The lessons began at dawn.
Emma stood at the lake's edge, the water lapping at her bare feet, still wearing the simple nightgown she'd slept in. The air was cold enough to make her breath mist, and she hadn't had coffee—didn't even know if coffee existed in this world—but Elder Thorne had insisted that magic was strongest at the threshold times, when day met night or night met day.
"Feel it," the elder said, standing beside her with remarkable steadiness for someone who had to be at least eighty. "Not with your hands or your eyes. With whatever part of you woke up when you rose from the Moonmere."
Emma closed her eyes, trying to do as instructed. For a moment, there was nothing but the ordinary sensations—cold feet, cool air, the distant sound of birds beginning their morning songs.
Then, slowly, she felt it.
The lake's presence, vast and deep. But it wasn't just water anymore. She could sense the life within it—fish moving in schools through the depths, tiny creatures crawling along the bottom, plants swaying in currents. Each droplet seemed to carry information, a story of where it had been and what it had touched.
"I feel... everything," Emma whispered. "It's overwhelming."
"Then learn to filter. The lake will tell you everything if you let it, but you must choose what to listen to. Try focusing on just the surface. The top six inches of water."
Emma concentrated, trying to narrow her awareness. It was like trying to hear a single conversation in a crowded room—difficult at first, requiring intense focus. But gradually, she managed it. The surface of the lake came into sharp relief in her mind, and she could feel its texture, its temperature, the way the morning breeze created tiny ripples.
"Good," Elder Thorne said. "Now, without moving your body, reach out and touch that water. Not with your hand. With your will."
"I don't know how to do that."
"Yes, you do. You did it when you fought the dragon. You just didn't know you were doing it."
Emma frowned, remembering. The elder was right—she hadn't consciously decided to raise walls of water or create whips of liquid to strike at creatures. She'd simply needed it to happen, and it had. But doing it deliberately, when she wasn't terrified and running on adrenaline, felt different.
She reached out with her awareness, extending that strange new sense toward the lake. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, she felt a connection form—like an invisible thread linking her to the water.
"Now pull," Elder Thorne instructed.
Emma pulled.
A sphere of water rose from the lake, perhaps the size of her fist, hovering in the air between her and the shore. Her eyes snapped open in surprise, and immediately the sphere splashed back down.
"I did it!" Emma grinned, feeling absurdly proud of such a small thing.
"You did. Now do it again. And this time, keep your eyes open. You need to be able to maintain the connection while staying aware of your surroundings."
They practiced for hours. Emma learned to lift water in various shapes and sizes, to move it through the air, to hold it suspended against gravity's pull. Her head began to ache from the concentration, and sweat beaded on her forehead despite the cool morning.
"Why does it make me tired?" Emma asked during a brief rest, sitting on a smooth stone while Elder Thorne offered her water from a skin. "The magic, I mean. Isn't it supposed to be part of me?"
"Magic is will made manifest," the elder explained. "You're imposing your will on reality, forcing it to bend to your desire. That takes energy, mental and physical. The more you practice, the easier it becomes—the better your mind learns the pathways, the more efficient your will becomes. But it will always cost you something. Remember that, especially in battle. The Shadow King has had decades to hone his magic. His will is strong and practiced. Yours is new."
"So I'm outmatched."
"In raw power and experience? Almost certainly. But you have something he doesn't."
"What's that?"
Elder Thorne smiled. "You're connected to life, to creation. His magic is fueled by death, by taking. Yours is fueled by giving, by connection. Life is always stronger than death, Emma. It just doesn't always look that way in the moment."
Emma wanted to believe that. She really did. But thinking about facing someone who'd been killing people for seven decades, someone whose magic was built on mountains of corpses...
"Let's continue," she said, standing up. Thinking about it wouldn't help. Only getting stronger would.
They worked until midday, when Mara arrived with food and a firm insistence that Emma rest. Over bread and cheese and some kind of dried meat that Emma was afraid to ask about, Mara checked her over with a healer's practiced eye.
