Progress, I guess.
Rowan and Orion lounge on a stone bench nearby. Rowan’s got her legs stretched out, combat boots crossed at the ankles, while Orion leans back with his arms draped along the top of the bench. Casual. Like they’re settling in to watch a show.
“Start with the easy ones,” Wylder calls out.
I roll my shoulders, shaking out the tension in my hands. “Easy. Right. Because everything so far has been a breeze.”
S’Nark chuckles, the sound like gravel scraping glass. “This ought to be entertaining.”
I flip him off without looking and step into the center of the field.
Fire first.Not spirit fire, but actual elemental flames.
I close my eyes, reaching for that thread of heat coiled deep in my chest. It responds immediately, eagerly, like it’s been waiting for permission. Flames spark along my palms, licking up my wrists in bright orange tongues.
They don’t burn. Theysing, humming with energy that makes my whole body vibrate.
I lift my hands, and the fire arcs upward, twisting around me like a living thing. It crowns my head, flickering gold and red, before I snap my focus downward and direct it into a perfect circle on the ground. The flames hold their shape, steady and controlled.
S’Nark lets out a low whistle. “Not bad, Sparkles. I’m a little disappointed you didn’t blow yourself up, but there’s always next time.”
“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.”
I let the fire fade, and the circle dissolves into embers that wink out against the dirt.
Air next.
This one feels lighter, harder to grab. I spread my fingers, calling to the breeze that skims across the field. It answers, swirling around my ankles, lifting my hair. I push harder, and the wind surges—gusts spiraling outward in chaotic bursts.
“Poppy—!” Rowan’s voice cuts off as a particularly strong gust catches her, sending her sprawling off the side of the bench.
Before she hits the ground, Orion uses his cat-like reflexes to catch her flailing arm. He hauls her upright with a grin and flashes me a broad smile. “Two points, Pops.”
Rowan shoves him, laughing. “You’re hilarious.”
“Sorry!” I shout, biting back a laugh. “Kinda!” I rein the wind back in, folding it into a gentle current that circles my arms before dissipating.
Water is trickier. There’s no lake here, no stream. Just dry air and dirt.
I close my eyes again, reaching for the moisture hanging in the atmosphere. It’s faint—barely there—but I coax it forward, gathering vapor molecule by molecule. It condenses in front of me, shimmering droplets forming in midair. I shape them, pulling them into a floating sphere that glows faintly in the afternoon light.
It hovers for three seconds before collapsing into a puddle at my feet.
“Baby steps,” I mutter.
“Babysplashes,” S’Nark corrects, ruffling his feathers.
Earth is last.
I kneel, pressing both palms flat against the ground. The dirt is warm, alive with something deeper than heat. I pour my focus into it, feeling for the current beneath. There is a steady pulse in the land itself.
Runes flare beneath my hands, glowing amber and green. They spread outward in jagged lines, crackling with energy that makes my teeth ache. The ground trembles, and I anchor myself, channeling that grounded power up through my arms and into my core.
It’s solid. Unshakable.
I hold it for a beat, then release, the runes fading back into the dirt like they were never there.
When I stand, my legs feel steady. Stronger.
