CHAPTER 166: CHAPTER 166: ONE ARM, NO EXCUSES

Lorraine’s POV

The past few days have been nothing but a cycle of sweat, pain, and humiliation.

I’ve been giving my all, if you can even call it that, training with just one arm. My one useless arm. My right arm. The arm that could barely hold a sword without trembling like a leaf in the wind. And for a left handed person like me.... it was like being reborn with only half my body working and the other half rotting away.

I used to be good. I had trained with Astrid and I was able to kill nobles and battle Elites. But now? I can barely keep my grip long enough to block a swing without my fingers aching and the sword slipping.

Pathetic. That’s the word that played over and over in my head every time I saw my reflection in the polished blade.

Felix had been there every single day. Always showing up, sword in hand, ready to spar. Always smiling that irritatingly kind smile, like he thought I couldn’t see through it. He went easy on me, too easy. I’d catch him slowing his strikes or letting me land a hit I didn’t deserve. It was infuriating.

I know he’s just trying to help, to keep me from drowning in the frustration that’s been eating at me since I lost my arm. But every time he pulled his punches, it felt like a reminder of what I’d become. Weak. Damaged. Pathetic.

"Stop holding back," I had snapped at him yesterday. "I can take it."

He had just smiled and said, "You’re doing great."

Doing great? My grip had given out three times in a five minute duel. Great, my ass.

So today, after another round where his blade practically danced around me instead of striking, I finally said it.

"Felix, don’t follow me to the training room anymore."

His brows had shot up. "What?"

"I need to do this alone," I said firmly, even though my voice threatened to crack. "You’re not helping, you’re just making me feel worse."

"That’s not my intention."

"I know," I replied, softer now. "But I can’t.... I can’t keep feeling like a burden. I have to figure this out on my own. Please."

He didn’t argue. He just nodded slowly, eyes heavy with concern, and left without another word.

That night, I decided I wasn’t going back to the training room, not while other wolves were there to watch me stumble like a newborn pup.

Instead, I found a spot just outside the hideout, deep in the woods where the trees were thick enough to give me privacy but open enough for me to swing a blade. The air out there was colder, sharper, and the scent of pine and damp earth grounded me. I needed that grounding.

I started with footwork drills. No sword, no distractions. Just my feet moving through the patterns burned into my muscle memory. At first, it felt good, familiar. But the moment I added the sword, my right arm reminded me of its limitations. The weight felt wrong, my balance was off, and each swing pulled awkwardly at my shoulder.

Still, I kept going. Again and again, until my breath burned in my chest and sweat stung my eyes.

I had to continue

Because soon, we’d be attacking the academy. Taking back what’s ours. And when that day came, I wasn’t going to be the broken, useless girl everyone left behind. I wasn’t going to watch from the sidelines while the others fought for a revenge that is supposed to be mine

So I trained until my arm shook violently, until my grip failed and the sword slipped from my fingers to the damp earth. I leaned against a tree, panting, my entire body trembling.

"Get up," I whispered to myself. My voice was raw, low, almost a growl.

I wasn’t going to stop until I could fight with this arm like it had always been my dominant one. Until the awkwardness became instinct. Until the weakness became strength.

Because when the time came to face them Adrian and Aveline again.... I’d be ready.

So I continued training, and I pushed myself harder each time

My lungs burned as I swung, over and over, sweat soaking through my shirt until it clung to my skin. My right arm screamed in protest, trembling from the weight of the sword. My legs felt like stone, my breathing ragged, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. If I was going to survive the coming fight, I had to be faster, stronger, deadlier, than I’d ever been.

I didn’t notice how much time had passed until my vision blurred. The world tilted, my knees gave out, and I dropped to the forest floor, the sword clattering from my grasp.

For a long moment, I just sat there, my chest heaving, staring at my empty left sleeve as it swayed in the breeze.

And then the weight of it hit me all over again.

The helplessness. The anger. The bone deep fear that no matter how much I trained, I’d never be enough again. That when the time came, I’d be the weak link, the liability that got someone else killed.

