“Not this again…” I mutter, pulling off my glove and pressing it into the cover.
A lot of time has passed since my last training session with Wrath. I’m wary of using magic like this again—scared that I’ll hit burnout like last time. Worse, I acted like a drunk idiot around Wrath the last time I saw him. I still only have a hazy sense of what happened between us. Nevertheless, he places his hand over mine, causing my mark to ignite. And if I’m being honest with myself… it ignites me too.
“You’re nervous,” Wrath comments. How he detects the minute shifts in emotion, I’ll never know. I feel as though he has a map to navigate me, while I’m left with a blank page.
I pull my hand away as I turn to face him. “Yes, I’m nervous.”
“The magic won’t work if you’re afraid of it,” he replies, lowering his arm to his side. “I know burnout hurts. You can’t let your fear of pain control you.”
“I’m never going to be able to do this.” My shoulders slump in defeat.
“Yes, you can,” Wrath counters. “You opened the first page.”
“I’m just a half-blood?—”
“Halfling,” he corrects me. “You’re a descendant of Seluna. Don’t diminish your flame.”
Wrath told me the tale of Seluna a while ago. To be honest, I didn’t give the story a second thought. If the goddess's power truly runs in my veins, shouldn’t I have already been able to open the journal?
“The Warlord would silence their doubts long before the enemy ever could. Right?” Wrath reminds me with yet another word-for-word quote.
“Yes…”
“Nothing is scarier than being an Evokari,” he says coldly. “Trust me.”
“Why?”
“Most Evokari try to siphon magic from others to gain more power, but end up hearing voices and having surges of uncontrollable emotions,” Wrath explains. “Too much manipulation of others can cause mental loops, where the user hears certain phrases or words repeatedly. It causes psychosis and insanity.”
“You’ve experienced that?” I ask softly.
He nods. “The majority don’t live past the age of eighteen. It’s too grueling to master; they end up taking their own lives.”
His sudden admission shocks me—a small glimpse of vulnerability that few could see. It is a testament to his mental fortitude. Do people fear Wrath for his command of this erratic power? They are subservient but always wary, never getting too close to the one who could turn them inside out on a whim.
“Do you feel as if Remedari are more beloved?”
“Remedari have it worse. They take on the pain they heal, many shortening their lifespans on accident if they give too much of themselves trying to heal someone.” He sighs. “Theyoften get phantom pains, even though no physical harm is present.”
“That’s so awful…” I have long viewed magic as mystical and fantastic, but now I see its equally complex dangers.
“You are lucky that you are a Verthari,” Wrath says, his voice distant. “Try again.”
I return my attention to the journal and press my hand to the leather. Wrath’s hand covers mine, now a strange comfort I’ve grown accustomed to. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath to focus.
“Attune yourself to the earth first, power second,” he guides me. “Find the source.”
By source, I assume he speaks of Elderaneth, the well of all magic. I sift through the noise and try to find the spring. My palm erupts, and the magic pushes me back. I go completely rigid as I anticipate hitting the ground. Arms wrap quickly around me as I slam into Wrath’s chest. He caught me. I look up at him, our faces close as I search his features for the incoming reprimand or anger.
It’s not there.
“It’s okay,” he reassures me. “You can try again.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Walking back to my spot, I try again, letting the magic flow through me as it did last time. My fingertips tingle as energy pulses beneath my skin, seeking connection. A deep hum of energy vibrates through the air as I focus on the journal beneath me.
“You’re going to overcharge.” Wrath’s words snap me out of my trance. “Relax.”
