The morning mist clung to the stone walls of the Sanctum's outer yard. Recruits gathered again for drills, the clash of blades echoing sharp and loud. Elira walked in with her head held low, the fractured wooden sword she had repaired with rough bindings still gripped in her hands. Whispers followed her like shadows.
"She came back?"
"Didn't think she'd last a day."
"Maybe she enjoys crawling."
Elira's jaw tightened, but she said nothing. She had heard worse before. This time, she would not turn away.
When the drills ended, the others dispersed. Only two figures remained. One stood tall, dark-haired, his arms crossed as sparks of heat coiled faintly around his hands. The other leaned on a staff, frost glittering along its length, her cloak edged in threads of pale green.
Darius and Selene. Blacken Fire and Blizzard.
Elira's chest tightened. She still remembered the fire and frost that had cut through her oppressors the night before. Now, they were here again—waiting.
Darius's voice cut through the silence, blunt as steel.
"You showed up. Hmph. Didn't think you would."
Selene's smile softened the weight of his words. "Don't mind him. He only knows how to speak like a furnace."
Elira swallowed, then forced herself to ask, "Why are you… helping me?"
Darius's eyes narrowed. "Because watching weakness makes me sick. And because you have potential you're wasting."
Selene added gently, "Because everyone needs someone to guide them, even if only at the start."
Elira lowered her gaze. She didn't understand them, not yet. But she wanted to.
Darius strode to the training ring and gestured sharply. "Pick up water. Show me."
Elira blinked, then cupped her hands, summoning droplets from the air. A trembling sphere of water formed, wobbling weakly.
Darius snorted. "Pathetic." He raised his own hand. A perfect orb of water coalesced, smooth as glass, reflecting the morning light. He let it spin effortlessly above his palm.
"The wave of water is flow," he said. "Yours is noise. You force it instead of listening. Do it again."
She tried. The orb collapsed, drenching her tunic. Heat rose to her cheeks as she wiped water from her eyes.
Again. The sphere wobbled and burst.
Again. It slipped through her fingers.
Her arms shook with strain. Her throat burned with frustration.
Darius lifted his hand—and flame erupted, blazing hot and wild. He hurled it toward her without warning.
Elira cried out, instinctively thrusting her hands forward. The water surged into shape—not smooth, not perfect, but stronger than before. It splashed against the fireball, dousing the flames. Steam hissed, rolling across the ring.
Elira staggered, chest heaving. The water dripped from her arms, but it hadn't failed.
Darius lowered his hand. "Better. That—" he jabbed a finger at her "—is what happens when you stop coddling yourself."
His tone was harsh, but in his eyes flickered something that almost looked like approval.
Selene stepped forward, staff in hand. Frost melted away as she tapped it gently against the ground. From the cracks in the stone, green vines unfurled, winding upward with impossible vitality.
"Grass is life," she said softly. "It coils, it clings, it grows where no one expects it to. Feel it—not as a weapon, but as something alive."
Elira knelt, placing her hands on the earth. She closed her eyes, imagining the forests of Rionne, the smell of damp soil after rain, the herbs she once gathered with the healer. She reached inward—then outward.
A faint sprout pushed through the cracks. Thin, trembling, but real.
Elira gasped, eyes flying open.
Selene smiled warmly. "Yes. Do not command it. Walk beside it."
Then Selene lifted her staff high. Light bloomed at the tip, spilling across the courtyard until the shadows receded. "And light," she continued, "is not fire. It is not fury. It reveals. It carries."
Elira tried to mimic her, summoning the memory of sunlight through her window at dawn, the warmth of Rho's smile. A faint glow flickered in her palms, no brighter than a candle flame.
Her shoulders slumped. "It's so weak."
Selene shook her head. "Never belittle the light you make yourself. Even the smallest glow can banish the deepest dark."
The words sank deep into Elira's chest. For the first time, her failure didn't feel like defeat.
As the sun dipped low, Darius and Selene dismissed her for the night. The yard emptied, leaving only Elira and the whisper of cicadas in the grass.
She stood alone, sword in hand. The lessons of the day echoed in her mind—water's flow, grass's breath, light's warmth. But her wind remained silent.
She closed her eyes.
She thought of Rionne, of Rho tugging her sleeve and demanding stories by the fire. She thought of the villagers who had placed bread and wool in her hands when she had nothing. She thought of her promise: I'll protect you.
The air was still. Her chest ached.
She raised her sword and swung.
A rush stirred. The grass bent. Leaves scattered in a brief spiral. For one heartbeat, the air answered.
Elira froze, then laughed breathlessly. It was nothing more than a whisper—but it was hers.
From the shadows, Darius crossed his arms, eyes glinting like coals. "At least she's not hopeless."
Selene stood beside him, frost trailing faintly at her feet. "She isn't. She just needed someone to remind her she wasn't alone."
Darius grunted. "We'll see if she survives the next trial."
Selene's smile lingered. "She will."
Elira sank onto the grass, sweat soaking her tunic, sword still in hand. She stared at the night sky, stars scattering like sparks across the dark.
Her whisper was soft, but resolute.
"I won't run. Not anymore. I'll grow stronger… no matter what it takes."
And for the first time, she believed it.