The courtyard of the Hue Shrine training grounds was unlike any part of the shrine I had seen before. Gone were the marbled halls, the fragrant gardens, the quiet sanctuaries of prayer and study. Here, the air was filled with the sharp clang of swords, the thud of boots on packed earth, and the occasional barked instruction from a paladin trainer.

Golden morning light filtered through the towering walls, casting long shadows over the lined-up trainees. Some wielded wooden practice swords, others lifted round shields nearly as large as themselves.

I stood at the edge of it all, still wrapped in my ceremonial robes, watching the chaos with growing doubt.

"Saintess Seraphina," came a familiar voice.

I turned and found Rio standing nearby, hair pulled back, wearing a light paladin’s tunic that fit snug over his lean frame. A training sword was strapped to his back, and sweat already glistened on his brow. He gave me a small grin—half teasing, half concerned.

"You sure you want to be here?" he asked.

"I’ve been told I have no choice," I replied, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Both trainings, remember?"

He laughed softly. "I meant *here first*. Magical arts would have been less likely to bruise you."

"I’ve seen what light magic can do. The bruises just hit the soul instead."

Rio raised his eyebrows, impressed.

Patron Feliphe approached, nodding once in greeting. "We begin with basic drills. Whether you plan to wield a sword or not, the Saintess must understand defense. Enemies do not care for divine robes or titles."

"I understand," I said, standing straighter.

"Good. Then change into this." He handed me a folded garment—a simple combat tunic in soft white and silver, trimmed with faint embroidery resembling the crest of the shrine.

Once changed, I stood in a circle with the other maidens. Meris waved excitedly at me from her spot across the yard.

Our first lesson: stance.

"You must learn to root yourself like stone," Patron Feliphe instructed. "A Saintess must not be swept away by fear or wind."

Rio stepped forward to demonstrate. He moved with the effortless grace of someone used to farm labor and sword training both. When he blocked, his footwork barely shifted. When he struck, his blade snapped through the air with conviction.

We followed, clumsily. I nearly tripped twice.

By midday, my arms ached from holding a wooden practice blade. Sweat dripped down my spine, my breath coming in quick bursts. My robe-turned-combat-uniform stuck to me, and my hands were sore with blisters beginning to bloom.

"You’re holding it too tight," Rio murmured beside me. "Here—relax your grip. You’re not strangling it."

He stepped closer, guiding my fingers gently along the hilt.

For a moment, the world quieted. All I could hear was his breath, steady and calm, and the whisper of his touch as he adjusted my grip.

When he pulled back, our eyes met—and for a heartbeat, something stirred. I looked away.

"Again," Patron Feliphe called.

We resumed our drills. Again and again.

By the end of the session, most of us had dropped to our knees in exhaustion. A few lightmaidens whispered in disbelief that the Saintess had lasted the full round.

I sat beneath the shade of an old ash tree, gulping water, when Meris plopped beside me.

"You didn’t die. I’m impressed."

"Barely," I muttered, pressing a cool cloth to my aching arms. "I feel like I’ve been beaten by holy judgment itself."

"You’re not the only one." She gestured to a group of girls groaning nearby. "But you lasted longer than some of the paladin candidates. They’re not going to like that."

"Let them be angry," I said. "I have greater things to fear."

Like the vision.

Like the blood on a white dress.

Like a golden-eyed prince and the scream that never left my throat.

---

As the sun began to set, painting the sky with streaks of fire and rose, Rio approached me again.

"You did well today," he said, kneeling beside the bench I rested on. "You kept pushing. That matters more than perfection."

"I’m still not sure I belong here," I admitted. "In armor. With swords. In battle."

"You do," he said without hesitation. "Whether it’s a blade or your magic—you’ll protect this empire in your own way. Just don’t forget, Saintess… no one expects you to fight alone."

His voice was calm, warm. Steadying.

And for the first time since returning to the capital, I let myself believe it might be true.