To anger. To longing. To fear.
To Thane.
When he looks at me like I matter. When I catch myself missing him. When I lie to myself about it being strategy or magics or war—my magics answers before I do. The fire flares hotter. The wind cuts sharper. The water rises even when I don’t call it.
His hand twitches—and before I can brace myself, power slams into me. I stagger back, scowling.
“What the hell was that for?”
He crosses his arms. “Now show me your control.”
I grit my teeth. “Fine.”
I reach for the wind—call it forward, shape it to hit him back. But it comes too fast. Too wild. Too sharp.
Valen dodges, easily. But his eyes narrow. “You cannot let this control you, Amara.”
I exhale through my nose, fists tightening. “And what if I can’t stop it?”
His eyes narrow. “Then you’ll be a slave to it.”
His words nearly gut me.
This isn’t just about Thane.
It’s the war. The prophecy. The people waiting for me to be ready.
The ones who will die if I’m not.
My chest tightens.
Because I haven’t figured out how to separate what Ifeelfrom what Iwield. Because right now—the line between them is gone. And if I don’t fix it—Valen is right.
I’ll be a liability.
And we won’t just lose the war. We’ll lose everything to the dark waiting to devour us.
So I do what I always do when I’m afraid of breaking apart—I start over. One Element at a time. Until it listens.
Until I do.
I wake before dawn. Before the fires and the noise. The air is cool, the sky only just beginning to pale. I change quickly and leave the barracks. I don’t know where I’m going—only that I need to move. My thoughts won’t stop circling. The bond. The prophecy. Thane.
The path unfolds beneath my feet like it’s always known where I’m meant to be. When I finally lift my head, the old temple rises before me, half-swallowed by morning mist.
Four figures stand in silence.
Nerai, Goddess of Water.
Saela, Goddess of Earth.
Vaerion, God of Fire.
Auren, God of Air.
Their carved faces watch me—stern, silent, eternal.
And then the emotions hit. They slam into me like a wave at high tide—grief, shame, fury, confusion, guilt. I nearly drown in it.
