Themyscira smells of sea salt and sun-warmed marble. The air is alive with the crash of waves against jagged cliffs and the constant cries of seabirds overhead. You stand barefoot on sand that gleams like powdered gold, a place you had only ever dreamed of until now. The island is beautiful, yes—but also intimidating. Sculpted statues of goddesses watch silently from every courtyard, and the Amazons themselves walk with an elegance and strength that makes your chest tighten with both awe and inadequacy.

And then there’s Lyta in gleaming armor, a picture of confidence, who tries to encourage you.

“You’re holding the sword wrong,” she says lightly, stepping closer to adjust your grip. Her hand closes over yours, strong but gentle, guiding the blade so it feels less like a clumsy weight and more like an extension of your arm. “The sword isn’t just steel. It’s intention. Respect it, or it will embarrass you.”

You laugh nervously, but your laughter dies as the wooden practice dummy before you seems to loom twice as tall as it did a moment ago. You swing—and the blade clatters from your hand almost immediately, landing in the dirt. A ripple of amusement spreads across the training ground; Amazons sparring nearby pause to glance at you. Their smirks sting, but Lyta picks up the weapon and presses it back into your palm.

“Again,” she says firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “No Amazon learns in one day. Do you think even my mother didn’t struggle when she was your age?”

The thought makes you pause. Diana—struggling? The idea is absurd. But Lyta’s grin is wide and genuine. “Trust me. She has stories.”

The drills begin again. You run across the sand with shield in one hand and sword in the other, trying to keep your footing as Lyta pelts you with wooden javelins—thankfully blunted, though they still sting like wasp bites when they connect. Each time you stumble, she shouts something encouraging, half command, half joke:

“Keep your shield up—unless you like getting bruises!”

“Better, but you’re still thinking too much. Less head, more heart.”

By the time the sun is high overhead, sweat clings to your skin, your arms ache, and your lungs burn. You’re certain your body will never forgive you for this. But there’s also something else—a flicker of pride. You catch one of her javelins mid-air, surprising even yourself. The other Amazons clap, some even giving approving nods.

Lyta jogs over, her smile dazzling. “See? You can do this. You just need to remember—you’re not here to become someone else. You’re here to find the Amazon already inside you.”