SELENE POV
The practice blade came at Selene's face.
She ducked. Too slow.
The wooden edge clipped her temple. Stars exploded in her vision.
She hit the ground hard. Tasted blood.
"Dead," Mira said above her. "Again."
Selene spat blood. Forced herself to stand.
Her eleventh birthday had passed two weeks ago. Unmarked. Uncelebrated.
Just another day of training.
Months had passed since her first shift. Months of brutal, relentless combat practice.
And she still couldn't beat Mira.
"Guard up," Mira instructed. "You're dropping your left side."
They squared off again in the clearing. Both armed with practice blades. Wood instead of steel, but still painful.
Selene's body was a map of bruises. New ones on top of fading ones. A constant cycle of damage and healing.
Her father's dagger hung at her belt. Real steel. Silver-etched. But not for practice.
That blade was for killing. And Selene wasn't ready for that yet.
Mira attacked.
A feint high. Actual strike low.
Selene saw it coming this time. Blocked. Counter-struck.
Mira parried easily. Riposted.
Selene barely dodged. The wooden blade whistled past her ear.
They moved through the forms. Attack. Defense. Counter. Retreat.
Selene was faster now than when they'd started. Months of practice had honed her reflexes. Built muscle she hadn't known existed.
But Mira was still better. Stronger. More experienced.
Selene lost. Again.
And again.
And again.
Each session ended the same. Selene on the ground. Bruised. Frustrated. Defeated.
"You're too aggressive," Mira said, offering a hand up. "You fight angry. That makes you predictable."
"I am angry."
"I know. But anger is a tool. Not a strategy."
Selene wanted to scream. Wanted to throw down her blade and quit.
But quitting meant accepting defeat. Meant her family died for nothing.
So she picked up her blade. And tried again.
Slowly, painfully, she improved.
Learned to read Mira's movements. To anticipate instead of react.
Learned to use her small size as an advantage. She was faster than larger opponents. More agile.
Could slip under guards. Strike from unexpected angles. Retreat before they could counter.
"There," Mira said when Selene finally executed a proper combination. "Like that. Fast in. Hard strike. Fast out."
They practiced until Selene's arms shook from exhaustion.
Then they practiced wolf combat.
This was different. More primal. More violent.
They shifted. Became wolves. Fought in the clearing.
Mira taught her where to bite. Where to claw. How to kill efficiently.
"Throat," Mira's wolf showed her, teeth at Selene's neck without breaking skin. "Severs airway and blood flow. Quick death."
"Belly." Demonstrating on a deer carcass. "Spills internal organs. Slow death but impossible to fight through."
"Spine." Showing the killing bite at the base of the skull. "Instant paralysis. Then death."
"Anywhere else, they'll keep fighting. Remember that."
The lessons were cold. Clinical. Brutal.
But necessary.
Selene absorbed it all. Every technique. Every dirty trick. Every killing method.
One day, she'd use them on Alpha King Damian.
The thought sustained her through the pain. Through the failures. Through the endless, grinding practice.
Months blurred together.
Winter came. They practiced in snow.
Spring arrived. They practiced in mud.
Summer heat. Practice in the blazing sun.
Selene turned eleven and kept fighting.
And slowly, incrementally, she got better.
Started landing hits. Not many. Not often. But sometimes.
Started lasting longer in spars. Thirty seconds. A minute. Two minutes before Mira inevitably won.
Progress. Tiny. Hard-won. But real.
Then one day, during a particularly brutal session, something clicked.
Mira came at her with a familiar combination. High slash. Mid thrust. Low sweep.
Selene had seen it a hundred times. Lost to it a hundred times.
Not this time.
She ducked the slash. Deflected the thrust. Jumped the sweep.
And in the opening that created, drove her practice blade forward.
The wooden edge caught Mira's shoulder. Drew blood.
First blood.
Selene's first real hit in months of trying.
They both froze.
Then Mira grinned. Fierce and proud.
"There she is. The killer."
Selene's heart hammered. She'd done it. Finally landed a real strike.
The pride lasted a heartbeat.
Then Mira's expression turned serious. The grin faded.
"Selene, I need to tell you something about the prophecy. About what that mark really means."
Selene lowered her blade. Suddenly wary.
"What?"
Mira hesitated. Something like fear crossed her face.
Whatever she was about to say, it wasn't good.
"The Crimson Crescent doesn't just mark you as powerful," Mira said slowly. "It marks you as dangerous. To everyone. Including yourself."