"Alright, Ember," Karl said, standing with renewed purpose. "Let's see what you can do."
He led the group to the clearing, the Sanctuary's glow casting long shadows in the dusk. The barrier shimmered, its timer ticking:
He pointed toward a distant tree, its branches heavy with glowing Sunfire Fruit. "Ember, do you think you can fetch one?" His voice was soft, encouraging, like a mother coaxing a child to take their first steps.
Ember hesitated, her wings half-unfurled, the faint shimmer of their new strength humming in the air. Her amber eyes flicked to Karl, seeking reassurance. He nodded gently, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You've got this, Ember. Just try."
With a sharp snap, she spread her wings wide. One powerful beat lifted her off the ground, a rush of wind curling the grass flat beneath her. But her strength was raw, untested. Each stroke carried more force than she intended, and instead of a steady climb, she shot upward in a jerking arc. The world blurred past—the tree, the sky, the sunlight flashing through her feathers—as she lost control of her momentum.
She tried to angle toward the Sunfire Fruit, but her wings bit too hard against the air. The effort pitched her higher, past her target. With a startled cry, she toppled into a curtain of vines. Leaves exploded around her as she tumbled, their green fragments scattering through the branches.
The fruit trembled free, thudding to the ground unclaimed. Ember fought to untangle herself, wings flailing against the vines, each frantic beat stirring the underbrush in restless waves.
Her screech was sharp with distress, her amber eyes dimming with sadness as she slumped to the ground, wings drooping awkwardly. Karl's heart tightened at the sight, and he jogged to her side, kneeling gently.
"Hey, Ember," he murmured, his voice warm and soothing, like a mother comforting a disheartened child. He reached out, caressing her emerald feathers, their warmth soft under his fingers.
"You're stronger than you know, but those wings are new.
It's okay to stumble. We'll get it right together."
Ember leaned into his touch, her frustrated chirps softening to a low, plaintive coo. Her eyes met his, brightening slightly, as if his words anchored her. Karl smiled, stroking her neck gently.
"You're my brave girl. Let's try again when you're ready."
Mira caught the fallen fruit and handed it to Karl with a smile. "She's just like a child, my Lord. With your guidance, she'll learn to fly."
Karl nodded, the exchange steadying the group. Ember's failed flight was a reminder—power alone wasn't enough. She needed control, and he needed to nurture her confidence. "I am going train with her," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. "She's Bronze II now, but her foundation is shaky. We'll start with the basics—inside the barrier, where she can practice without danger."
Karl focused on Ember, perched on a low branch, her emerald feathers glinting in the dawn. Her amber eyes tracked him eagerly, but her wings twitched with restless energy, betraying her inexperience.
"Alright, Ember," Karl said softly, holding a small stick wrapped in bright red vine fibers to catch her attention.
"We're starting with control, so that we will not going to crash anymore?" His tone was warm, encouraging.
He tossed the stick a few meters away, keeping it low to the ground. "Fetch it, slow and steady." Ember's wings snapped open, and she leapt, but her Wind Slash flared instinctively, sending a sharp gust that sliced through a nearby bush, leaves exploding in a green flurry. She veered off course, landing in a tumble, the stick untouched. Her screech was sharp with frustration, her wings drooping as she hung her head, amber eyes dimming with sadness.
Karl knelt beside her, his heart aching at her dejection. "Oh, Ember," he whispered, cupping her head gently, his fingers caressing her feathers with a mother's tenderness.
"You're trying so hard, and I'm so proud of you. It's okay to fall—it means you're learning." He stroked her neck, his Breath of Spring brushing her vitality, sensing her agitation but also her trust in him. Ember leaned into his hand, her coos softening, her eyes flickering with renewed hope.
"Let's try again, together," Karl said, his smile warm and reassuring. He retrieved the stick, holding it closer this time, barely a meter away. "Focus on your wings, Ember—feel the air. Glide first, let the wind follow." He tossed the stick gently, his voice steady. "You can do this."
Ember hesitated, her wings trembling, then flapped gently, stirring a softer breeze. She glided clumsily, overshooting slightly but snagging the stick with her claws before landing in a wobble. Her chirp was triumphant, her tail flicking with excitement as she dropped the stick at Karl's feet. Karl clapped, his grin wide and proud. "That's it, Ember! Small steps, and you're already soaring."
After doing this for some time they moved to the next exercise. He scattered a handful of Sunfire Fruit scraps across the clearing, their honeyed scent drifting in the air. "Ember, track these. Use your Storm Sense to find them." He wanted her to hone her ability to detect vitalities and air currents, key for scouting or hunting, but he kept his tone gentle, like a mother encouraging exploration.
Ember's eyes narrowed, her head tilting as her Storm Sense kicked in. She hopped forward, wings half-open, sniffing the air. A faint breeze swirled around her, carrying the fruit's scent. She darted to the first scrap, snapping it up with precision, but her excitement got the better of her. Lunging for the next, she kicked up a gust that scattered the scraps, forcing her to chase them in a flurry of flaps and frustrated screeches. Her wings drooped again, her chirps heavy with disappointment.
Karl was at her side in an instant, kneeling to caress her feathers, his voice soft and comforting. "Hey, it's alright, Ember. You're learning, and every miss makes you stronger." He smoothed her ruffled plumage, his touch steadying her.
"You found the first one perfectly. Let's try again, and I'll be right here." Ember nuzzled his hand, her amber eyes brightening, her vitality pulsing with renewed determination under his Breath of Spring.
He reset the scraps, spacing them farther apart to test her range. "Take it slow, Ember. Feel the air, let it guide you."
Ember focused, her Storm Sense leading her to each piece with growing accuracy, her movements smoother, though an overeager gust still sliced a vine when she misjudged a turn. Karl chuckled softly, stroking her back. "You're getting it, Ember. I knew you could."
After an hour, Ember could glide short distances without crashing and locate the scraps with minimal disruption. Her Wind Slash remained volatile, but her confidence grew with each small success. Karl's heart swelled with pride, his nurturing guidance forging a bond deeper than the Sanctuary's magic.
"Good work," he said, scratching behind her ears, her feathers warm under his fingers.
"You're going to be unstoppable."
The training wasn't just for Ember—it was for Karl, too. He was learning to guide her like a mentor, understanding her limits and instincts, nurturing her potential. The wolf pack lingered in his mind, their amber eyes a constant threat beyond the barrier.
Ember's Storm Sense could warn them of an approach, and her Wind Slash could turn a fight, but only if she mastered them.
As the sun dipped low, painting the clearing in shades of gold and crimson, Karl called for a break. He fed Ember a strip of rabbit meat, her beak snapping it up eagerly.
"We'll train tomorrow morning," he said, looking at Ember, who chirped softly, wings folding neatly for the first time.
"You'll be hunting with us soon, Ember."
With that, Karl rose to his feet, brushing moss from his hands. He gave Ember one last gentle stroke along her head feathers, then stepped back.
And though he left her to practice, he kept his gaze steady on her, the way a parent watches a child take their first uncertain steps—ready to catch her if she fell, but knowing she needed to fall and rise on her own.