But the Summer Solstice does not belong to fire alone. The other elements have their part in the celebration too.
While only the riders can channel and wield the elementsfully, everyone at the outpost possesses lesser magics—small gifts of their respective elements, subtle but still tangible in moments like these.
Water Clan riders gather at the reflecting pools beyond the barracks, where moonlight shimmers across the still surface. They weave water into glowing orbs, lifting them skyward before releasing them—droplets cascading like summer rain.
Clan members with lesser magics stand beside them, adding their gifts to the tribute.
Air Clan riders dance along the outpost walls, their movements summoning gusts that scatter petals in spiraling patterns.
With each twirl and leap, the wind carries their laughter into the night.
Those with lesser magics dance among them, adding their joy to the sky.
Earth Clan members spend the day weaving garlands and crowns from vine and bloom, adorning the outpost in symbols of growth and abundance.
At dusk, those who channel press their palms to the earth, coaxing luminescent blooms to unfurl—petals glowing faint as night descends.
Others join them, offering quiet magics to the soil.
Though I can wield all four elements, today I chose the Earth Clan. Lyra and I wove garlands for our hair—petaled crowns for the night’s celebration, when every clan gathers around the bonfire.
I have always loved the Solstice. It’s a moment of pure magics, unity among the elements, a time when the world feels connected, alive, and in harmony.
I stand near one of the long tables, a cool goblet of mead in hand, surrounded by fruit and fresh bread.
Thane is further down the courtyard, standing in the glowof the torches. He’s speaking with Garrick—but even here, in celebration, something distant shadows his face.
The musicians quicken their pace—a bright, bounding rhythm that has my foot tapping before I even realize.
“We should be dancing.”
I turn to find Lyra beside me, a playful smile on her lips.
“I think I’m going to make Garrick dance with me. I better see you out there!”
She gestures toward the dancers spinning around the bonfire.
Without waiting for a response, she saunters off—loops her arm through Garrick’s, and drags him toward the music. “Come on, soldier!”
Garrick lets out a laugh but follows her willingly into the lively throng. I linger at the edges, watching as they spin to the rhythm of the music. The drums pound, fiddles strum, feet stamp, and bodies twirl beneath the lantern-lit sky.
A movement at my side catches my attention. A soldier grasps my hand with a grin.
“Let’s dance,” he says, already tugging me toward the center of the floor.
He has the unmistakable look of the Air Clan—windswept blonde hair, tousled just enough to seem intentional. His eyes are a striking blend of blue and silver, shifting with the flicker of the bonfire, seemingly alight with mischief.
Those eyes catch mine just before he spins me into the rhythm—smooth, effortless—as if we’ve danced this a dozen times before.
“You’re Amara Thalor. The Spiritborn,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather.
“You seem to know me,” I reply, breathless from the spin, “but I don’t know you.”
The soldier pulls me close—warmth and confidence in motion—then spins me away with a grin.
“Kieran Vael,” he announces, releasing my hand and halting the dance just long enough to bow with a flourish worthy of a stage. “At your service.”
I drop into a quick curtsey in response, then straighten, laughing—unable to take any of this formality seriously.
