She’s somewhere on the other side of the outpost now. And I’m here, feeling so far away from her . . . far from home.
Only the wind moves here, sweeping across the open field. Far enough that the usual sounds of outpost life—the clang of metal against metal, the murmur of voices, the distant roar of dragons—have faded into nothing. Valen said yesterday it was precautionary.In case something goes wrong.
I’m not sure whether that’s meant to reassure me or warn me. Either way, it isn’t comforting.
The field stretches out around us, edged by a dense tree line that borders the eastern cliffs. Beyond that, the land slopes downward into wild, untamed territory, where mist clings to the valleys and the rivers carve deep into the stone.
It’s the kind of place where power could unravel without consequence.
Here we go.
Valen stands a few paces away, arms crossed, watching me like he’s waiting for something inside me to split wide. “Startsmall,” he instructs. “I need to see where your foundations lie.”
I nod, rolling a pebble between my fingers. It is cool and rough, its edges worn smooth by time. Earth I know like the back of my hand.
I press my palm against the ground and reach.
Stonecalling.
The pebble vibrates, then lifts into the air, hovering just above my fingertips. A second rock shifts near my boot, answering the unspoken pull.
Valen makes a low, neutral sound in his throat. “Good. Again.”
I let the stones drop, exhaling slow, steady. Then press my fingers into the soil.
Soilshaping.
The packed dirt loosens beneath my touch, softening to fine dust before settling again.
Earthen Sense.
I kneel, fingertips brushing the ground, and the world beneath me speaks. The faint tremor of insects burrowing. The distant weight of a bird landing in the trees.
I smirk. “You shifted your weight to your right foot.”
Valen raises a brow. “Not bad.”
One by one, I demonstrate the lesser Earth magics.
Dustcalling—easy. A small cloud of dirt lifts into the air at my command.
Geomarking—I trace a smooth stone, leaving behind a faint, deliberate imprint.
But when he asks forRootweaving, I hesitate. This one has always been . . . off for me. Like trying to move something that doesn’t quite belong to me. Still, I reach out to the nearest vine, willing it to move. It responds—reluctantly, sluggish and stiff.
Valen’s gaze doesn’t waver. “That felt forced.”
I exhale sharply. “A little.”
“We’ll come back to it.” He nods. “TryWeightbinding.”
I smile. This one’s easy.
I focus, shifting my presence, making myself lighter. When I step forward, I barely feel the ground beneath me. Then, I reverse it, anchoring myself deep into the soil. My boots press into the dirt. My stance becomes unshakable.
Valen’s sharp gaze follows every move. “Good control,” he admits. “But that’s all lesser magics. Let’s see what happens when you go further.” He steps back, gesturing to the open field. “Raise the earth, Amara.”
I brace myself. I take a slow breath, planting my feet firmly into the soil. Then, I reach—push.
