Valen traces his fingers along a faded map of the realm, the parchment worn at the edges from years of study.
“The Clans are no longer as distinct as they once were,” he says. “Once, fire wielders only married other fire wielders. Water stayed with water. Air stayed with air. It was tradition—one meant to preserve their elemental strength.”
I glance at the map, where the ancient borders of the Clans are outlined—divisions that once separated them but now feel little more than history.
“But that isn’t the case anymore,” Valen continues, shifting his gaze to me. “The world has changed. People travel, mix, intermarry. There is Fire in the Earth Clan, Earth in the Water Clan. The bloodlines are no longer exclusive.”
I frown. “So why don’t people wield all the elements? If the bloodlines are mixed—shouldn’t the magics be mixed too?”
Valen shakes his head. “Magics follows dominance, not dilution.”
I pause, considering. “The strongest blood determines the magics,” I murmur, half to myself.
“Exactly,” Valen nods. “If someone has Fire and Water ancestry, but their Fire lineage is stronger, then Fire is what manifests. The other remains dormant. It exists in them, but it does not answer them.”
I grip my quill a little tighter, the ink staining the tip of my finger as I let his words settle. What does that mean for me? The logic is clear. Magics choose the strongest blood. And yet, I wield all four elements.
Valen watches me for a moment before adding, “This is why elemental wielders always reflect their lineage. A Fire Clan warrior will never suddenly command Water. An Earth-blooded merchant won’t wake up and control the wind.” He pauses, his silver eyes gleaming. “Unless something unnatural has happened.”
The words dig into my ribs, settling heavy in my chest.
Unnatural.
I don’t say anything. I just keep writing, my fingers gripping the parchment a little too tightly. What am I?
That afternoon, the training room is quiet, the only sounds are the squeak of our boots against the mats and the steady rhythm of my own breathing.
I stand across from Thane, my muscles already burning from hours of training, my body aching from being thrown to the mats more times than I can count—even with the protective enchantments.
Except now, the enchantments are weaker because Thane has lessened their effect. Apparently, I’m progressing. Not enough to win, but enough that hits will now leave a mark.
“You’re relying too much on force,” Thane says. “And you’re going to lose if you keep trying to overpower someone bigger than you.”
I scowl, adjusting my stance. “So, what? I just let them hit me?”
One of his brows lifts. “No. You use their own attack against them.”
“If your opponent is stronger, don’t fight them head-on. Redirect their attack. Let their own movement work against them.”
I shake my head. “Sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘don’t get hit.’”
The corner of Thane’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “Then don’t get hit.”
I exhale sharply, cracking my knuckles in annoyance. “Oh, sure. Easy.”
“Not yet,” he says, stepping forward. “But it will be.”
Before I can argue, he moves. It happens so fast that I barely have time to process it—a step forward, a feint, then a controlledstrike aimed at my ribs.
I tense, bracing for the impact, preparing to meet it with resistance, but that’s exactly what he wants me to do. Before I know it, I’m on my back again, staring up at the ceiling, the breath knocked from my lungs.
Thane stands over me, arms still loose at his sides, expression unbothered, as if he already knew exactly how this would end.
“You’re thinking too much,” he says, offering me a hand. “Get up.”
I take it, letting him haul me to my feet. My entire body aches, but the frustration outweighs the pain.
“This isn’t about blocking,” Thane explains, stepping back into position. “It’s about flow. Matching the movement and guiding it somewhere else.”
