The sword on Alora Vanya's back had belonged to her grandmother, and it would not open for her. She had tried a hundred times. The blade stayed cold and plain, its power locked behind some test she had never passed. That was why her family sent her here, to a muddy island camp, to learn fighting she already knew. She dropped her pack on a bunk inside the long training barracks. The wooden frames sat in neat rows, the air thick with pine and sweat. The other recruits swung their practice sticks outside like children. Alora had broken real soldiers in the yard back home. She had drawn battle maps her father kept on his wall. This place insulted her. "Keep your boots laced tonight," said a girl on the next bunk. She had long braids and a plaid jacket, and she was sharpening a knife she should not have owned. She did not look up. "The woods take people who sleep too deep." Alora frowned. "The woods take people." "Three last month." The girl grinned, quick and bright. "The counselors call them runaways. They're lying." She pointed her knife at the dark window. "Something's out there, and it's hungry." Alora learned the girl's name was Remi. She did not believe the story until the screaming started. It came after midnight, from the tree line. The recruits woke and panicked. The counselors shouted to stay inside and barred the door. Through the window Alora saw shapes move between the trunks. Too tall. Too many legs. One recruit had gone out to the latrine and had not come back. The counselors froze. They knew sticks, not monsters. So Alora took command. "Flip the bunks against the walls," she ordered. "Block the windows. We funnel them to one door." Nobody argued. Fear made them listen. Remi worked beside her, fast and steady, nailing boards without being told twice. The first monster hit the door. Wood cracked. A claw the length of Alora's arm punched through. She did not reach for her grandmother's sword. It would fail her, as always. She grabbed a splitting axe from the woodpile instead. She had read how pack hunters fought. They rushed the loudest target. So she made herself loud. She stood in the doorway gap and screamed and swung, and the monsters came at her in a line, one at a time, into the space she had chosen. She killed three before dawn. Remi dragged the wounded clear behind her. Morning came gray and quiet. Six monsters lay dead in the mud. Every recruit was alive. The counselors would not meet her eyes. Alora cleaned the axe and felt something new. She had not won with the sword. She had won with her mind, the thing her family never counted. On her back, the blade stayed cold. But for the first time she wondered if worthiness was not about strength at all. She intended to find out. And the woods still held more than six.