Kael taught her distance—how to let the power sit without reaching for it, how to breathe through the pull when emotion surged. Mira guided her hands, grounding her when the warmth climbed too fast.
"Power is not urgency," Mira reminded her. "It's presence."
Lyra learned shielding first.
Not walls—but veils. Gentle layers that absorbed rather than repelled. When Kael tested them with controlled pressure, she held—sweat beading on her brow, focus fierce.
"Again," he said.
She did.
By dusk, she could maintain the veil without shaking.
Kael watched her with something close to pride—and something closer to fear.
"You're adapting quickly," he said.
Lyra smiled faintly. "I don't want to give them a reason to send me away."
He looked away at that.
Later, alone, Kael spoke with Mira in hushed tones.
"She's learning too fast," he said.
Mira nodded. "Because she's afraid."
"And because someone is watching," Kael added.