“Okay.”
She climbs back into her bunk without another word. The bed creaks softly beneath her weight.
The barracks settle again. A few of the other soldiers shift, rolling over, pulling blankets tighter around them. A couple of murmurs fade into nothing, and then, one by one, the breaths even out.
The night returns to what it was. Quiet. Still.
But I don’t move. I sit there, staring at the ceiling, hands clenched in the thin fabric of my sheets. The echoes of the dream wind tight around my ribs like a vice.
Eventually, I lie back down. I close my eyes. I don’t dream again.
The morning air is crisp as the barracks stir to life. The scent of damp earth and fresh dew lingers in the air, mixed with the quiet rustle of soldiers dressing for the day.
Lyra tightens the laces of her boots before turning to me, her expression full of concern—but she doesn’t ask about last night. She steps closer and squeezes my shoulder. A simple gesture to let me know she’s here.
I just nod.
She gives me a lopsided smirk before slinging her weapons belt over her shoulder. “Try not to get tossed around today, yeah?”
I huff a breath. “No promises.”
She laughs, then heads off toward the weapons yard, disappearing into the flow of soldiers.
I stand there for a beat longer, adjusting the wraps around myhands, flexing my fingers. Then, I turn in the opposite direction, heading toward the open field where Valen waits.
The training grounds are quiet beneath a pale sky. The wind slips through the tall grass, curling at my skin. Valen stands at the center, robes shifting faintly in the breeze.
He doesn’t turn as I approach—he already knows I’m here.
“You’re late,” he says.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Barely.”
He glances at me—tilts his head. Measuring. Always measuring.
“Today, we focus on Air,” he says, gesturing around us. “You’ve felt it before, but now you will learn to use it. To guide it. Air is not something you hold,” he says. “It is not weight beneath your feet, nor pressure in your chest. It does not burn like Fire, nor resist like Water. It moves. It shifts. It flows.” His gaze flickers to the tall grass swaying at our feet, to the way his robes shift with the wind. “It is constant, yet untouchable,” he continues. “Your task is not to command it, Amara. It is to move with it.”
I exhale, shaking out my hands. The wind curls gently around my ankles, but frustration still burns hot beneath my skin.
“Why do you always speak in circles?” I mimic his cadence with barely veiled annoyance. “Move with it, don’t force it, let it guide you—what does that even mean?” I narrow my eyes. “Why can’t you just tell me what to do?”
Valen doesn’t even blink. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t rise to the bait.
“Because the elements are not weapons you wield,” he says simply. “They are forces that exist beyond you. You cannot shape what you do not understand. You cannot control what you do not listen to.”
I huff, crossing my arms. “Fine.”
Valen doesn’t react. Of course he doesn’t. He just watches,waiting. I inhale sharply, forcing down my frustration. My knuckles tighten, but I don’t argue.
“Close your eyes,” he instructs. “Feel the air around you. It is already there. You do not need to summon it—only guide it.”
I hesitate for a moment, then obey.
The wind curls against my skin, brushes against my hair, whispers past my ears. It is everywhere, yet impossible to grasp. I reach—not with my hands, but with intention.
The breeze slips through me like mist, gone before I can find it.
I furrow my brow, trying harder. I push—try topullthe air toward me, tomakeit respond. Nothing.
