The alliance had barely been sealed when Lirael turned to me on the battlements, her silver eyes steady despite the blood still drying on her side. The castle still echoed with the sounds of victory — elven warriors and Templars calling orders to each other, wounded being carried to healers, the crack of stone being shored up. But she spoke as if none of it mattered.
"You cannot wield that sword as you are," she said quietly. "It will kill you long before the queens do. My father has already sent word. The blade-master of the Silver Glade will train you. We leave at first light."
I looked at the dead blade in my hands — cold, silent, yet somehow heavier than before. The ache in my chest from every swing it had taken still lingered, a constant reminder that power always demanded payment. Dad stood nearby, whole again after the soul fragment returned, but his face was lined with worry. Mom's hand rested on his arm. Kira watched me with that quiet intensity she always had when she knew I was about to do something reckless.
"Three months," Lirael added before I could answer. "In our territory. Time moves differently there. Three days here is a week in the Glade. You will return stronger… or not at all."
I glanced at Kira. She gave a single nod — the kind that said she would follow wherever this led. Dad opened his mouth to protest, but Mom squeezed his arm and he stayed silent. The decision was already made. The sword had chosen me. Now I had to learn how to survive it.
We left before dawn. The portal Lirael opened shimmered with silver and deep forest green, nothing like the jagged black tears the queens used. Stepping through felt like walking into cool water — a gentle pull, then the sudden scent of ancient pines, moss, and morning dew. The elven kingdom unfolded around us: towering trees whose trunks glowed faintly with inner light, paths of soft moss that seemed to guide our feet, and a sky that shimmered with soft auroras even in daylight. No neon. No concrete. Just timeless green and silver.
Lirael led us to a clearing where her father waited with two other warriors. The older elf — tall, silver-haired like her, staff in hand — inclined his head.
"I am Elandor," he said, voice like wind through leaves. "This is my daughter's debt, but the sword's burden is yours alone. You will train here for three months of our time. When you return to your world, only nine days will have passed. Use them wisely."
The two younger warriors stepped forward — a male elf with braided dark hair and a quiet female with eyes like polished jade. They introduced themselves as Thorne and Sylvara, both carrying blades that hummed with the same faint resonance as mine.
"New allies," Lirael said. "They will spar with you. They will push you. And they will remind you that the sword you carry is not a toy."
Elandor's gaze dropped to the blade in my hands. "First lesson begins now. No magic. No shortcuts. Just you and the steel."
Lirael motioned for me to follow her deeper into the woods. The others stayed behind. The trees closed in around us, the path narrowing until it was little more than a game trail. She broke into a light jog without warning.
"Run," she called over her shoulder. "Until you cannot."
I followed. At first it felt easy — the forest air cool and clean, the ground soft underfoot. But Lirael moved like she was born to it, her pace steady and relentless. I fell behind within minutes. My legs burned. My chest ached from the sword's lingering drain.
She glanced back, a teasing smile on her lips. "Already? The great savior of the Templars cannot keep up with an elf? Pick up your feet, Raine Chapman."
I pushed harder. Branches whipped past. My breath came in ragged gasps. She taunted me the entire way — light, playful, but sharp enough to sting.
"Faster! The queens will not wait for you to catch your breath."
I stumbled over a root. She didn't slow.
"Again. You fall behind because you think like a human — all brute force. Feel the ground. Let the forest guide you."
By the time she finally stopped in a small glade, I was on my knees, lungs burning, sweat soaking my shirt. The sword felt like an anchor at my side. Lirael stood barely winded, hands on her hips, watching me with that same mix of amusement and challenge.
"First lesson complete," she said. "Exhaustion teaches humility. Tomorrow we begin the real work."
As I caught my breath, Elandor appeared at the edge of the glade with Thorne and Sylvara. He gestured to the sword.
"That blade is older than you know," he said. "When Excalibur was shattered in the last great war against the queens' predecessors, the Lady of the Lake forged this as its successor. It was meant for a true king. Instead it waited… until it found you."
The words hit like a blow. Excalibur's replacement. The sword that had once been legend now rested in my exhausted hands.
Before I could speak, the air in the glade shimmered. A figure stepped from the trees — a woman of impossible grace, dressed in flowing silver that seemed woven from moonlight itself. Her eyes were deep pools of ancient water. Nimue. The Lady of the Lake.
She looked at the sword, then at me.
"I created it after the first blade fell," she said softly. "It carries the same heart — power drawn from the lake's depths, bound to blood and will. But every gift has its shadow. It will make you stronger… yet it will take from you what you value most. Learn its rhythm, or it will consume you before the queens ever reach you."
She told the full history then — how Excalibur had been broken by betrayal, how she had poured her own essence into this new blade to give humanity one last chance. How it had waited centuries for the right hand.
When she finished, the glade felt heavier. Nimue faded back into the trees with a final warning.
"Three months here will feel like a lifetime. Use every day."
Lirael helped me to my feet. "Tomorrow we run again. And the day after. Until you no longer fall behind."
I looked at the sword — still cold, still silent, but now carrying the weight of legend and loss.
Three months in elven time.
Nine days outside.
The training had only just begun.
And the queens were already moving.