Chapter 17 #2
“Amara . . . if your magics are already beyond what should be possible, then when this bond completes—” He stops himself, then meets my gaze. “You may not come back the same person.”
I swallow, the words sitting like stone in my gut. “Then how do we prepare for something we don’t understand?”
He rises from his chair slowly, as if the act itself costs something.
“We begin with what we do know,” he says. “We trust the dragons—their knowledge, their intentions. And we hope it’s enough.”
He steps toward me, resting a hand gently on my shoulder. Solid. Steady.
I nod. My pulse is calm—even as the world feels like it’s tilting beneath my feet. Because one thing hasn’t changed.
Calryx is calling me.
“I’m ready.”
Valen lets his hand fall from my shoulder. Then he turns—just slightly. Like he needs the moment. Like he can’t look at me and hold this truth at the same time.
When he faces me again, his expression is different. Hardened. Still. Composed not with peace—but resolve.
“No,” he says. “You think you’re ready. But if you leap unprepared, it won’t matter how strong you are. The bond isn’t just a connection, Amara. It’s a surrender. You don’t get to force it. You don’t get to control it.”
I lift my chin. My voice is quiet. But unwavering. “I don’t need to control it.”
Valen holds my gaze a moment longer. Then sighs. “We’ll see.”
Thane wasn’t surprised when we told him. Not like Valen—stunned into silence. Not like the others—wide-eyed, murmuring about prophecy and impossibilities.
He just nodded, like he had already known. Like he had been waiting for this moment.
When I asked him why, he only said, “Because I believe you were never meant to walk this path alone.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. But I felt it.
Deep in my bones, where Calryx’s call still burned.
They dismantled everything I thought I controlled—until nothing was left but instinct. Not in strength. Not in skill. But in control.
Because the leap wasn’t about power.
It was about faith.
And faith was something I had never been taught to rely on.
I’d always trusted what I could hold in my hands—the earth beneath my feet, the burn in my muscles, the clean bite of a hoe slicing into soil.
But faith?
Faith was uncertain. Shapeless. Something I couldn’t mold with will alone.
And yet . . . wasn’t that what the past few months had been? Hadn’t I already stepped into the unknown, time and time again? Hadn’t I survived things that should have been impossible? Hadn’t I watched the world shift around me in ways no logic could explain?
Maybe faith wasn’t about surrendering to something unknown.
Maybe it was about acknowledging what had always been there.
Thane stands across from me, his stance relaxed but coiled, ready. I can’t see him but I can feel him. The blindfold over my eyes makes sure of that.
I lunge first.
Too slow the first time. Too fast the second. The third—Thane knocks me off balance, sweeping my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard, the impact rattling through my bones.
“Again,” he said.
Always, again.
I clench my teeth and shove myself upright, fingers curling into fists. “This is pointless.”
“It’s only pointless because you’re trying to see.” His voice is steady, sharp. But I hear his patience thinning. “You rely too much on what’s in front of you. The world isn’t something you can predict, Amara. You think your eyes will always show you the truth? They won’t.”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see them. “And my instincts will?”
“Yes.”
His boots scuff against the ground, circling me, forcing me to turn, to listen. To guess.
But it’s not enough.
A sharp crack—his strike lands before I can react. Again.
I snarl, swinging blind—but he is already gone, moving like a shadow, uncatchable.
Frustration curls hot in my core. No—deeper than that. Desperation.
The connection to Calryx keeps growing stronger. It’s been building with every step, every breath.
She’s waiting.
And I’m here, stuck. Failing.
“Stop reaching for control,” Thane growls. “Trust what’s already there.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “And what if I can’t?”
Silence.
Then—”Then you’ll fall.”
The words hit like a slap. I exhale.
Steady. Slow.
Stillness.
I let the frustration settle; let go of the urge to anticipate. And I listen. Start feeling.
I let the Air element move through me.
The shift of air.
The tension of movement.
The quiet hum of presence.
A flicker of instinct—
Thane moves.
And this time, when he strikes, I’m ready. I don’t hesitate. I turn and block him mid-strike, effortless. Precise.
He stills. A soft sound escapes him—almost like approval.
And in that moment, I understand.
The wind howls around me.
I stand at the edge of the training platform, arms loose at my sides. The drop below isn’t deadly—just far enough to feel the full force of the fall before the net of air magics catches me.
I’ve fallen before.