"You're pushing too hard," she observed. "I can see it in how you're holding yourself. Magic exhaustion is real, Emma. If you drain yourself too far, you won't just be tired—you'll be vulnerable."
"I don't have time to take it slow," Emma protested. "You said yourself the Shadow King is preparing something. I need to be ready."
"You also need to be alive. Rest is part of training, not a luxury."
Emma wanted to argue, but the truth was she felt hollowed out, her mind fuzzy with exhaustion. She let Mara guide her back to the small house where she'd been staying—not Mara's home, she'd learned, but a place set aside for travelers and guests. Before the Shadow King's rise, Last Light had been a waypoint for merchants traveling to and from the mountains. Now it was just a refuge.
She slept deeply and woke in the late afternoon to find Finn sitting beside her bed, reading a tattered book.
"Creepy much?" Emma said, making him jump.
"I was keeping watch! Mara said someone should, in case you had nightmares. You didn't though. You slept like a rock." He held up his book. "I've been reading about the old heroes. Did you know there was once a knight who could talk to horses?"
"Sounds useful."
"Right? I asked Father if we could get a horse so I could learn, but he said—"
"Finn," Emma interrupted gently. "Why are you really here?"
The boy's enthusiasm faded. He set down his book, looking suddenly older than his thirteen years. "I wanted to ask you something. But I wasn't sure if I should."
Emma sat up, giving him her full attention. "Ask."
"When you fought the dragon, when you were rising up on that water-spout... were you scared?"
"Terrified," Emma admitted. "I thought I was going to die."
"But you did it anyway."
"I didn't have much choice. It was fight or let everyone get killed."
Finn nodded slowly. "That's what Mother did. When the shadow-creature came, she pushed me toward the root cellar and told me to run. I heard her screaming while I ran." His voice was very quiet. "I hear it sometimes, still. At night."
Emma's chest tightened. "Finn..."
"People say she was brave. They say she was a hero. But all I remember is being so scared I couldn't think, and then running, and then she was gone." He looked up at Emma, and his eyes were bright with tears he was trying not to shed. "Does it ever stop? The being scared?"
Emma thought about lying, about telling him something comforting. But Finn deserved better than that.
"I don't think so," she said honestly. "I think we just get better at doing what we need to do even when we're scared. Your mother saved your life, Finn. She gave you the chance to grow up, to become whoever you're meant to be. That wasn't about not being afraid. That was about loving you more than she feared death."
"I want to be like that," Finn said fiercely. "I want to be brave enough to protect people."
"You already are. You stood in that boat with your bow while monsters fell from the sky. That's brave."
"That was different. You were there. The Lake Fairy."
"I'm just Emma," she said, frustrated by the title again. "I'm just a person, Finn. I'm scared almost all the time now. Every time I close my eyes, I see that dragon's eyes, and I think about how easily it could have killed me."
"But it didn't."
"This time. Next time I might not be so lucky."
They sat in silence for a moment. Then Finn said, very quietly, "My father told me once that being brave isn't about winning. It's about standing up even when you might lose. I didn't understand then. I think maybe I do now."
Emma reached out and ruffled his hair, making him squawk in protest. "You're a good kid, you know that?"
"I'm not a kid!" But he was grinning.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Mara entered, followed by Gareth and, surprisingly, Marcus—the scarred council member.
"We have news," Gareth said, his expression grim. "Not good news."
Emma's stomach sank. "What happened?"
"Runner came from Millbrook—one of the villages to the east," Marcus explained. "Shadow creatures attacked three days ago. The village held them off, but barely. They lost twelve people, and the creatures destroyed half their grain stores."
"They're probing our defenses," Gareth added. "Testing to see how strong we are, where we're weakest."
"Or looking for you," Mara said, looking at Emma. "The Shadow King knows the Lake Fairy has awakened. He may be trying to locate you, assess your strength."
Emma's hands clenched into fists. "People died because of me."
"People died because of the Shadow King," Marcus corrected firmly. "Don't take his sins onto your shoulders, girl. That way lies madness."
