Chapter 7
STRIKE BY STRIKE
SEVEN
“Every day we learn something new that isn’t in any of my texts or journals, or even in old wives tales, about the Prophecy.
We clearly have more than a weapon against the Shadow Forces in Amara.
I believe she is a link to the past, to the future, to the forgotten and the yet to be learned.
She will need all of our support with this burden, this ‘blessing’.
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
Isit across from Lyra at breakfast, absently swirling my spoon in the bowl of porridge, but I’m not hungry. I can’t stop thinking about them.
The tattoos.
The glowing lines that had etched themselves into my skin last night.
Darius sits to my right. I catch him glancing at me from the corner of my eye, like he can see the thoughts crawling under my skin. Across the table, Fenric and Taila are deep in a heated debate about which blade is better for close combat.
I exhale, try to roll the tension from my shoulders. I need to focus. I need to act normal.
But when I look up, Lyra is already watching me—eyebrows raised, mouth full of bread.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says, after a swallow.
That’s enough to silence Fenric mid-argument. Taila leans in, brows furrowing.
I hesitate before setting my spoon down. My fingers twitch against the wooden table. “Something . . . happened last night.”
Lyra straightens. “Oh?”
Darius shifts beside me.
I glance around, suddenly aware of how many people are in the hall. Too many eyes and ears. I hesitate.
“It’s easier if I just show you guys,” I say quietly.
Taila’s posture tightens, her expression sobering. “Okay.”
I exhale sharply, pushing my chair back, my pulse pounding as I turn my back to her. Slowly, I lift the hem of my shirt, just enough to reveal the markings along my lower back.
Lyra inhales sharply. Her fingers are on my back in an instant.
“By the gods . . . ” she breathes.
Her touch is careful, tracing the raised, glowing lines along my spine. I flinch—because it burns. The tattoos feel electric under her fingertips, as if my skin is still learning how to hold them.
And then—of course—she lifts my shirt higher.
“Lyra!” I hiss, swatting her hand away. I yank the fabric down, face burning.
“Holy shit,” Fenric blurts, far too loud.
Darius stiffens beside me, eyes wide.
A hush rolls through the mess hall like a wave. Conversations falter. Heads turn.
A soldier across the room whistles low. A few soldiers step closer, craning for a better look. I feel it. Their eyes. Their doubt.
A murmur behind me: “That’s impossible.”
An Earth Clan woman leans toward her tablemate, voice low—but not low enough. “No rider has more than one.”
“She’s not even a rider,” someone else says.
The words hang in the air like smoke. Not just shocked. Accusatory.
Before I can say anything, Lyra straightens. She turns on the room, glare sharp enough to slice steel.
“What? Never seen a miracle before?” she drawls, voice sharp as a blade. “Or do you all just enjoy gawking like a bunch of brainless sheep?”
Silence. A few soldiers exchange glances. One of them clears his throat, looking away. Another mutters something into his cup.
Lyra scoffs. “That’s what I thought.”
She turns back to me, muttering, “Idiots.”
I try to breathe away the building unease, but their stares cling to me like smoke. I can see judgment and fear on their faces. Like I’ve been marked by more than just Elemental magics.
Taila reaches across the table, her hand warm over mine. “Forget them,” she says softly.
“Yeah,” Fenric chimes in, his voice lighter but edged. “Don’t let them see you sweat. Not worth it.”
Darius speaks next, quiet and careful—like he’s coaxing me back from somewhere far away. “What do they mean? Did you tell Valen yet?”
I shake my head, trying to keep my expression neutral. “I will soon. I’m meeting him for training this morning.”
Lyra nods. “Good. He’ll know what they mean.”
Then she lays her hand on top of Taila’s and mine. Her voice drops—low and steady.
“Listen to me, Mara. Whatever those marks are . . . you’re still you.”
The hall is still too quiet, the weight of too many eyes lingering on me. Then—someone coughs. A tray clatters.
And trusting my friends, the moment loosens, just enough for me to breathe again.
After breakfast, I’m standing in the training grounds, facing Valen. The field is empty except for us.
“We’ll focus on each element separately until you are comfortable wielding each one,” he says. “Magics is not just power—it is choice. Control. Allowance. Understanding.”
I nod, absorbing his words.
“Today, we begin with Earth.”
I shift my weight slightly, feeling the ground solid beneath my boots. But before we start, hesitation tugs at my chest.
