I swallow. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“You do,” Valen corrects. “You just don’t know you do.” His smirk is faint, but his eyes are sharp. “Close your eyes.”
I hesitate, then obey.
“Forget the earth for a moment,” he says. “Forget the ground beneath your feet. Forget weight, stone, and stability.”
Easier said than done.
But, I try. I focus on my breath. On the air around me. On—
“Now,” Valen’s voice is softer, but insistent. “Instead of grounding yourself, let go.”
My brow furrows.
“Water isn’t held,” he says. “It isn’t rooted. It moves. Shifts. Flows. It does not resist. It becomes.”
I swallow, nodding slightly. Concentrating.
“Reach for that,” he says. “Don’t push. Don’t pull. Just . . . feel.”
I exhale slowly.
And then, something changes.
It isn’t like Earth. That had been solid, powerful, something deep-rooted and forceful. This is different. It is cooler. Softer. But no less alive.
A steady presence, patient and vast.
My fingers twitch. Somewhere nearby, the lake stirs. My eyes snap open. A ripple skates across the surface—small, butunmistakable.
My heart pounds.
Valen watches, approving. “There it is.”
“I—I don’t think I can do it again,” I say, muscles tense from holding too much stillness.
“You can.”
I hesitate.
Then close my eyes again, reaching out, listening.
The water is waiting. Moving.
I can feel it shifting, alive beneath the surface.
“Now,” Valen’s voice comes low and steady, “stop hesitating. Reach deeper.”
I frown, my pulse spiking. “I—”
“Reach for it, Amara,” Valen says, firm. “Command it.”
I take a slow breath, and let go.
The reaction is instant. A sudden pulse of energy erupts from my chest, rushing outward like a flood breaking free from a shattered dam.
The lake explodes.
