Chapter 16 #4
His eyes are so intense, golden flecks blazing within the smoke-gray, I almost melt beneath him.
Almost.
I twist beneath him, bucking hard, trying to throw him off. He doesn’t budge.
“You’re predictable,” he mutters, his voice low, edged with something I can’t place. “You rely too much on your magics. Without it, you hesitate.”
“I’m the Spiritborn,” I snap, “of course I use my magics.”
He stares down at me, unmoving. “And what if it’s not enough? Magics burns out. It has limits—finite, based on what’s inside you. What are you left with when it’s gone?”
He leans in just slightly, his voice a rasp against the steam curling between us. “You fight with everything you have. Not just what’s easy.”
I glare up at him, frustration blazing hotter than the fire we just wielded. “Then let me go and we’ll see how much I hesitate.”
For a breath, he doesn’t move. The steam still hangs in the air, thick and quiet. A shroud of tension. A challenge.
Then—he releases me. He rolls off and stands in one fluid motion. Smooth. Controlled. Distant.
I push up, fire simmering through me now—hot and sharp, and not from the fight. I don’t care about last night. Not the kiss with Kieran. Not the rejection. Not the way Thane looked at me—or didn’t.
All I care about now is wiping that godsdamned impassive look off his face. I’m so sick of unreadable. So sick of pretending it doesn’t get under my skin every time he shuts me out like I don’t matter.
I lunge. No hesitation. No thought. Just rage.
This time, I set the pace. A sharp jab, a feint, a strike aimed at his ribs. He blocks it, but I’m already pivoting, sweeping low to take out his legs.
He stumbles back a step. A flicker of surprise. Then it’s gone—shut down like always.
My fist flies toward his face—he catches it inches from his nose. His eyes lock with mine.
“You’re letting your emotions rule you. Again.” His voice is cool. Detached. Like I’m nothing more than a trainee to him. Like everything we’ve been through—every look, every touch—was just protocol.
I growl and slam into him, my forearm braced against his throat as I drive him back, teeth clenched. Then I drop low and kick out my leg to sweep his. He jumps back, but barely.
And for a second—just one—his mask slips.
Fire erupts between us, but I’m ready.
I rip the ground beneath him, throwing him off balance just long enough to close the gap. My fist connects with his shoulder. He grunts, stepping back. But I don’t let up.
All of it—the rejection, the shame, the way his gaze lingers only to lead to nothing—boils to the surface.
Every time I thought there was something more, only for him to pull away.
Every time he held me close while sparring . . . only to keep me at arm’s length outside it.
It builds inside me.
And I let it fuel me.
My magics surge—not four separate forces, but one.
Fire. Water. Earth. Air.
They fuse.
Swirling, crackling—bending to my will.
A storm of elements explodes outward. The ground trembles and the air thickens—saturated with raw power.
Thane braces, fire leaping to his hands—but even he hesitates. Just for a breath.
Because he’s never seen me like this.
Because I’ve never been like this.
And this time—I don’t hold back.
The air pulses, alive and electric. Fire climbs up my arms, molten tendrils dancing and coiling with the gusting wind that howls around me.
The earth groans beneath my feet, spiderweb cracks splitting outward.
Water pulls from the air itself, droplets forming shimmering streams that spiral through the storm—untouched by fire, untouched by wind, woven into something whole.
Not four elements.
One.
A force. A storm.
Me.
A blinding light flares where they merge—a brilliance that sears across the training field, casting long shadows behind us. The air hums with something ancient, something deep and primal, something that has always lived inside me but has never been unleashed.
Thane takes a step back. His fire sputters in his hands—uncertain. I see it then—the flicker of something close to awe in his eyes. Just for a moment.
And then I release it.
The force erupts from me. A maelstrom—fire, water, earth, and air—colliding, surging outward.
The ground bucks, spiderweb cracks racing across the field.
Flames roar upward, spiraling into the sky as wind howls through the chaos, feeding the blaze.
Water bursts from the air, steaming where it meets fire, turning into a dense mist that rolls over everything.
Thane doesn’t counter. He can’t.
His fire flares—not to strike, but to shield.
A desperate shield against the unstoppable force barreling toward him. The protective magics woven into the field pulse violently, ancient wards straining to contain the sheer scale of my power.
And still—Thane holds. But not unscathed.
The shockwave slams into him. He skids backward, boots digging into the dirt as he fights to stay upright. His arms brace against the force, muscles straining. His fire holds for a moment—flickering wildly—before the weight of my magics overwhelms it.
