Elara
Training did not begin with strength.
It began with failure so quiet it felt personal.
The clearing Malrik chose offered no mercy—no soft earth, no sheltering trees, no shadows deep enough to hide weakness. Stone pressed cold and unforgiving beneath Elara's boots. The air was thin, sharp enough to punish shallow breaths.
"Again," Malrik said.
His voice was calm. That made it worse.
Elara lifted her hands, fingers trembling despite her effort to still them. She reached inward—careful this time, cautious, remembering his words.
Guide it. Don't force it.
The power surged anyway.
Too fast. Too wide.
The ground buckled, stone fracturing outward in a violent ripple that shattered nothing of value and proved nothing except how little control she had. The backlash slammed into her chest, knocking the air from her lungs.
She fell to one knee.
The silence that followed burned hotter than the failure.
Malrik didn't move to catch her.
Didn't soften his expression.
