Still breaks things without meaning to.
Two nights ago, she crushed one of the dinner bowls trying to carry it with both hands.
She cried when she realized what she’d done. Big, heaving sobs.
“I didn’t want to,” she kept saying. “Ididn’t want to.”
Vael just picked her up, carried her outside, and held her while she calmed.
I watched from the doorway, heart twisted up tight.
Because shewantsto be good. She wants to do right.
She’s just still learning how tobe.
Like me.
Some mornings,I sit beside Kevari during drills.
She doesn’t talk much, which I appreciate.
But once, while watching Nessa struggle through a breathwork stance, she muttered, “Fire doesn’t ask permission before it burns. But itcanbe taught where to spread.”
I nodded.
Didn’t cry until later.
A week into training, Nessa punches a target post so hard it snaps clean at the base.
There’s a beat of silence—everyone frozen, eyes wide.
Then Nessa gasps, steps back, and blurts, “I’msorry!”
She looks horrified.
Like she broke themoon,not a training dummy.
Kevari lifts a brow.
“Well?” she says. “Did youmeanto do that?”
Nessa shakes her head so hard her curls whip her cheeks.
“Then next time,” Kevari says, “do notletyourself.”
And that’s it.
No yelling. No punishment. Just truth.
And gods—Nessa just nods. Face red. Mouth trembling. But nods.
I feel tears sting my eyes before I can stop them.
Because it’s clumsy.
It’s awkward.
It’sso damn beautiful.