But some of it gets through.
A scorch tears across his arm, burning through fabric to skin. A shard of earth slams into his side, shattering on impact. The protective enchantments around him flare blindingly, absorbing the brunt of it—barely—before flickering, unstable under the strain.
And in that moment—through the chaos, through the heat and storm and blinding light—I see it.
Pain.
The burn. The blow. The way his body tenses as he takes it all.
Horror hits—sharp, cold, and absolute. I didn’t just lose control.
I hurt him.
I let go.
The storm collapses inward, swallowed by the Elements like it was never there. The air falls eerily still. My magics retreats—silent. Immediate.
I stumble, breathless.
My body trembles from the force that just tore through me. Steam rises in ghostly tendrils from the scorched ground. The training field is wrecked—deep scars carved through the earth, embers still smoldering in the cracks where my power split it open.
And Thane is still standing. Barely.
His shirt is singed. His hair ruffled. Skin streaked with soot and sweat.
A blackened scorch mark blazes across his forearm where my magics broke through.
A thin line of blood trails from a cut along his ribs.
His chest rises and falls in heavy, measured breaths.
His fists are clenched tight at his sides.
The warding magics around him flicker—glitching, overtaxed, never meant to withstand power like this.
And then—finally—his eyes meet mine.
Something inside me cracks open. Now that I’ve seen what I’m capable of—what it did to him—I can’t breathe.
I take a step forward, instinct screaming to go to him, to check if he’s okay, to do something.
But I freeze. Hands shaking. Chest tight. I didn’t mean to hurt him.
I never meant to.
“I—I didn’t mean—” But the words collapse in my throat. My voice wavers. My hands curl uselessly at my sides.
Thane doesn’t move. Not at first. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. Steady. But frayed at the edges.
“Don’t.”
One word. Firm. Final.
“This is what you’re capable of,” he says, breath shallow. “And probably more—once we train you to control it. You needed to see it.”
He takes another strained breath, wincing. “I’ll be okay.”
But he’s not. Not really.
The training wards around us flicker again, light pulsing erratically. Magics struggling to stabilize. Too much power came on too fast.
And then I vomit.
It comes fast and sudden. Maybe it’s the hangover. Maybe it’s the adrenaline draining after merging my Elemental magics. It doesn’t matter.
A hand lifts my braid. Another steadies my back.
I brace my hands on my knees and retch—again and again.
A shout echoes across the field—distant, alarmed. Footsteps follow. Heavy. Rushing.
Witnesses.
I straighten, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, and see the smoke-gray gaze I know too well. Thane stands next to me. So close.
Even bruised. Burned. After I hurt him—really hurt him—he held my hair.
And that wrecks me more.
His eyes tighten and he clucks his tongue. “Your eyes are bloodshot,” he says, studying me. “Your body isn’t yet used to this level of power.”
Before I can say anything, Valen arrives. His robes billow as he steps into the wreckage, eyes scanning the scorched earth, the cracked stone, the air still humming with elemental residue. His gaze lands on Thane—bruised, burned, but upright—then shifts to me.
His expression tightens. Not with anger—but something deeper. Calculation. Concern.
“What in the name of the Elemental gods happened here?” he asks. His voice is sharp, clipped. But not accusing. Not yet.
It’s controlled. Measured. As if he already knows the answer—but needs to hear it from me.
Before I can find my voice, Thane speaks.
“Her Elemental magics merged for the first time—like we suspected they eventually would.”
Each word is precise. Held carefully in check.
Like we suspected they would.
The words hit harder than the earth, the fire—any of it. I blink, my breath catching.
We. They.
My hands curl into fists, but I don’t stay silent. My voice slices through the haze of magics still lingering in the air, sharp and unsteady.
“Like you suspected it would? Is that all I am to you? Just a weapon you’re waiting to see explode?”
Valen exhales, measured, but I see the flicker of something in his eyes. Hesitation.
Thane’s jaw tightens. But he doesn’t look away. Just watches me with that same infuriating intensity. Still standing so close.
And somehow, that only makes my indignation burn hotter. But beneath that, something else stirs. Not magics.
Anger.
This is my life.
Spiritborn or not, Valen keeps telling me I have a choice—that I get to decide who I become. But they’re still making the choices.
For me.
Like I’m a prophecy first, a person second. I should be the one to say how my life goes, for fuck’s sake.
“That’s not what we—” Valen starts.