I am still gasping for breath, my heart racing as the last ripples of water fade into the lake. My arms tremble from the strain of reigning in the magics.
My body is lead-heavy, my head spinning. Every instinct screams to push back—snap something sharp, tell him enough.
Then—
A drop lands on my hand.
Red.
I blink, lift my fingers to my face. They come away bloody.
I stare down, stunned. Disbelieving.
“It happens sometimes,” Valen says, his voice calm, reassuring. “When a powerful wielder channels for the first time. A bloody nose. A headache. Sometimes—if not careful—a blackout.”
His eyes soften, steady. “Your body will adjust with practice.”
But the part of me that’s still shaking—the part that just tasted something I don’t fully understand—hesitates.
“Valen, I—”
“You can,” he interrupts, sharp but calm. Certain. “And you will. Now wield Air.”
I rake a hand through my damp hair. The wind lifts around us—cool and crisp. I glance at the open fields, the empty horizon. We arefarfrom the outpost. I understand why now. Because if I lose control again—ifAiris anything like Earth or Water—we’ll need the space.
I swallow hard. “I don’t even know how to try.”
“You said the same about Water,” Valen reminds me. “And yet, the lake nearly swallowed us whole.”
I scowl. “That’s not comforting.”
He smirks slightly, but there is no amusement in his eyes. “You’re hesitating again.”
“Because I don’t know how to—”
“Stop saying that.” His voice is firm, but not unkind. “You think too much. You try to force control. That’s not how this works.”
I look away, jaw tight.
The wind shifts. Leaves rustle along the edge of the clearing. Cool air brushes over my skin, lifts strands of my hair soft, insistent.
“Air is not like Earth or Water,” Valen continues. “It’s not solid. It’s not something you touch or see. It’s something you feel.”
He steps in front of me, holding my gaze. “Close your eyes.”
I hesitate—then obey.
I don’t know if I believe in any of this. But something inside me—something deeper than logic—is leaning forward. Reaching.
I see my parents in flashes—dream-memories I don’t fully understand. I hear that voice again, calling.
The world sharpens. Without sight, everything else expands. I hear the wind threading through the trees, whispering across the field. I feel it curl along my arms, brush my clothes, circle my body like it’s waiting.
Alive.
“Air is freedom,” Valen murmurs. “Movement. Weightlessness. It doesn’t hold you down. It lifts you.”
His voice fades.
