He looked at Daria, her face a mask of shock and awe. "Please," he said again, his voice filled with a desperate plea. "I need your help. I need to learn your element, to understand your element. I've been training in secret, but it's not enough. I'm afraid of what I could become if I do this alone."
Daria's expression softened, a slow smile spreading across her face. "You want to learn from me?" she said, her voice filled with a quiet wonder. She had always been the quiet one, the one who worked with her hands and the earth. The idea of her brother wanting to learn from her filled her with a sense of immense pride and excitement.
"I will help you," she said, her voice strong and unwavering. "I'll teach you everything I know."
Doren's shoulders slumped in relief. "I've started gaining control of Earth. I've been trying to feel the stability, the grounding."
Daria nodded, her eyes sparkling with a new purpose. "Then that is where we will start," she said.
Doren smiled, a genuine, joyful expression that hadn't been on his face in years. He took the bowl of porridge and walked to his mother's room. He found Jerter sitting on the bed, holding the camping stone in her hand. He gave her the bowl, and she smiled sadly, a mixture of pride and worry in her eyes.
"Daria and I are going to train," he told her, the words feeling right and true for the first time.
She simply nodded and took the porridge, a gentle warning in her voice. "Just be careful, Doren."
He went back to the kitchen, where Daria was already waiting for him. Jemsie and Leasie, their faces a mix of curiosity and awe, were also ready. They wanted to see the impossible. The four of them walked to the secluded hill, where Doren had been secretly training for weeks.
As they reached his training spot, Doren placed the Focal Stone on the ground and sat, closing his eyes. He put his hands on the ground, just as he had been doing. The sisters, having never seen their brother use any sort of power, watched in silent anticipation. They saw the peaceful look on his face, a calm they had not seen in him since childhood.
He focused on the same feelings Daria had described, the sense of stability and grounding. As he connected with the earth, his skin started to harden, the familiar stone texture spreading up his arms. It wasn't the slow, painful process it was at first. This time, he felt the change, but he felt an exhilarating sense of control.
"What does it feel like?" Jemsie asked, her voice a hushed whisper, as the stone began to creep up Doren's arms.
Daria, who had been watching Doren's hands closely, answered for him, her voice filled with a quiet pride. "It's like a deep, quiet strength that flows through his hands and into the soil. It feels like home."
Doren opened his eyes, now a deep, earthy brown. He looked at Daria and smiled. He had never felt so much at home. He had done more than just connect with the earth; he had connected with his sister, with his family.
Jemsie, seeing the stone spread, began to question the change. "Is it supposed to look like that?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.
Leasie simply stared, her dark amber eyes wide with a mix of wonder and fear. For so long, she had felt a strange, quiet power that she had no name for. Now, seeing Doren's power in action, she felt a familiar tug, a connection she never knew she had with him.
"Now that you're here to help me, what's next?" Doren asked Daria, a new sense of hope and excitement in his voice. "I want to be able to protect the family, to be the shield."
"So you want offensive moves?" Daria asked, her voice a low rumble, filled with a new kind of confidence.
She knelt next to Doren, placing her hands on the ground, and closed her eyes. Her skin didn't turn to stone like his did, but Doren could feel a powerful surge of energy coming from her, a deep, quiet strength that was almost a physical presence.
"To be the shield, you have to know how to build a wall," she said, her eyes still closed. "But to build a wall, you have to know how to shape the earth. You have to feel the give and take. You have to feel the pull, the weight, the pressure. That's what you need to learn. Not how to fight, but how to be a part of the earth."
Doren listened intently. He had been so focused on the feeling of stability, on the strength, that he hadn't considered the subtleties of her element. He had been trying to become a rock, but Daria was teaching him how to become a sculptor.
"My first lesson for you," she said, opening her eyes, now a deep, earthy brown, "is to teach you how to feel the give and take. I want you to feel the earth and let it give you what it needs to give you. And then I want you to feel the pull, the weight, and the pressure. I want you to feel that it's a part of you, and you're a part of it."
She looked at him with a new kind of respect, not as a brother, but as a student. "Now, I want you to let the stone from your hands come into the ground."
Doren took a deep breath, and with a single thought, he let the earth that had become a part of him flow back into the ground. He felt the change, the soft, cool feeling of his skin returning to normal, and the strength that had been flowing through him dissipate. He was exhausted, but he was also filled with a new kind of understanding.