“Valen . . . something happened last night.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”
Taking a steady breath, I turn my back to him and lift my shirt just enough to expose the markings along my spine. The air hits cold against my skin.
Valen is silent. Too silent.
I can’t see his expression, but I feel the intensity of his gaze as he takes in the markings. I brace myself for shock, for doubt, for questions I don’t have answers to.
Instead, he steps closer, not touching, but close enough that I feel the shift in the air between us.
“I have never seen such a thing,” he says at last. His voice low. Thoughtful. “But the world is vast. And there is always more to learn.”
I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“This would make sense with what the prophecies say . . . ” he continues, his voice even, unwavering, “and you are the proof. But these—without a dragon . . . ” He trails off. And leaves the rest unsaid.
The tension in my chest loosens, just a little.
Valen steps back. “Come,” he says. “Let us see what the earth will teach you today.”
I pull my shirt back down. Whatever I am . . . whatever these markings mean . . . I will find out.
I nod, flexing my fingers at my sides.
Earth is supposed to be the simplest, the most stable. I’ve worked with it before, but only in small ways—loosening soil for crops, shifting pebbles, nothing like what Valen is about to ask of me.
He gestures to the open ground before us.
“You’ve moved dirt before, yes. But that’s not the same as wielding Earth.” He steps forward, planting his foot into the ground. “The land is not something you command—it’s something you lean into.”
I blow out a breath, trying to absorb his words.
“Close your eyes.”
I hesitate.
He tilts his head. “You’re thinking too much again.”
I scowl, but obey. The world goes dark behind my eyelids. I focus on my breathing. On the feel of the ground beneath me.
“Earth is not light like Air,” Valen says. “It is not fluid like Water. It does not burn like Fire. It is weight, it is presence. It is the foundation beneath your feet.”
He steps around me. I hear the faint sound of his boots against the soil.
“Feel it. Reach for it. Not like you did in the village, not like the simple shifting of soil. Deeper. Further.”
I lower my stance, pressing my palm against the dirt.
Nothing happens.
I grit my teeth. I have done this before. I know I can move it.
I press harder, reaching with my magics, pushing—a tremor. Small. Barely anything. A slight shift beneath my fingertips.
Frustration tightens in my chest. I can still feel Fire humming in my veins, aching to be used—its hunger sharp and immediate.
But that isn’t what I need.
Valen kneels beside me, his voice steady. “You are treating Earth like an obstacle. You are trying to force it to move.”
I snap my eyes open. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
He shakes his head. “No. Earth does not move because you tell it to. It moves because it chooses to.”
I stare at him. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You are not separate from the earth, Amara. You are part of it.”
I exhale hard through my nose, shaking out my hands. Of course he’s speaking in riddles. Again.
I press my palms into the dirt once more. This time, I listen.
The ground is cool beneath my skin. Steady. Patient. Endless.
And then, something shifts.
A low rumble trembles beneath my hands, rolling outward like an exhale. The dirt heaves upward, cracking open in rough, broken lines beneath my hands.
I barely breathe. The earth moves with me.
Valen nods. “Good. Again.”
I exhale, rolling my shoulders and reach.
And the ground responds, more easily now. A broad swath of soil lifts, slow and steady, spreading outward like cracks breaking open in stone. I feel it under my fingertips—alive.
I move with it. And for the first time, I understand.
Valen steps back, watching carefully. “Now—larger.”
I inhale, shifting my stance, feeling the vast presence of earth stretching for miles in every direction. I reach deeper.
And it answers. A deep rumble shakes the ground beneath my feet. Loose dirt pulls toward me in a slow, rolling motion, building, shaping.
I gasp as a section of ground lifts—a mound of earth nearly as tall as me.
Soldiers nearby shout in surprise. Someone curses. I hear a few scattered murmurs, but I barely register them. Because I did it.
I moved the earth.
I step back, heart pounding, my hands tingling with the aftershock of what I just pulled.
Valen smiles—not wide, but real. “Now you’re learning.”
I let out a slow breath, steadying myself. The ground beneath me is no longer unmoving, unyielding. It is mine to move.
Valen steps forward, his expression neutral but focused. “Good. Now, control it.”
I take a slow breath, grounding myself. The mound of earth still stands before me, uneven and rough, a raw display of power.
I frown. “What do you mean—control it?”
He gestures to the raised section of earth. “It isn’t just about lifting and dropping. It’s about intention. Right now, this is instinct. But instinct alone won’t help you shape a battlefield, stabilize terrain, or defend yourself in combat.”