For a year, my mornings no longer belonged to me, they belonged to Lilith.
At first, I hated it.
Not openly, of course. You didn't complain to someone like her. She had that eerie calmness, that heavy stillness that made you feel like any whining would bounce off her and just hang in the air like shame.
But still, those first weeks were hell. Every morning, before the stars had even finished fading from the sky, I'd leave our home, careful not to wake my family, and start the brutal journey from the town to the hill.
Then the circuit would begin. Three full laps around the damn hill.
The hill wasn't huge, but it wasn't a cute bump either. It curved and sloped and rose sharply on one end like the earth had tried to punch the sky and missed. I used to pant like a dying animal halfway through my first lap. I'd stumble, trip, sob inside my head, and wonder if Lilith was watching from the top, judging me in silence.
She never was. She always waited for me to finish, sitting cross-legged near the shrine at the summit, eyes closed, dressed in ceremonial robes too extravagant for a teenager.
It used to take me three hours. I had to pace myself, even rest sometimes. My tiny four-year-old legs weren't built for this.
Except they were. Because I wasn't like the other kids. None of us were.
We were born on this island, where the very land was blessed. Our bodies were… sharper, faster and stronger, like nature had given us a cheat code without telling us the rules.
So I adapted faster than most.
Three hours became two. Then one. Then, without even realizing it, I could run the whole damn route in thirty minutes barefoot, with the wind in my face and my heart beating like a war drum.
Running became second nature to me. It was muscle memory. It was freedom. The rush of my blood, the rhythm of my feet against grass and stone, the burn in my lungs, it wasn't pain anymore.
And when I reached the top, dripping sweat, legs aching, Lilith would always open her eyes and give me this one silent nod.
Then she'd say, "Now we sit."
Meditation.
By the gods, that was harder than running.
I thought meditation would be easy. Close your eyes, breathe a little, think of flowers or peace or something poetic. Right?
Wrong.
Meditation was war. It was sitting still while your thoughts screamed. It was facing the noise in your head, the noise you didn't know was there until everything else went silent.
I hated it more than the running. My legs would itch, my shoulders would twitch, I'd get distracted by everything, from the way the wind pulled the grass to the way the shrine's roof creaked in the breeze. And yet… I did it. Because I was the student. Because Lilith never yelled or scolded, but something about her silence made me want to try harder.
After a month, I started to feel it. Not the absence of thought but the control of it. I could push my inner world into focus. I could hear my own power humming under the surface of my skin.
Lilith said nothing but I caught her watching me sometimes, eyes half-lidded, her mouth twitching like she might smile.
And every single day, after hours of running and stillness, she'd make the best lunch ever. She also taught me how to cook. Well, I could only help but I did learn through apprenticeship. Sometimes, she'd make things I couldn't even pronounce, and they tasted like dreams.
Then, as we sat under the shade of the shrine's woven canopy, I'd pull out the book she gave me and begin… English.
I hated it at first. In my last life, I never needed it. Amsterdam was all Dutch. My team had a translator artifact that they gave to me. English sounded like static at first. Twisted. Clunky. Ugly, even.
But I picked it up extremely fast.
Lilith said I was a fast learner. She smirked once and muttered something about how "someone lied" about me being slow.
We'd go over vocabulary, sentence structures, even stories, fairytales, mostly. And the more I learned, the more I liked it.
By the sixth month, I could hold full conversations.
By the tenth, I could read aloud without stuttering.
By the twelfth, I was translating poems back to her.
And now… now I felt good. Every morning was a rush. The physical work built my stamina to the point I could leap a stone fence and land without missing a breath. My balance improved and my body felt light but grounded. My muscles were lean, my grip was strong, and my breath came calm even under pressure.
Meditation had given me a connection to something deeper. I didn't know what, exactly but it made me aware of my body and mind, even the world around me. I could sense changes in the wind, even footsteps before they were visible.
And today…
Today was different.
Lilith sat at the shrine as always, her robes more intricate than usual. Her staff leaned against the polished stone floor beside her, and she was not meditating.
She was waiting.
"Happy birthday," I said softly, stepping up to her after my run.
"Seventeen," she murmured, staring out toward the sea. "The year of secrecy."
"Rune Weaver?"
She nodded.
"Are you scared?"
"No."
"Excited?"
She paused.
"Yes."
Lilith never said much but I learned how to read her by now. The slight shift of her fingers, the way her toes curled in her sandals, the pause between her words. She was excited but also a little anxious. The Rune Weaver's Tests weren't a joke. They weren't just for knowledge or status. They were for those who would change the fate of the Isles.
And she was going to do it in secrecy.
"You'll pass. Obviously."
She turned, looking at me fully, and gave me a rare full smile.
"I know. But still… thank you."
I wanted to hug her but I knew better. Instead, I sat beside her and reached for the lunch basket.
"Let me make it today," I said. "Birthday rule."
She raised a brow but didn't argue. That was her way of saying she was touched.
So we ate together in the sunlight, the sea wind catching our hair, the ritual of our year-long bond humming between us like an invisible tether.
And when the sun dipped lower, she stood.
"It's time."
She didn't look back when she left. She didn't need to. I waved goodbye as she walked into the sunset, staff in hand, heading for the trial.
Because we both knew after this, everything was about to change.