Chapter 236: The Weight of Power
The sun had barely risen when Kael strode through the Hollow's gates. The morning air was damp, clinging to his skin like mist, carrying the earthy scent of moss and wet bark. Azhara was already waiting at the treeline, staff in hand, her crimson skin glistening with the dew that clung to the air. The light caught her white eyes, making them gleam like pale moons.
"You're late," she said with mock sternness, though the corner of her lips betrayed the faintest smile.
Kael smirked. "I arrive exactly when I mean to."
"Convenient." Her grip tightened around the staff. Nerves, he thought. She was still afraid of this power.
Kael came closer, lowering his voice. "Still uncertain?"
Azhara's chest rose and fell with a heavy breath. "I've spent my whole life healing. Stitching together what's broken. Now you ask me to tear things down. I'm afraid of losing control."
"That fear keeps you sharp," Kael said, drawing his magisteel blade from his back. The steel caught the sunlight in a black shimmer, menacing and beautiful. "But fear cannot chain you. Power is a weapon. What matters is how you wield it—and who you aim it at."
He nodded toward the clearing. "Aim, then. Show me."
Kael had set up wooden dummies, thick logs bound together with rope and pitch. Their cracked surfaces bore scars from countless drills, yet they stood stubborn, waiting.
"Think of healing," Kael said. "You channel warmth, strength, life. Now reverse it. Don't mend the thread—fray it. Don't lighten the burden—make it heavier."
Azhara swallowed, lifted her staff, and whispered. Her magic stirred the air with a low hum. Instead of the golden warmth of her healing light, a violet shimmer bled from the runes carved into her staff.
The log shuddered as if under unseen hands. Cracks spread across its surface, the weight of her magic bearing down until the wood groaned and splintered. With a sharp snap, the dummy collapsed into fragments.
Azhara gasped, stumbling back. "I—I did it."
Kael's lips curved in a fierce grin. "You did more than that. You bent your gift backward. Few can twist magic like that."
Her hands trembled. "It felt wrong… like I was pulling the life out of something alive."
Kael stepped close, lowering his voice. "Good. Remember that. Magic isn't meant to feel safe when it's used to wound. But you decide if that feeling makes you weaker—or if it steels your will."
Day after day, they returned.
Kael pushed her harder, forcing her to use her magic directly on him.
Her staff flared violet, her lips whispering spells, and suddenly Kael's sword arm grew heavy as though weighted with iron. His blade sagged, his muscles straining against the crushing pressure.
"Good," he grunted through clenched teeth. "Again."
Her eyes narrowed, determination flickering bright. She twisted her spell further, and Kael's vision blurred. The world warped, his balance faltered, and he staggered before slamming his sword into the dirt to steady himself.
"Hold it," he barked.
Azhara's brow glistened with sweat, her whole body trembling with focus. The strain was etched across her face, yet she held. Kael's knees buckled, his body bowing beneath the invisible weight.
And then—just before he toppled—she released him. He dropped into the dirt, chest heaving.
"You nearly had me," he said, smirking despite the ache that spread across his limbs. "You're sharper than yesterday."
"And you're heavier than stone," Azhara shot back, panting but grinning. "I thought my arms would break holding you down."
Kael chuckled, pushing to his feet. His gaze lingered on her longer than he intended—her crimson skin flushed from exertion, her white eyes blazing with pride, her lips curved in triumph. She wasn't fragile, not anymore.
Each night they lingered by the fire after training, too tired to leave, too unwilling to break the quiet.
One evening, Azhara watched the flames curl and twist, her staff laid across her lap. "It frightens me," she admitted softly. "How natural it feels to break instead of heal. As if this is who I was meant to be."
Kael studied her across the fire, shadows playing across his scarred face. "That's not true. Healing is still your gift. But you've chosen to learn the darker edge of it. That choice… that's what makes you stronger than most."
She looked at him then, eyes shimmering like molten silver in the firelight. "And what about you, Kael? Do you ever doubt what you were meant to be?"
His jaw clenched. He thought of Druaka, of the rivers of blood he'd spilled, of the weight of leadership pressing against his back like a mountain. His voice was low when he answered. "Every damn day. But doubt keeps me sharp. It reminds me I'm still human beneath all this steel."
Azhara's gaze softened. "You carry so much."
He shrugged, though his throat felt tight. "Better I carry it than anyone else."
Silence stretched between them, heavy but warm. Then, almost without thinking, Kael reached across the fire and brushed his calloused fingers against her wrist. Azhara didn't flinch. Instead, she let his hand linger there, her lips parting in something like surprise.
The fire popped, and Kael pulled back, shaking his head as if breaking a spell.
"You'll thank me when an enemy is choking on their own blood instead of putting a blade through your chest," he said gruffly, retreating into the comfort of command.
But Azhara only smiled faintly. "You always say the most romantic things."
He laughed, but his heart beat faster than it should.
By the week's end, Azhara's magic was no longer hesitant—it was a weapon honed to a razor edge. She could sap Kael's strength until his arms trembled, blur his vision until he saw double, and force his knees to the dirt with invisible chains of weight.
The last time they trained, Kael roared as he broke through her spell, slamming his sword into the earth beside her feet. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his face, his eyes locked on hers.
"You've become something rare," he said hoarsely. "A healer who can destroy. A shield and a spear both."
Her chest swelled with pride, her lips curving into a smile that nearly stole his breath. "And I couldn't have done it without you."
Kael sheathed his sword and shook his head. "No. You did this. I only showed you the way."
Their eyes held, the fire of their bond burning hotter, deeper. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them, their unspoken words trembling in the air between them.
Kael looked away first, though his chest was tight with something he couldn't name.
"Tomorrow," he said, his voice softer than usual, "we'll push further."
Azhara smirked, though her eyes lingered on him. "Careful, Kael. If you keep pushing me, I might actually catch up to you."
For the first time in days, Kael didn't doubt her words.