In magics training. In moments where I had no choice but to trust my instincts and let the wind break my descent.
But this isn’t the same. Because this isn’t about wielding the wind. It’s about letting it wield me.
Valen stands behind me, tension between his brows. “Jump,” he says.
I don’t move. His gaze weighs on me—patient, but unyielding.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s the problem.”
I clench my fists, my breath comes short and tight. “What if it doesn’t catch me?”
“Then you’ll hit the ground.” His voice is maddeningly calm. “But it will. Because you already know it will. The wind is part of you, Amara. You can channel it, but can you trust it?”
I swallow hard. This should be easy. But if I jump and nothing catches me, that means I was never meant to fly.
I suck in a sharp breath, my heart pounding. The wind presses against me, waiting.
I hesitate. And in that hesitation, I almost lose everything. Because hesitation means I don’t believe. And the wind does not serve doubt.
I have spent my whole life wielding the earth Element; spent these past few months bending all four Elements to my will, channeling and shaping them into something I can control.
But now, Valen is asking me to do the opposite.
To trust that the wind already knows what to do. That it doesn’t need me to guide it.
The edge looms before me, vast and empty, stretching into the open sky. I stare down, my stomach twisting.
My feet feel rooted. I’m not afraid of falling. I’m afraid of what happens if nothing catches me.
I flex my fingers, sucking in a sharp breath.
You merged the elements, I remind myself. You wielded fire and water together. You shattered what was thought impossible. So why is this so—
A gust of wind hits me from behind, knocking me forward a fraction. Like the wind itself is losing patience.
My pulse jumps. I dig my heels in, instinct tightening my muscles.
No.
I’m not ready.
Valen’s voice cuts through the wind. “You’re fighting it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I just—” I stop, shaking my head. I don’t even know how to explain it.
Valen’s voice softens. “You’re afraid of letting go.”
My throat tightens.
No.
I’m not afraid . . . am I?
I have spent months forging myself into something stronger, pushing past every limit, breaking every boundary. But here, standing on the edge of this platform, facing something as simple as a jump—
I can’t move. Because this isn’t about jumping. It’s about relinquishing.
The moment stretches unbearably long. Then, gently, Valen speaks again.
“You don’t need to control this, Amara.”
His words send a sharp pang through my chest. Because isn’t that all I’ve ever done? Especially these last few months? Control. Hold tight. Keep myself from slipping, from failing, from falling.
But the bond I’m about to step into—I can’t control it. Isn’t that what I’ve been struggling with all along?
The wind stirs again—waiting.
Valen speaks once more. “You don’t need to prove yourself. You already belong.”
I breathe.
Let my body loosen. Let my fingers uncurl.
And I step forward.
The fall is instant—gravity yanking me down, the world rushing past in a blur of air and weightlessness.
I don’t call for the wind. I don’t force it to catch me.
And then—it catches me anyway. Soft. Steady. Effortless.
I float. Carried. Held.
And for the first time, I realize—I never had to prove anything.
I already belong.
Fire circles around me in tight, hungry whorls.
Steam hisses where flame meets water, the heat curling against my skin—thickening the air with scorching humidity. The water surges at my waist, rising.
The flames flicker wild, alive, dancing in patterns I’d normally shape into control.
The earth beneath my feet is solid, but I feel the tension—the way the stone wants to shift, to mold itself to my presence.
Air swirls thick with heat and dust. It pulls at me, restless, carrying heat from the flames, mist from the water, and dust from the earth.
I stand waist-deep in the pool, my hands bound at my sides. All Elements are here. Watching. Expecting.
“You merged the Elements,” Valen says from the ledge. “But can you let them guide you?”
I exhale sharply. “I already am.”
“No.” His voice cracks through the air.
“You’re still trying to control them,” he says. “Let them move as they should.”
I grit my teeth. “If I don’t guide them, the fire could—”
“Could harm you?” Valen’s voice is sharp.
I flinch.
“Is that what you believe? That the very thing within you—the thing that made you—would burn you?”
The words strike deep.
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes. Because isn’t that exactly what I believe? I’ve spent months bending them, shaping them, forcing obedience.
But never once did I ask myself why. Why I grip so tight. Why I can’t just let them be.
Have I ever truly trusted them?
A gust of heat curls around me, licking against my skin—as if waiting for my answer. The water tugs at my waist, restless. The air thickens, swirling chaotically around me, sending ripples through the water and feeding the flames.