Chapter 6 #3
“I’ll leave you here,” he adds. Then, just before he turns, his voice quiet—almost reluctant— “And for what it’s worth . . . I do miss the quiet sometimes.”
Then he turns and walks away, his broad silhouette fading back into the corridors of the outpost.
I watch him go.
And then I turn—not just toward the ring, or Valen, but toward the shift I know is coming. The part of me that doesn’t belong to the girl I was in the village. The part I still don’t fully understand.
I’m dressed in a training tunic—soft, durable fabric with reinforced stitching along the shoulders and sleeves.
Lyra has a matching one. I remember her grinning as she laced up her boots this morning, saying she was headed to squad drills after breakfast. Balance and movement work. Nothing flashy yet.
She’s somewhere on the other side of the outpost now. And I’m here, feeling so far away from her . . . far from home.
Only the wind moves here, sweeping across the open field. Far enough that the usual sounds of outpost life—the clang of metal against metal, the murmur of voices, the distant roar of dragons—have faded into nothing. Valen said yesterday it was precautionary. In case something goes wrong.
I’m not sure whether that’s meant to reassure me or warn me. Either way, it isn’t comforting.
The field stretches out around us, edged by a dense tree line that borders the eastern cliffs. Beyond that, the land slopes downward into wild, untamed territory, where mist clings to the valleys and the rivers carve deep into the stone.
It’s the kind of place where power could unravel without consequence.
Here we go.
Valen stands a few paces away, arms crossed, watching me like he’s waiting for something inside me to split wide. “Start small,” he instructs. “I need to see where your foundations lie.”
I nod, rolling a pebble between my fingers. It is cool and rough, its edges worn smooth by time. Earth I know like the back of my hand.
I press my palm against the ground and reach.
Stonecalling.
The pebble vibrates, then lifts into the air, hovering just above my fingertips. A second rock shifts near my boot, answering the unspoken pull.
Valen makes a low, neutral sound in his throat. “Good. Again.”
I let the stones drop, exhaling slow, steady. Then press my fingers into the soil.
Soilshaping.
The packed dirt loosens beneath my touch, softening to fine dust before settling again.
Earthen Sense.
I kneel, fingertips brushing the ground, and the world beneath me speaks. The faint tremor of insects burrowing. The distant weight of a bird landing in the trees.
I smirk. “You shifted your weight to your right foot.”
Valen raises a brow. “Not bad.”
One by one, I demonstrate the lesser Earth magics.
Dustcalling—easy. A small cloud of dirt lifts into the air at my command.
Geomarking—I trace a smooth stone, leaving behind a faint, deliberate imprint.
But when he asks for Rootweaving, I hesitate. This one has always been . . . off for me. Like trying to move something that doesn’t quite belong to me. Still, I reach out to the nearest vine, willing it to move. It responds—reluctantly, sluggish and stiff.
Valen’s gaze doesn’t waver. “That felt forced.”
I exhale sharply. “A little.”
“We’ll come back to it.” He nods. “Try Weightbinding.”
I smile. This one’s easy.
I focus, shifting my presence, making myself lighter. When I step forward, I barely feel the ground beneath me. Then, I reverse it, anchoring myself deep into the soil. My boots press into the dirt. My stance becomes unshakable.
Valen’s sharp gaze follows every move. “Good control,” he admits. “But that’s all lesser magics. Let’s see what happens when you go further.” He steps back, gesturing to the open field. “Raise the earth, Amara.”
I brace myself. I take a slow breath, planting my feet firmly into the soil. Then, I reach—push.
And the earth pushes back.
A pulse of something electric shoots through me, sharp and sudden. The ground doesn’t just shift. It shatters.
A shockwave blasts outward from where I stand, splitting the soil, sending jagged cracks rippling across the clearing. A deep, rumbling roar echoes from the depths of the earth, as if it has been woken.
I gasp, staggering backward. But the energy doesn’t stop. It surges through my veins—hot, wild, relentless.
A jagged slab of stone bursts from the ground, nearly knocking Valen off his feet. I can’t stop it. This isn’t just answering me—it’s overwhelming me.
“Amara!” Valen’s voice barely cuts through the roar of the earth breaking apart beneath us.
Panic coils tight in my chest. I try to rein it in, but the more I fight, the wilder it becomes. The magics aren’t resisting me.
I am resisting them.
Valen reaches me in two quick strides, gripping my shoulders. His voice is sharp but steady. “Breathe. Feel it—but don’t fight it.”
I gasp for air. The ground still trembles.
“Listen to it,” he urges. “You don’t force Earth, Amara. You become part of it. Let it recognize you. Let it settle.”
