I exhale sharply, shaking out my hands.
“You’re trying to force it,” Valen says. “Air does not yield to force. Try again.”
My feet plant as I inhale deeply. I try to move with the air this time, to feel its current, to let it flow around me rather than fight it.
A flicker of something brushes against me, a whisper of wind responding to my presence. But it’s too weak, too thin. The moment I try to hold it, it slips away, lost to the sky.
Frustration coils in my chest. I open my eyes, my fists clenching at my sides.
“I can’t get it to stay.”
“Because you are still trying to hold it,” Valen says evenly. “You cannot grip the wind, Amara. But you can guide it.”
I swallow, steadying my breathing.One more time.
Feel the wind as it is, not as I want it to be.
I listen. Let it move around me. Through me. And then—I shift with it. The air twists around my body. It brushes my skin. Lifts strands of hair. The breeze coils—curious, cautious. Not mine to command. Butaware.
And for the first time, it feels like we’re not fighting. We’relisteningto each other.
I open my hands, letting my fingers drift with the air, not against it.
Then it shifts.
The wind moves away from me, sweeping outward, catching the edges of Valen’s robes. The fabric ripples and stirs, the current twining around him, as if it recognizes him, too.
My breath hitches, but I don’t lose focus. I don’t force it to stay. I just let it move.
Valen nods. “Good,” he says. “Again.”
I inhale deeply, feeling the wind coil around me, playful, light. The air shifts, curling outward from my fingertips, swirling through the grass, lifting strands of my hair. It wants to move, and this time, I follow.
My wrist turns, tilting my fingers—and the wind spins out, stirring the grass, tugging at loose leaves. Dust rises, caught in the motion. A ribbon of air twists in front of me. Controlled.Alive.
I did that.I blink, my pulse spiking. It’s working.
The air hums around me, the current shifting in rhythm with my breath. The tiny vortex whirls higher, spinning in a tight column, a ribbon of wind that lifts and bends at my direction. The leaves dance within it, tumbling effortlessly, held within the current.
I glance at Valen, half-expecting him to look surprised, impressed. Something.
He just nods. “Good. Now, something bigger.”
I barely have time to process before he continues.
“Expand it,” he instructs. “Feel the movement, the pull. Stretch it wider. Stronger.”
I swallow. Reach.
The wind responds—fast. The small column widens, spins harder, dust kicking up in spirals. The air presses againstme now, curling around my arms, pushing through the grass, bending it low.
This is different.Not playful.Powerful.
“Hold it,” Valen says.
I grit my teeth, the strain creeping into my muscles. My feet dig into the ground, my breath steady but sharp. The current tugs at my tunic, whips my hair across my face. The power thrums through me, restless, surging.
The whirlwind grows several more feet in expanse, the rush of air humming in my ears, pulling harder at the grass, the leaves, the dust. The wind wants to keep moving, wants to spiral faster, to spread wider.
