Hours into wing practice and I was still a walking disaster.
Too small, too big, one massive and one tiny. One set came out at different angles so I looked like a crooked kite. My shoulders burned, my lower back ached, and every bad landing added a fresh complaint. The ground and I were practically family at this point.
Revik laughed the first couple of times—right up until a badly sized pair blasted a gust strong enough to knock him clean off his rock. He hit the dirt with a grunt, spitting ash.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Lyra!" he complained, propping himself on his elbows. "Can you at least try not to send me flying?"
Despite the sweat stinging my eyes, I smirked. "You'd think by now you'd have learned to move."
Raiden, watching from the edge of the clearing, didn't look away. "She's got a point," he said, maddeningly calm.
Revik shot him a glare, stood, and retreated a few paces. "One more surprise breeze and I'm eating your portion of dinner."
I huffed, closed my eyes, and tried again. I did it the way Raiden had drilled into me: steady breath, steady focus, build the structure first—hollow bones, layered muscle, joints built for lift. The first crack of power came clean. Too clean. Wings snapped out at a size that would've suited a sparrow. Revik snorted like a donkey.
Dismiss. Breathe. Reach deeper. The next set exploded from my back so wide I couldn't see the edges. I lost balance and went straight down on my ass. Again. Pain shot up my tailbone. Dust puffed in my face.
"Smaller," Raiden said—no pity, no annoyance. Just steady. "Half that mass. Keep the joints closer to your spine."
I tried. And tried again. The afternoon became a string of almosts—one lift that might have worked if the left wing hadn't lagged, one glide-stumble where the ground lightened under my feet for a heartbeat before weight slammed me back down. Every "close" made the next failure sting more.
When my shirt clung to me with sweat and my hands shook even at rest, I finally dropped to my knees and let my forehead rest on my forearms. "I'm done," I muttered into the dirt. It came out hoarse.
Bootsteps approached. "You've earned the break," Raiden said. No lecture. No smugness.
I pushed hair off my face and squinted up at him. "Still didn't get it right."
He crouched beside me, forearms braced on his knees. "You got closer with every try. Most take months to manage this. You've had days and you're already shifting on command. That's no small thing."
The knot in my chest loosened a notch. Not pride, exactly—just something that didn't taste like failure.
He stood and offered his hand. I took it. His grip was warm and solid as he pulled me up like I weighed nothing.
"Come on," he said. "There's a hot spring not far from here. You can clean up."
I blinked. "That sounds… incredible."
He almost smiled. "Figured you'd say that."
Revik tossed kindling onto the old fire ring and waved lazily. "Go on, lovey. Cant guarantee your rabbit will still be here when you get back tho."
I flipped him a half-hearted rude gesture. He grinned, satisfied.
We left the clearing through scrub and low trees until the ground dipped. Ash lay in a light veil over everything, caught in the hairs on my arms and the collar of my shirt. The air smelled like warm stone, sulfur, and the green bite of stubborn plants pushing through soot. Dusk pressed the sky into muted color.
Silence settled easy between us. After a while, my legs wobbled and I misjudged a root. I would've gone down if Raiden hadn't reached out and steadied my elbow—quick, efficient, then gone like it never happened.
"Careful," he said.
"Working on it," I muttered.
We crossed a narrow stream and climbed a low lip of rock. Steam lifted from the other side like a breath.
The hot spring sat in a shallow bowl of dark stone, the surface rippling gently. Boulders ringed it, giving the place privacy my jumpy nerves appreciated. Ferns clung to cracks, bright against the gray. It was quiet, the kind that sinks into you.
Raiden stopped at the edge and gestured toward the water. "Take your time. Enjoy it."
I arched a brow, unable to resist. "What, not going to keep a close eye on me?"
His mouth quirked, but his voice stayed even. "Tempting. But I do have some morals left."
I smirked, sinking into the steam. "Some. Good to know."
He gave a low huff of amusement, then turned away. "I'll be in earshot. Call if you need me."
I waited until the trees swallowed him, then stripped fast—filthy shirt, trousers, everything—and slipped into the water. Heat wrapped me from collarbone to toes, a steady soak that found every ache and coaxed it less mean. I sank to my shoulders and exhaled in relief.
For the first time in days, my body wasn't braced for impact.
I dunked, came up with a gasp, pushed hair back, and let my arms float. The water had a mineral feel to it, soft and slick. Steam curled off the surface into the cooling air. Somewhere far off, birds chirped their pretty tunes. Peaceful.
I let my head fall back, steam curling around my face, and tried not to think—failed spectacularly. The thoughts just kept coming.
How in all the hells was I supposed to end a war? I couldn't even keep a set of wings the same size, let alone carry the weight of nations. Raiden spoke with that quiet certainty of his, like there was a path forward if I just followed him. But my gut told me his idea of peace wasn't the same as mine. Maybe it wasn't peace at all.
I didn't know what he wanted, not really. But I knew enough to be wary. He wasn't the kind of man who bent—he broke things to fit his will. And if his version of peace meant crushing anyone in his way, then where would that leave me?
The truth was, I couldn't outrun him. Not with his reach, his power, his speed. And I couldn't outfight him either; the way he moved, the way the air shifted around him… it was like trying to fight the storm itself. No. The only safe place was near him—close enough that he could shield me from others, but far enough that I could take my freedom back the moment I found an opening.
I sighed, sinking deeper into the heat. I should have tried running back at the cliffs. I'd had the chance. But something in me just… couldn't leave them like that. Couldn't leave him like that.
Usually, I was all about survival. Pure logic.
So why did it grate so much when I realized I didn't entirely mind the thought of staying at his side?
The admission burned, sharp as the heat rising from the spring. Safe. Protected. Those weren't words I should have ever tied to him—and yet some part of me did. And I hated myself for it.
Enough. I slid my palms over the surface, watching ripples run. I didn't need to solve the everything tonight. I just needed to figure out wings.
Steam drifted. I let my eyes half-close.
A small sound threaded the quiet.
Not the drip of water. Not the whisper of steam. A scrape—boot on rock. Faint. Deliberate.
My head snapped toward the boulders. "Raiden?" I called softly.
Nothing. The trees held their breath.
Another sound. Closer. A coin tapping nail? The lazy flick of metal against metal.
Every muscle in me went taut. I sank lower without thinking, the waterline creeping to my chin as I slid toward the shadow of a rock shelf.
A figure unfolded from a perch above the pool like he'd been part of the stone the whole time. He crouched on the ledge, balanced casual as a cat.
Pale skin. Blond hair living somewhere between tousled and feral. Piercings dotted both ears, lined the brow, glinted at his lip. His clothes were too clean for a traveler, to practical for a soldier—dark blue leather, dusty only where it couldn't be helped. A knife hung low on his left hip, the handle worn from use, not display.
He watched me like he'd found something interesting in a market stall.
"So this is the infamous Primal Dragon," he said, voice smooth and amused. Not Fire Nation. The edges of his words had an icy edge to them. "You're prettier than I imagined."
My pulse spiked. I slid back against the rock wall of the spring, water sloshing.
He chuckled softly, elbow on his knee like this was a friendly chat near a hearth.
"Hello there," he drawled. "I'm Muir."