“This can’t be real . . . ”
“I’m afraid it is,” Valen says, steady as stone.
I push myself up, the blanket falling away. I quickly stand, but my legs are unsteady, barely holding me upright. I fall back onto the bed as the thought hits with the force of a blow—knocking the breath from my lungs.
My stomach lurches, ice flooding my chest.
“If that’s really true . . . ” My voice fractures. “Then my parents died because of me.”
Valen exhales, but his expression doesn’t change. “Amara—”
“No!”
The word cracks like a whip. My fists ball at my sides. “If they were looking for me, then they came tomyvillage because ofme!That means—”
The thought hits too hard. My voice crumples.
“That means my parents—everyone—died becauseIwas there.”
The room constricts around me. The walls too close. The air too thin. My breaths turn sharp and shallow, my vision blurring at the edges as panic swells, fierce and fast, dragging me under.
No.
No, no, no. Not this.
Then—his hand finds my shoulder.
Steady. Solid. A quiet warmth. The kind that spreads like breath through the chest, slow and rhythmic—something softer. Centering.
“Breathe, Amara,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “Focus on me. Feel the ground beneath you. You’re here. You’re safe.”
The warmth moves deeper—into my limbs, into the spaces I didn’t realize were clenched. My heart slows. The roar in my ears begins to fade. My body responds before my thoughts can catch up, like it knows something I don’t.
The storm inside me begins to quiet.
I blink, chest still heavy—but the sharp edge of panic has dulled. The world feels a little less tilted. And suddenly, I’m aware of him again. His hand is still on my shoulder, that strange, calming energy is still moving through me.
I stare at him, confused. “What . . . what did you just do?”
Valen watches me closely, his grip steady but not forceful. “I helped you ground yourself,” he says simply.
I shake my head, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. “That’s not an answer.”
The words come out sharper than I meant, but I don’t take them back. My skin’s buzzing. My chest is cracked wide open. I feel like I’m standing on a ledge, staring into a truth I didn’t ask for.
And I don’t know if stepping forward means falling or flying.
I pull back, breaking his touch. But the warmth lingers—like an ember buried just beneath my skin. I don’t understand what he did or how, but the strange calm left behind makes my stomach twist.
Valen exhales, drawing back slightly. “It’s calledMarenai.An old technique. Water Clan origin. Not magics in the way most define it—more . . . a way to steady energy. To keep the mind from shattering under too much, too fast.”
I swallow. My pulse is still off-rhythm. “You’re saying I was breaking?”
He tilts his head, thoughtful. Measured. “You wereunraveling. A panic response. The mind’s way of shielding itself from a truth it’s not ready to carry.”
Then, quieter—sharper: “And Amara . . . I’m sorry to say this, but you don’t have the luxury of falling apart.”
A laugh tears out of me, harsh and broken. “Luxury?” My hands are shaking now, and I don’t try to hide it. “You think Iwantthis? To sit here while you drip out cryptic riddles like some scholar with a god complex?” The grief spikes hot behind my ribs. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask foranyof this.”
