Valen doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t soften.
“You’re fighting it again,” he says simply. “Let it movewithyou—not against.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath ragged.
Move with it. Not grip it. Not hold it. Just . . . move.
My arms tremble, the weight sinking into my bones.
Valen remains still. His voice, the same.
“Water is never still, Amara. It does not crush—it surrounds.It does not resist—it shifts. Adapt to it, and it will hold itself.”
The words settle quietly beneath my ribs.
And I let go.
I stop trying to anchor it. Stop trying to drag it into stillness. Instead, I move with it, like a dance, my hands flow with the current. The weight doesn’t vanish, but it does change.
Itlistens.
The water shifts, rolling in smooth waves rather than trembling under my control. I shift my hands and the water obeys, twisting into a flowing current, shaping itself into a coiling arc above the lake.
For the first time, I’m not drowning beneath the Element. I’minsideit. A part of it.
Valen nods once. “Good,” he says. “Again.”
The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the stone floor as I step back into the training room. The scent of oiled steel and sweat clings to the air, the walls lined with weapons, the sparring mat empty, waiting.
Thane stands in the center, arms crossed, watching as I enter. “You’re late,” he says, but there’s no real bite to it.
I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the soreness from this morning’s session with Valen. “I was training. With Water.”
His eyes flick over me, unreadable. “And now you’re training with me.”
I sigh, stepping onto the mat, my muscles protesting every movement. “What are we doing today?”
Thane uncrosses his arms. “Your stance is weak.”
I bristle. “Excuse me?”
“You rely too much on movement. Your footwork keeps you from getting hit, but when you throw a punch, there’s nostrength behind it. You aren’t grounded.”
I exhale sharply, my patience already fraying at the edges. “Maybe because I’m not built like a damn fortress.”
Thane just raises an eyebrow. “Which is why you need to learn how to hit properly.”
I clamp my jaw shut.
He gestures toward the center. “Square up.”
I plant my feet, raising my fists.
Thane circles me, silent and assessing. “You’re too rigid,” he says behind me. “You want stability—but you’re locking yourself in place. Strength comes frombalance, not stiffness.”
He taps the side of my back foot with his boot. “Wider. If your base isn’t solid, your punch is worthless.”
I shift, adjusting. Feeling the weight settle lower in my body, like the ground catching me.