"Marcus is right," Gareth said. "But this does mean we need to make plans. Millbrook is asking for help, for the Lake Fairy to come and defend them. Other villages will likely ask the same."
"So I go," Emma said immediately. "I go to Millbrook, I help them—"
"And leave Last Light undefended?" Mara shook her head. "The moment you leave, the creatures could strike here."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" Emma's voice rose with frustration. "I can't be everywhere at once!"
"No," Elder Thorne's voice came from the doorway. The old leader entered, leaning heavily on a gnarled walking stick. "But perhaps you don't need to be. Tell me, Emma—when you fought the creatures in the lake, did you kill them, or merely drive them away?"
Emma thought back. "The ones I hit directly... I don't know. They disappeared into the water. I wasn't trying to kill them, just stop them."
"Exactly. Your instinct was to defend, to push back, not to destroy. That's important." The elder moved further into the room, and everyone shifted to give them space. "The Lake Fairy's power is connected to life and healing. Perhaps instead of traveling to each village to fight, you could do something more lasting."
"Like what?"
"Bless the waters," Elder Thorne said simply. "Each village has a well or a stream, a source of water. If you could infuse them with your magic, create wards that would repel the Shadow King's creatures..."
"That's just a theory," Marcus objected. "We don't know if it would work."
"We know her blood in the water weakened the creatures," Gareth pointed out. "I saw it myself. They recoiled from it."
"Because your essence is anathema to theirs," Elder Thorne explained to Emma. "Life opposing death, creation opposing corruption. If you could leave a piece of your magic in each water source, it might provide protection even in your absence."
Emma considered it. "How would I even do that?"
"I'm not certain. But magic is will made manifest, remember? If you will the water to remember you, to carry your protection, perhaps it would obey."
It was a maybe. A hope. But it was better than trying to be in five places at once, better than watching people die while she rushed from crisis to crisis.
"I'll try," Emma said. "Let's start with Last Light's well. If it works here, we can take the method to other villages."
"And if it doesn't work?" Finn asked.
Emma met his eyes. "Then we figure something else out. That's all we can do—keep trying until we find what works."
The village well sat in the center of the square, a simple stone structure worn smooth by generations of hands drawing water. As word spread that the Lake Fairy was going to attempt something, people began to gather. Emma felt their eyes on her, their hope and expectation pressing down like physical weight.
"No pressure," she muttered to herself.
Elder Thorne stood beside her, along with Mara, Gareth, and Finn. The rest of the council had positioned themselves at the edges of the crowd, ready to explain or control the situation if needed.
"How do I start?" Emma asked.
"However feels right," Elder Thorne said, unhelpfully.
Emma took a deep breath and approached the well. She looked down into its depths, seeing her reflection in the dark water below. The girl looking back at her seemed like a stranger—hair longer than she remembered, face thinner, eyes holding an intensity she'd never seen in herself before.
She reached out with her awareness, the way she'd practiced all morning. The well water responded immediately, recognizing her. It wanted to rise, wanted to obey. Emma held it back, not lifting it yet, just connecting to it.
"I don't know if this will work," she said softly, speaking to the water as much as to herself. "But I need you to remember me. To carry my protection. To push back against darkness."
Nothing happened. Emma frowned, trying to think of how to make her will more clear. In desperation, she did what had worked before—she let instinct guide her.
Emma placed both hands on the well's stone edge and closed her eyes. She thought about Last Light, about the people who lived here. Finn's brave smile. Mara's gentle healing. Gareth's quiet strength. Elder Thorne's patient wisdom. She thought about the children playing in the square, the gardens full of flowers, the way people had made beauty even in the shadow of fear.
She thought about her father, about the way he'd loved this story, about what he might say if he could see her now.
Protect them, Emma thought, pushing the feeling down through her hands into the stone, into the water below. Keep them safe. Remember me, and when darkness comes, push it back. Life over death. Light over shadow. Please.
