FATED TO REINCARNATE

The sun had barely crested the cliffs when Elara tied the last strap on her pack.

The sword sat snug at her side, wrapped in cloth but humming faintly against her hip—as if it, too, knew it was time.

She tightened the cloak around her shoulders, the pendant glowing faintly beneath her collarbone. There was a stillness in her chest, but not from fear. It was focus. Calm determination. She had trained. She had grown. And though the path ahead was uncertain, this time… she would walk it with eyes wide open.

The Academy Trials began today.

And is ready.

Fig fluttered down from the roof and landed on her shoulder, mouth full of dried fruit.

"So, big day. Nervous? Hungry? Already plotting how to bribe the judges?"

"I'm prepared," Elara said with a grin. "That's what I am."

"Sure. Until they throw the part with the flaming javelins.

"She squinted at him. "There's a flaming javelin part?"

"Maybe," he said, chewing. "Or maybe not. I can't say."

She frowned. "Because you don't remember? Or because you won't?"

Fig made a zipping motion over his mouth. "Rules, remember? I told you—dream-spirit-companion contracts come with weird clauses. Even if I remember- and I am not saying I do- I can't help you kid."

"But you do remember what happened last time I went through the Trials."

He shrugged. "I do."

"And you won't tell me?"

"Nope."

She narrowed her eyes. "Because…?"

"Because if I do, fate throws a tantrum," he said, stretching his wings. "And she's mean when she's mad. Just look at what happened to you."

Elara rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered.

She turned to the old man, who stood leaning on the doorway of the hovel, watching her like someone memorizing a painting they couldn't keep.

"I wanted to say…" she began, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

He froze, just for a breath, then patted her back gruffly.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything." Her voice shaky from holding back emotions. She will come back here. To visit. To train. To see him.

He nodded once, but his eyes—so ancient, so quiet—held something warm. "You've got good bones, girl. Try not to let the city grind them to dust."

She laughed. "I'll do my best."

She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "What is your name? You never told me."

The old man smiled, slow and knowing. "If we're fortunate enough to meet again… I'll tell you then."

Elara tilted her head. "That's suspiciously dramatic."

He only gave her a knowing wink.

With one last grin and a big wave, she turned toward the path.

Silverkeep waited in the valley below, its towers gleaming in the morning light, the Academy's high walls barely visible behind the silver banners snapping in the breeze.

This time, Elara walked toward them with purpose.

This time, she was ready.

 ---

The road narrowed as it wound into the valley, and Elara could feel the shift in the air—brighter, heavier, laced with magic. The closer she came to Silverkeep, the more the ground beneath her feet seemed to thrum with energy, like the whole kingdom was holding its breath.

The Academy loomed in the distance—an immense stone citadel built into the cliffs above the city, its high towers kissed by clouds, its gates guarded by watchful eyes and ancient wards. Silver banners danced on the wind, embroidered with the sigils of the elven houses, glittering like stars in daylight.

Elara took a deep breath as she stepped into the outer training field, where candidates were already gathering.

And chaos had, predictably, already begun.

Two figures in the middle of the courtyard were mid-argument—no, mid-battle. A boy and a girl, both dressed in Academy training leathers, circled one another like rival storms. The boy fought with quiet precision, blocking her jabs with frustrating ease, while the girl attacked with sharp, elegant fury.

Elara paused, frowning. Something about the boy pulled at her.

He was lean but strong, with tousled chestnut hair and the kind of calm that couldn't be faked. His strikes weren't showy—they were practical. Clean. Measured.

And strangely familiar.

Recognition flickered in Elara's mind like a candle struggling to stay lit.

Do I know him? she thought, brow furrowed.

The girl, by contrast, looked like royalty incarnate—blond hair braided with gold thread, a narrow circlet glinting against her brow, and an expression that screamed boredom and disdain.

She parried with flair, but it was clear she was frustrated that the boy kept dodging without ever truly retaliating.

"She's used to winning," Elara muttered.

Fig, perched invisibly on her shoulder, whispered, "And used to being watched. Look at her chin. That's performance posture."

Elara took a step closer, but then—

A strange pull wrapped around her chest, deep and ancient and terrifying.

She gasped, stumbling slightly as her heart skipped.

The bond.

The mate bond.

It coiled through her like smoke and fire, dragging her eyes wildly around the courtyard, searching—desperately—for a face she hadn't yet seen in this lifetime, but was seared into her memory.

Her stomach twisted.

Kaden.

But… he wasn't there.

She spun in a slow circle, heart pounding, the pendant under her tunic warming faintly as if trying to soothe her.

Still, nothing. Just strangers. Candidates. Laughing, sparring, waiting.

The bond faded into silence, like a song cut short.

"Elara?" Fig's voice was soft now, concerned.

"I felt it," she whispered. "I felt him."

"The mate bond?" he asked gently, also looking around for Kaden.

She nodded, jaw tight.

Fig said nothing else. He didn't need to.

Elara steadied herself and turned her eyes back to the field, scanning the faces once more—especially the boy who still lingered on her mind.

He looked up at her just then, as if sensing her stare.

His eyes locked with hers—steady, unreadable.

Elara's heart gave one sharp beat.

And then the Academy gates opened with a loud clang, and the trials began to call them forward.