I clench my fists. Try to shift—not the magics, but myself. Not pushing. Not pulling. Just being.
I concentrate on the feeling of Valen’s hands on my shoulders, the weight of them, the warmth.
The tremors lessen. The earth settles.
Valen nods. “That’s it. Feel the shift. Acknowledge it. Earth is patient. If you listen, it will answer.”
The magics still hums in my veins, restless, but no longer consuming me. Silence falls over the clearing. I stare at the deep fissure splitting the ground, my hands shaking. I’ve never done anything like that before.
It’s both thrilling and completely terrifying.
Valen exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. He glances at the shattered ground, then back at me.
“Well,” he mutters, “I think that answers my question.”
The fissure in the ground still steams, thin wisps of dust curling from where the stone has split apart. The energy hasn’t left me. It hums just beneath my skin, wild and waiting.
But Valen isn’t finished.
“Now,” he says, stepping back, his tone unreadable, “try Water.”
I blink at him. “What?”
He gestures toward the small lake at the far edge of the field. The surface is still, undisturbed, reflecting the pale blue sky like polished glass.
I shake my head, chest still heaving. “Valen, I—I don’t even know how. I’ve never wielded water before.”
He doesn’t look surprised. His gaze sharpens, arms folding loosely across his chest. “It’s in you.”
I let out a short breath, still rattled from what the earth just did—what I just did.
“But I—”
“You wielded the greater magics of the Earth Element,” he cuts in, voice steady. “That wasn’t something you learned. It was something you awakened.” His chin points to the lake. “Water is no different.”
I hesitate, shifting my gaze to the water. The lake is quiet, hardly a ripple. I’ve always thought of water as something separate—fluid, distant, something I could drink, something I could touch, but never something I could wield.
I swallow. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“You do,” Valen corrects. “You just don’t know you do.” His smirk is faint, but his eyes are sharp. “Close your eyes.”
I hesitate, then obey.
“Forget the earth for a moment,” he says. “Forget the ground beneath your feet. Forget weight, stone, and stability.”
Easier said than done.
But, I try. I focus on my breath. On the air around me. On—
“Now,” Valen’s voice is softer, but insistent. “Instead of grounding yourself, let go.”
My brow furrows.
“Water isn’t held,” he says. “It isn’t rooted. It moves. Shifts. Flows. It does not resist. It becomes.”
I swallow, nodding slightly. Concentrating.
“Reach for that,” he says. “Don’t push. Don’t pull. Just . . . feel.”
I exhale slowly.
And then, something changes.
It isn’t like Earth. That had been solid, powerful, something deep-rooted and forceful. This is different. It is cooler. Softer. But no less alive.
A steady presence, patient and vast.
My fingers twitch. Somewhere nearby, the lake stirs. My eyes snap open. A ripple skates across the surface—small, but unmistakable.
My heart pounds.
Valen watches, approving. “There it is.”
“I—I don’t think I can do it again,” I say, muscles tense from holding too much stillness.
“You can.”
I hesitate.
Then close my eyes again, reaching out, listening.
The water is waiting. Moving.
I can feel it shifting, alive beneath the surface.
“Now,” Valen’s voice comes low and steady, “stop hesitating. Reach deeper.”
I frown, my pulse spiking. “I—”
“Reach for it, Amara,” Valen says, firm. “Command it.”
I take a slow breath, and let go.
The reaction is instant. A sudden pulse of energy erupts from my chest, rushing outward like a flood breaking free from a shattered dam.
The lake explodes.
Water launches skyward in a towering column, the surface churning, roiling. Waves crash against the shore. Droplets lift into the air—suspended, spiraling, twisting around me like they’ve been caught in a storm with no center.
The power rushes through me, flooding my veins, yanking at my core like a riptide.
Too much.
I gasp, staggering backward, my hands trembling as the air crackles with energy. The water won’t stop moving. It isn’t like Earth, where I could anchor myself, dig in, force control over it.
Water doesn’t submit. It rages. Flows. Drowns.
“Amara—breathe!” Valen’s voice cuts through, barely.
But I can’t.
The magics surges again, and the lake rises higher, towering like a living, writing thing. I am losing control. Panic claws at throat.
I try to force the water back, but the more I struggle, the wilder it becomes. The droplets twist into blades—thin, slicing streams that carve through the air.
I can’t stop it.
“Amara, listen to me!” Valen is in front of me now, his voice calm but urgent.
I clench my fists, teeth gritted. “I—I don’t know how!”
“You’re trying to control it the wrong way,” he says. “Water isn’t Earth. You can’t force it. You have to guide it.”
I barely hear him. It’s buried beneath the roar.
Beneath everything.