Training did not begin with fire.
Lyra had expected heat, pain, maybe something violent and loud that would tear the power out of her whether she was ready or not. Instead, it began in silence.
The training hall was empty when she arrived—wide stone floors, high ceilings, sunlight pouring in through narrow windows cut deep into the walls. The space felt old. Watching.
She stood near the center, hands clasped tightly in front of her.
"You're early," Kael said from behind her.
She startled, then turned quickly. "I didn't want to be late."
His expression softened at that. "You don't need to earn your place by fear anymore."
"I know," she said, then added honestly, "but it's hard to stop trying."
He nodded, understanding far too easily.
Today, there were no spectators. No elders. No guards.
Just them.
"Training isn't about force," he said, circling slowly—not predatory, but attentive. "Especially not for you."
Lyra frowned. "Everyone else says power has to be taken."
"That's because most power is built on dominance," he replied. "Yours isn't."
She swallowed. "Then what is it built on?"
He stopped in front of her. "Choice."
That word made her chest tighten.
"I want you to close your eyes," he said.
She hesitated only a second before doing it.
"Breathe," he continued. "Not deeper. Just slower."
She obeyed.
"Think of a moment when you felt… safe."
Her mind went blank.
Then—unexpectedly—last night surfaced. Standing in the courtyard after the elders' meeting. The way he'd looked at her, not like a burden or a mystery, but like someone worth standing beside.
Warmth bloomed gently in her chest.
"I feel it," she whispered.
"Good," he said softly. "Don't push it. Let it come to you."
The air shifted.
Not violently. Not dramatically.
It was subtle—the way sunlight changes right before dusk.
Kael felt it immediately.
The floor beneath Lyra's feet shimmered faintly, like light filtering through water. The warmth expanded outward, brushing the walls, settling into the space like a quiet promise.
Lyra's breath hitched. "Am I doing it wrong?"
"No," he said, voice low with awe. "You're doing it naturally."
Her hands trembled. "It feels… kind."
That made his chest ache.
"Power doesn't have to be cruel to be strong," he said. "That's what they forgot."
She opened her eyes slowly.
The shimmer faded—but the air still felt different. Alive.
She laughed softly, half-disbelieving. "I didn't hurt anything."
"No," he agreed. "You anchored it."
She looked up at him. "Is that good?"
"It's rare," he said.
Her smile faltered. "Rare things don't usually get to live quietly."
"No," he admitted. "They get tested."
As if summoned by the words, the doors to the hall creaked open.
A man entered—one of the higher-ranked warriors. His gaze went straight to Lyra, sharp and assessing.
"The elders request her presence," he said.
Lyra's heart dropped. "Now?"
"Yes."
Kael stepped forward instantly. "She's not finished."
"The request wasn't optional," the warrior replied.
Lyra inhaled shakily. "It's okay."
Kael turned to her sharply. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," she said. Her voice was soft, but steady. "If they're going to watch me anyway, I don't want to keep hiding."
Something changed in his expression then.
Respect. Pride. Worry.
"All right," he said finally. "But I'll be there."
The council chamber felt heavier this time.
Lyra felt it the moment she crossed the threshold—eyes on her from every direction, curiosity sharpened by expectation. She forced herself not to shrink.
"Show us," one elder said calmly, "what you are becoming."
Her throat went dry.
Kael's presence at her side grounded her.
Lyra closed her eyes.
She didn't reach for fear.
She reached for care.
The warmth returned—brighter this time, spreading outward like a quiet dawn. The air softened. Even the elders seemed to still, breath catching unconsciously.
One of them whispered, "She's not drawing from rage…"
"No," another murmured. "She's stabilizing it."
Lyra opened her eyes, hands glowing faintly—golden, gentle.
She gasped. "I—I didn't mean—"
"Enough," the silver-haired elder said, rising slowly. His voice was no longer sharp. It was cautious. Reverent.
"You will be trained," he said. "Properly."
Lyra nodded, pulse racing.
As they left the chamber, Kael leaned closer. "You did well."
She looked up at him, eyes bright with a mix of fear and wonder. "I was terrified."
He allowed himself a small smile. "Courage usually is."
And somewhere beyond the walls, someone felt the shift—felt the awakening stabilize instead of explode.
Plans were rewritten.
Because a power that chose gentleness was far more dangerous than one born of rage.