Chapter 6 #5
And some reckless, searing part of me wants to join it.
“Amara—breathe!”
The flames flare—and burst outward. A twisting jet of fire hurtles toward Valen. Someone screams my name.
No.
No, no, no—
I try to pull it back, but Fire doesn’t care. It won’t listen to me. It lunges for him.
And then—a shadow moves.
Thane.
He’s there before I can even process what’s happening—stepping between Valen and the fire, body braced, stance unyielding.
The flames twist. Snarl. Resist.
And then—he does the impossible.
He reaches into the flames. The fire fights. It pushes back. But something shifts.
It doesn’t vanish. It recoils.
It curls around him like an animal recognizing something greater than itself—then retreats. The fire shrinks. Pulls inward. Fades into embers—then ash.
Smoke rises. The heat vanishes.
Silence.
I tremble, staring at my hands. I had done it. Not perfectly. Not easily.
And I almost killed Valen.
But I wielded fire. Well sort of . . . more like it wielded me.
I lift my gaze to Thane—my breath uneven. His eyes are already on me, filled with something I can’t name.
Valen steps forward, silent for a long moment. Then: “Now we train.”
His voice is quiet—but it lands like a promise.
“Because you, Amara . . . ” His gaze burns. “You were never just an Earth Wielder.”
Smoke lingers. It curls from the scorched ground, winding upward. The fire is gone, but its echo remains.
And so does the weight of their stares. I don’t turn to face the soldiers gathered at the edge of the field, but I feel them. Unease. Caution.
Soldiers keeping their distance now—just a few steps farther back. Hands twitch near weapons they know won’t matter. Eyes wide. Faces tight.
My stomach knots.
Lyra steps forward first. Arms crossed. She tilts her head, glancing from the scorched earth to me. Then smirks.
“Well,” she says dryly. “That was . . . dramatic.”
She exhales through her nose, shaking her head. “You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
The tension cracks, just slightly.
Garrick whistles low, dragging a hand through his hair. “I take it back,” he says. “You don’t need wings.” He grins—wide, crooked. “That was wild.”
A few uneasy chuckles ripple through the crowd, but no one truly relaxes. Because while they may admire what they saw, they don’t trust it—they don’t trust me.
Valen exhales, cutting through the silence.
“No one was hurt.” His voice is calm, but it lands like a warning. No one was hurt. But they could have been.
He turns to the soldiers, his tone hardening.
“The training is over for today.”
It isn’t a suggestion.
A few of them hesitate, glancing at me. Then, one by one, they turn. Some leave quickly. Others linger—watching, whispering. I can feel their thoughts.
Too powerful. Unstable. Dangerous.
That thought tightens around my chest like a vice.
I drop my hands, curling my fingers into fists, trying to ignore the way my skin still tingles—as if the fire is still there, just waiting to be called again.
Then, Thane moves. Without a word, he turns and walks away. Garrick hesitates for half a second before following, jogging after him.
I watch them go. My pulse is still off-rhythm. I feel nauseous, my stomach rolling from the adrenaline of channeling. Or maybe it’s the unease of seeing that look in Thane’s eyes.
What was it?
Fear? No.
Judgment? No.
Recognition.
Because now he knows. He saw it. And maybe he’s known all along.
That I’m not just power. I’m the weapon this realm is preparing for.
And that terrifies me more than anything else.
Then I vomit my breakfast on my feet.
Lyra’s there instantly, pulling my braid back as I retch again.
Valen, calm as ever, says, “Sometimes, wielders may need to expel, especially in the beginning.”
My mind reels as I spit onto the ground, my body regaining control of itself. He’s not remotely surprised. Like this is normal. Like this is just another page in the textbook of becoming something dangerous.
Lyra rubs my back in smooth strokes, murmuring, “Oh, Mara . . . ”
I straighten slowly, breath ragged, throat raw.
Valen gestures to the lingering soldiers, some still watching, still whispering.
“They’ll get over it,” he repeats. “Fear fades. But you? You’re just getting started.”
His words only weigh me down further.
Valen tilts his head. “You think they’re afraid of what you did?”
I don’t answer.
“They’re not.” His voice is quieter now. “They’re afraid of what you might become.”
That hits harder than I expect. Because part of me—deep down—is afraid of that too.
I draw a breath, trying to shake off the feeling of being unmoored.
The clearing is emptying, soldiers dispersing, but I can still feel their unease thick in the air. I glance down at the scorched earth beneath my feet, my pulse finally starting to steady.
Then, just as Lyra and I are about to leave, a voice cuts through the quiet. Someone standing by the tree line. “What is she?”
The words pierce like a knife between my ribs.
Not who.
What.
My stomach rolls again. I don’t wait for Valen’s response. I grab Lyra’s hand and pull her with me back to the barracks.
I wake before sunrise.
My body aches, every muscle feeling stretched and strained. Like I’ve been reforged from the inside out.
I stretch, trying to shake off the exhaustion that clings to me.
And then, my back itches. A deep, insistent sensation, like something beneath my skin is shifting. Did something bite me in the middle of the night?
I reach over my shoulder, sliding the fabric of my sleeping gown off my shoulder, fingers brushing against my spine.
And I freeze.
Something is there. Not just skin. Not just scars. I feel the raised skin, the heat. Something etched into my skin and what seems like . . . a pattern.
My breath stutters.
No. No, that’s not possible.
I throw the blankets off and push myself upright, my legs weak from yesterday’s training. Lyra stirs in the bunk beneath me, muttering something incoherent, but I don’t stop.
The barracks are quiet. The other women are still asleep. I move through the dim light, my bare feet slapping against the cold stone floor as I push into the bathing chambers.
The air is cool, the room dimly lit. I grip the edges of the basin beneath the mirror, breath shallow, heartbeat loud in my ears. I pull the gown over my head.
And turn, exposing my back to the glass.
And there—etched into my skin like heat-woven ink—I see them set along my spine.
Four Elemental tattoos.
Four.
No one has ever had four.
I blink, my mind struggling to catch up, struggling to process what’s been permanently etched into my skin.
Fire—The First.
High on my back, just between my shoulder blades. It curls like living flame—deep red and black, flickering like embers caught mid-motion.
Air—The Second.
Below the fire, silver swirls spiral across my spine, shifting as I watch. Soft as wind, sharp as breath.
Water—The Third.
Lower still. Deep blue, rippling like ocean waves, flowing against my skin as if the tide lives beneath it.
Earth—The Fourth.
At the base of my spine, just above my hips, dark green and earthen brown, twisting like roots anchoring me to the world.
I reach back, fingers trembling, brushing the markings.
They burn.
They cool.
They move.
They settle.
Each one alive in its own way. Each one undeniable proof of who I am and what I am meant to do.
I grip the basin, knuckles white, as if holding the stone will keep me from breaking apart.
This isn’t possible.
Only dragon-bonded bear Elemental tattoos. The tattoo appears on the rider’s skin when their connection to their Element is forged by their bond. It’s always been this way.
I am not a rider. I have no dragon. I have no bond. And yet . . . here they are. Four.
The ink glows faintly, alive under my skin. It should feel empowering.
Instead, I remember my mother’s hands—how they’d trace the freckles on my arms and call them “earth-salt.” She used to say the land left its blessings in our blood.
The memory hits like a breath I can’t catch. And just like that, the tattoos don’t feel like a gift. They feel like a mark of everything I’ve lost.
I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing down the panic trying to rise. I have been fighting this. I have been trying to deny it, to explain it away. But the proof keeps coming.
Valen keeps telling me I have a choice but the truth is I don’t.
I am The Spiritborn.
And there is no stopping what comes next.