The journey to the capital took three weeks.
Iscara set a steady pace, stopping at villages along the way to rest the horses and resupply. She was professional but not unkind, explaining things about House Valeris and what Finn and Elara could expect at the Academy.
Finn listened with half his attention. The rest of his mind was occupied with practice.
At night, when they camped, he'd wait until the others were asleep, then slip away to a clearing and work on his magic. Creating small flames by intending cold. Lifting stones by willing them down. Weaving wind by visualizing stillness.
Error disguised as elemental versatility.
He was getting better. Faster. The inversion was becoming second nature, requiring less conscious thought each time.
On the third day of travel, Elara approached him during a rest stop.
"You're different from other boys our age," she said quietly, as if it had taken real effort to say the words.
Finn glanced at her. "How so?"
