Water launches skyward in a towering column, the surface churning, roiling. Waves crash against the shore. Droplets lift into the air—suspended, spiraling, twisting around me like they’ve been caught in a storm with no center.
The power rushes through me, flooding my veins, yanking at my core like a riptide.
Too much.
I gasp, staggering backward, my hands trembling as the air crackles with energy. The water won’t stop moving. It isn’t like Earth, where I could anchor myself, dig in, force control over it.
Water doesn’t submit. It rages. Flows. Drowns.
“Amara—breathe!” Valen’s voice cuts through, barely.
But I can’t.
The magics surges again, and the lake rises higher, toweringlike a living, writing thing. I am losing control. Panic claws at throat.
I try to force the water back, but the more I struggle, the wilder it becomes. The droplets twist into blades—thin, slicing streams that carve through the air.
I can’t stop it.
“Amara, listen to me!” Valen is in front of me now, his voice calm but urgent.
I clench my fists, teeth gritted. “I—I don’t knowhow!”
“You’re trying to control it the wrong way,” he says. “Water isn’t Earth. You can’tforceit. You have toguideit.”
I barely hear him. It’s buried beneath the roar.
Beneatheverything.
“Stop fighting against it,” Valen continues, stepping closer. “Stop panicking. Stop thinking about what youcan’tdo. Flow with it.”
How do you stop panicking when you’re in the middle of a panic?!
My breath is sharp, uneven. I force a slow exhale.
The water shifts.
I stop resisting—and instead of spiraling out of control, the magics settles. The towering wave doesn’t collapse. Itcurves. The droplets spinning wildly around me slow, drifting back toward the lake. The storm I created calms.
And finally, the surface stills.
I sway on my feet, my pulse hammering, exhaustion sweeping through me like an undertow. Valen catches my arm before I can fall.
I gasp for breath, eyes locked on the lake.
It looks . . . untouched. As if none of it ever happened.
But it did.
I turn to Valen, my voice raw. “What—what was that?”
He meets my gaze, the gleam in his eyes undeniable.
“That,” he says softly, “was proof.”
My stomach knots. “Proof of what?”
His eyes harden—flint-sharp, certain. “That you’re more than just an Earth Wielder. And not only do you wield, you channel.”
