Two months passed like a grinding storm.
At first Elira thought she might collapse without them. Blacken Fire's harsh commands and Blizzard's cold corrections had been constant. Their voices pushed her past every limit until she believed she had none left to give. And then, suddenly, they were gone, called to the frontier with nothing but the echo of their expectations left behind.
The training yard felt emptier without them, and the silence was worse than any insult. But the insults returned all the same.
"She'll crumble without them."
"She only lasted because they carried her."
"Four elements? A joke. She'll snap soon enough."
It was different from before. No one dared shove her into walls or trip her in the ring. Their shadows were still heavy in the yard. Even the cruelest recruits remembered the ember glow of Blacken Fire's eyes, the frost on Blizzard's blade. But words could wound deeper than fists. Each snicker during meals, each scoff when she missed a strike, was a reminder of her isolation.
Elira swallowed it. She refused to answer back. Because if she broke, they would be right.
Every morning she returned to the yard. Alone, she repeated sword drills until her arms burned and her palms tore raw. She whispered Blacken Fire's mantra like a prayer: Your mana is a river. Direct it. Command it. Make it obey. She echoed Blizzard's cutting voice: Again, until your body moves before your doubt does.
Most days ended in failure. Wind scattered uselessly from her fingertips. Light flared once and vanished. Grass bloomed and withered in the same heartbeat. Her blade felt heavy, her lungs burned, and more than once she nearly fell asleep on the stones. There was no one to steady her stance, no hand to lift her when she collapsed.
But she forced herself up every time.
By the end of the first month something had changed.
Her Light Screen no longer shattered instantly; it held for three breaths, then four. Water Shards could cut through straw dummies, leaving clean slices where before they barely scratched. Grass vines twined at her ankles longer, thicker, capable of pulling down a training dummy before fading.
And once, in a night of frustration, she swung her sword and shouted with all her breath. The wind gathered in a shimmering crescent that tore across the yard and struck a wooden post. The scar it left was shallow, barely more than a scratch. But it was hers. Breeze Edge.
It was the first time she had joined sword and wind together without accident, without panic. She laughed softly in the dark, tears hot against her cheeks.
From then on, failure no longer crushed her. She had proof she could succeed.
The other recruits noticed. Their jeers grew quieter. Some still avoided her in silence, but a few began to watch her when she trained. One boy, who had mocked her for weeks, stepped into the ring only to be thrown to the ground by her water strike. No one laughed then. They only watched as she stood panting, sword in hand, and walked away.
Respect came in silence. It was fragile, but it was real.
The second month ground her harder. Exhaustion became a constant companion. Her arms and legs carried bruises like armor, her veins stung with overdrawn mana. Every night she collapsed by her window, staring at the moonlight pooling on the floor. She whispered the same words into the night: I won't fall behind. I can't.
Her spells grew steadier. Light Screen held for ten breaths before cracking. Water Shards carved gouges into practice posts. Grass vines tangled not only straw but living recruits in sparring matches, forcing them to yield. Breeze Edge became more than luck. The tenth time she struck, she knew it was hers, born of control.
Wind still resisted her. It whispered at the edge of her hearing, more willful than the others. But she learned to listen instead of chase. She felt it in the swing of her blade, in the pause between breaths. It was like a wild creature that only came close when she stopped trying to seize it.
The yard grew less hostile. Fewer eyes narrowed when she passed. Sometimes, after sparring, her opponent even offered a nod. No friendship, no warmth, but acknowledgment. That was enough.
Still, the ache never left. Every strike, every shield, every breath — she wished Blacken Fire and Blizzard could see. She wanted to prove she had not wasted their effort, that she had grown.
The morning of the eighth week, a hawk descended from the sky, its talons scraping against stone. A scroll hung from its leg, sealed with the insignia of the frontier.
Elira's breath caught as she untied it. She unfolded the parchment with trembling hands.
The script was rough and jagged, words like cracks burned into stone:
Two months have passed. We cannot return. The border burns. Enemy raids strike without end. Orders bind us here. — Blacken Fire
Below, another hand, smooth and sharp like crystal:
Do not falter. You carry more strength than you know. The wind will answer if you keep listening. Continue. When we meet again, show us the proof. — Blizzard
Elira pressed the letter against her chest, her eyes stinging. Relief surged through her — they were alive. But they would not return. Not soon. Perhaps not for months.
Her grip tightened. "Then I'll stand until you see me again," she whispered to the empty yard.
That afternoon, the Sanctum's bells tolled. Their clear clang filled the mountain halls, summoning initiates to the great chamber. Elira hurried with the others, her pulse hammering.
Inside, armored knights lined the dais. The air thrummed with discipline. When her name was called, the sound struck like a blade.
"Elira."
She stepped forward, her throat tight.
"You are hereby assigned to your first mission. A disturbance has been reported in the western valley. You will accompany a unit to investigate and eliminate the threat."
A hush followed. Elira's chest heaved with a single sharp breath.
Her first mission.
There were no cheers, no applause. Only the commander's gaze, cold and measuring. Yet in that silence, Elira felt something stir inside her. Fear, yes — but also fire.
She lowered her head and clenched her fists. She had survived two months alone. She had grown. Whatever waited in the valley, she would not run.
When she left the chamber, the mountain winds swept through the arches, curling around her braid. She paused, pressing the frontier letter close to her heart.
"Blacken Fire. Blizzard. When you return… I'll be ready. You'll see."
The wind whispered against her ear, soft but steady, as if answering.
For the first time since they had left, she no longer felt abandoned. She felt chosen.
Her first mission awaited.