"Now, take a stone and mold it into a perfect sphere in your hands," Daria commanded, her voice firm. Doren watched as she bent down and picked up a rough, jagged rock from the ground. It was an unassuming lump of granite, no bigger than her fist.
She held the stone in her palms, her expression one of deep concentration. Doren saw a soft, earthy glow begin to emanate from her hands. She didn't crush it or grind it. Instead, she gently squeezed, her fingers moving with a delicate, practiced precision. He saw the sharp edges of the stone begin to soften, the rough surface becoming smooth. The rock seemed to melt in her grasp, its shape shifting under her command. It wasn't a violent change, but a slow, graceful transformation. The stone became a perfect sphere, its surface as smooth and polished as a river rock. She held it out to him, the now perfectly-round granite ball fitting neatly in her palm.
"That's the give and take," she explained. "You have to feel the stone, feel what it wants to be. It's not about forcing it, but about guiding it. It's about being one with the earth, Doren. It's about feeling the give and take."
Daria then closed her hand around it, her face a mask of fierce concentration. Doren felt the sudden, powerful pull of the earth's energy, a raw, primal force that he was still learning to control. She took a step back, her arm tensing, and with a grunt, she launched the sphere at a nearby tree.
The rock flew with an astonishing velocity, a silent, deadly projectile. It hit the thick trunk of a tree with a deafening crack, splintering the wood and embedding itself deep within the heart of the tree. The impact was so violent that the entire tree shook, leaves raining down around them. Doren and his sisters simply stared, their faces a mix of shock and awe.
"That," Daria said, her voice filled with a quiet show-offy pride, "is the strength of the earth. That is the shield you need to become."
She then turned to Doren, her eyes burning with a new kind of intensity. "Now, you're going to make your own. I want you to feel the rock, feel what it wants to be, and then let the earth give you what it needs to give you. And then I want you to feel the pull, the weight, and the pressure. I want you to feel that it's a part of you, and you're a part of it. And then, I want you to launch it at that tree."
Doren took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He bent down and picked up a stone, its rough, jagged edges a stark contrast to the perfect sphere his sister had created. He held it in his palms, closing his eyes, and focused on the feeling Daria had described: the give and take of the earth. He felt and heard a gentle hum resonating in his hands.
His first attempt was a failure. The stone twisted and buckled, its rough edges becoming even more pronounced. The shape he created was a crude sphere, but it was jagged and sharp, a weapon of anger rather than a tool of precision. He had been too focused on the outcome, on the strength, and not on the process.
He let the stone fall to the ground and picked up another one. His second attempt was a more spectacular failure. He focused on the give and take, on the pull, the weight, and the pressure, but he had miscalculated the balance. The stone crumbled in his hands, turning to dust. It was as if he had tried to hold a fistful of sand. He had been too gentle, too afraid of his own power. He had forgotten the strength, the weight, the pressure.
His third attempt was different. He picked up a stone, a larger, heavier one this time. He held it in his hands, not with the intention of making a sphere, but with the intention of feeling the stone itself. He felt its weight, its density, its cold, hard strength. He felt the give and take, the pull and the push, but this time he was also aware of the silent, immense strength of the earth. He wasn't just a sculptor; he was a part of the stone, and the stone was a part of him.
The stone didn't turn to a perfect sphere. Instead, it became a perfect cube, its edges sharp and clean, its sides as smooth as glass. It was not what he had intended, but it was a perfect, beautiful piece of work, a testament to his newfound control.
Daria and his other two sisters burst out into laughter. Doren bristled at his sisters' laughter. He scowled at them, a flash of Damurah's temper running through him.
"It wasn't what I was trying to do," he mumbled, tossing the cube aside.
He continued his training into the night, the girls watching, their laughter gone. But the late hour was catching up to them. Jemsie stifled a yawn, and Leasie's eyes grew heavy. Doren, seeing their exhaustion, decided to give up for the night. The frustration was getting the better of him, anyway. They all walked back to the cottage, their spirits quieted by the tense exchange.
As they entered the cottage, their quiet conversation died in their throats.
Their mother, Jerter, was lying on the floor, unconscious. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow. A wave of fear, cold and sharp, washed over them all. This wasn't a wound that Jemsie's light magic could fix, or a wound that Daria's earth magic could heal. This was a sickness, a sickness that had been growing inside her for years, a sickness that had finally taken its toll. The pain of her two absent sons had finally broken her.