still unsteady. Her palm still tingled where she’d touched him, and somewhere deep inside, beneath confusion and disbelief, a pulse answered hers, quiet, but sure.
The threads of fate had awakened.