I clenched my jaw, but the tears still came, hot and unrelenting. My shoulders shook as I pressed my face into my good hand, trying to swallow the sound of my sob

Then I heard sudden footsteps, slow, steady, approaching from behind.

I jerked upright, swiping my sleeve across my face to erase the tears

Then I turned around and I froze.

The Queen, Kieran’s mother, she stepped out from between the trees like she had been part of the shadows all along.

The sight of her made my breath hitch. My chest tightened painfully, and my only arm began to tremble, uncontrollably, violently, because in a flash, I wasn’t in the woods anymore.

I was back in that nightmare. That chamber, as she gripped me arm, with the sound of my flesh tearing.

The blinding pain when she, when this woman, ripped my arm from its socket while consumed by the ghosthound’s bloodlust.

The memory crashed into me so hard I swayed on my feet. I tried to hide the tremor in my fingers, to force my heart back into a steady rhythm. To bury the fear before she could smell it.

"Your Majesty," I said, bowing low enough that my spine ached. My voice was steady, even if my insides were not.

"At ease, dear," she said, her tone softer than I expected. "You don’t have to do all that."

When I straightened, she was walking toward me, not the predator from my nightmares, but a tall, regal woman in a simple gown, her black long hair braided neatly over one shoulder.

Her gaze swept the clearing before landing on me. "What are you doing out here.... and all alone, dear?"

"Training, Your Majesty," I answered, my voice clipped but polite.

Her eyes, sharp and unsettling, moved over me slowly, as though she were reading something under my skin. When they lingered on the empty space where my right arm should have been, something flickered in her expression. Guilt? Sadness? Pity? I couldn’t tell.

"I’ve been meaning to speak to you, you know," she said suddenly.

My heart gave a startled, almost painful thump. "Me?"

"Yes." Her gaze drifted briefly to the treeline, as though weighing whether this was the right place. Then she pointed toward a large tree stump near the edge of the clearing. "Let’s sit over there."

I hesitated, not because I didn’t trust her, but because I didn’t know if I could be this close to her without my body remembering every ounce of pain she had caused me. But refusing wasn’t an option.

So I followed her.

The stump was wide and flat. She sat first, the weight of her presence filling the small space between us amd I lowered myself beside her

The Queen drew in a slow, deliberate breath, then released it like she was setting down something heavy.

"Do you know what my maiden name is?" she asked, turning her head toward me.

"Yes, Your Majesty," I said quietly. "Athena."

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Athena. They named me after the goddess of war. My parents believed I would grow to be strong and strategic, destined to lead, to conquer. But.... that was not the case,... because I was cursed instead."

The words sent a shiver through me, not because they were unfamiliar, but because they sounded so... resigned.

"This curse, being a ghosthound, mine didn’t start from birth. It manifested slowly. At first, I thought it was just.... me. I discovered I had a knack for killing things." She gave a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. "When I was young, I would help my mother in the kitchen. Chickens, goats, pigs, anything that needed slaughtering, I volunteered. I would even visit the butcher’s shop, offering to help carve up meat. The blood.... the kill... it made me happy."

She looked at her hands then, curling them slightly as if remembering the weight of a blade.

"I thought it meant I would make a great warrior. That it was a gift." She shook her head. "So I trained. And when I was old enough, I joined the Royal Army. That.... was the best and worst decision of my life."

Her voice grew quieter, almost like she was speaking to herself.

"Why?" I asked

"It was the best because that was how I met the handsome young prince who would become my husband, Kieran’s father. We fell in love quickly, recklessly." A shadow passed over her features. "But it was the worst because it put me in the forefront of war. Of killing. I thought I was serving my kingdom.... but in truth, I was unlocking something inside me that should have stayed buried forever."

She paused, her jaw tightening. "The bloodlust grew. The more I fought, the more I craved it. It started with enemies. Then.... sometimes... it didn’t matter who it was."

Her eyes glossed with unshed tears, but she didn’t let them fall.

I wanted to ask if she was thinking about me. About the day she tore my arm away. But the words stuck in my throat.

And so, despite the fear of her engraved in my body, I listened. Because for the first time, Queen Athena wasn’t a phantom from my nightmares. She was a woman drowning in a curse.