Her hands began to glow, that same pale green as her dress. The light spread down into the well, illuminating the water below. Emma felt something leave her—not her life, exactly, but a piece of herself. A fragment of her will, her magic, her very essence, flowing into the water and spreading through it like ink through clear liquid.
The well water began to glow.
Gasps came from the watching crowd. Emma opened her eyes and saw that the water was luminous now, lit from within with a soft green light. The glow was gentle but steady, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.
"Did it work?" Finn breathed.
"Only one way to find out," Marcus said. He pulled a knife from his belt and, before anyone could stop him, drew it across his palm. Blood welled up, dark red against his weathered skin.
"What are you doing?" Mara demanded.
"Testing." Marcus held his bleeding hand over the well and squeezed, letting drops of blood fall into the glowing water.
The moment the blood touched the water, the glow intensified. The blood didn't mix with the water—instead, it seemed to dissolve, to be broken down and purified. The light pulsed once, twice, and then settled back to its steady glow.
"It's cleansing," Mara said in wonder. "The water is actively purifying any corruption."
"Will it work on shadow-creatures though?" Gareth asked.
"We'd need to test it, but—" Elder Thorne paused, tilting their head. "Actually, we may not need to wait."
They pointed toward the edge of the village. Emma turned and felt her heart sink.
A shadow-creature crept through the trees at the village's edge—smaller than the ones she'd fought before, roughly the size of a large dog. It moved with predatory grace, its form shifting and indistinct as if it couldn't quite decide what shape to hold. Multiple eyes glinted from various points on its body, all fixed on the village square.
On the well.
"Everyone stay back," Emma commanded, stepping forward. But the creature wasn't looking at her. It was looking at the well, and even from this distance, Emma could see something strange—the creature seemed reluctant to approach. It would start forward, then stop, then try again, as if pushing against an invisible barrier.
"The water," Elder Thorne said quietly. "It's already working. The creature can sense the protection."
The shadow-creature let out a frustrated hiss and turned to flee. But Emma had a better idea. She reached out to the well with her awareness and pulled.
A stream of glowing water erupted from the well, arcing through the air like a living thing. It struck the creature dead-on, and the effect was immediate. The thing shrieked—a sound like tearing metal—and began to dissolve, its shadowy form breaking apart like smoke in a strong wind. Within seconds, nothing remained but a dark stain on the ground that even as they watched, was being absorbed harmlessly into the earth.
Silence filled the square. Then someone started clapping, and others joined in until applause filled the air. Emma barely heard it. She was staring at the dark stain, thinking about how easily she'd just destroyed a living thing—or at least something that had been alive in its own way.
"You saved us," Finn said, appearing at her elbow. "Again."
"I killed something," Emma said quietly.
"You defended us. That's different."
Was it? Emma wanted to think so. But she'd just watched something dissolve under her magic, cease to exist, and the ease of it frightened her.
Mara's hand landed on her shoulder. "A shadow-creature isn't alive the way we are," she said softly, having heard Emma's words. "It's a corruption, a piece of the Shadow King's will given form. You didn't kill a life. You cleansed a wound."
Emma wanted to believe her. She thought about the creature's eyes, about how they'd tracked her with clear intelligence. But she also thought about the people of Last Light, about what would have happened if she hadn't acted.
"Come," Elder Thorne said. "You've done well today. The well is protected, and you've proven the method works. But you need rest. Tomorrow, we can begin planning how to extend this protection to the other villages."
As Emma let herself be led away from the square, she heard the excited chatter of the villagers discussing what they'd seen. Children were already making a game of it, pretending to shoot water from imaginary wells at imaginary monsters.
She'd given them hope. For tonight, that would have to be enough.
But as she lay in bed later, unable to sleep despite her exhaustion, Emma couldn't stop thinking about the Shadow King. About Aldric Greystone, who'd loved his daughter so much he'd destroyed himself to save her.
About how a person could start with love and end with darkness.
About whether she could truly stop someone like that without becoming something terrible herself.
The questions followed her into uneasy dreams, and she woke several times in the night, reaching for a comfort that wasn't there.