Page 217 of Elemental Becoming

I blink once, then again. The panic doesn’t disappear, but it loosens enough for me to breathe. Enough for me to meet his eyes.

When I do, I manage a small smile. He squeezes my hand and gives a faint nod.

“Follow my lead. You’re ready for this.”

Together, we move through the room, his hand never leaves mine.

At each bed, we pause.

A young soldier lies with one arm wrapped tightly against his chest, the other bandaged from shoulder to wrist. Burns crawl up the side of his neck, angry and raw. He tries to sit up when he sees us, wincing with the effort.

Thane places a firm hand on his shoulder and gently eases him back.

“Rest,” he says softly. “You did more than enough.”

The soldier nods, his jaw clenching as he fights to keep his composure.

At the next bed, a woman clutches a healer’s hand while herleg is splinted. Her face is pale and drawn, but when her eyes meet mine, disbelief flashes across her features.

I kneel beside her and offer a small smile.

“You’re not alone,” I tell her quietly.

Her voice trembles. “You’re the Spiritborn.”

I nod, taking her hand.

“My grandmother used to tell me stories. She said there would come a day when someone would rise—a girl touched by all four elements. Someone to bring balance back to the magics and push back the dark.”

Her eyes well with tears.

“She said you’d come to heal the land.”

Her fingers tighten around mine as though she’s afraid I might disappear if she lets go.

I swallow hard. The panic stirs again, the weight of it presses against my chest as the reality of this role rises up around me once more. What it means. What it demands. What people expect from me.

A hand settles on my shoulder and I look up.

Thane stands close enough that I can feel his warmth. His hand slides from my shoulder to the back of my neck, his touch light and reassuring. A reminder.

You’re not carrying this alone.

I draw in a breath and turn back to the woman. This time, I manage a smile.

I can’t give her false hope. She came here for a celebration and woke up in an infirmary. I don’t know what the future holds, and I don’t know whether I will become everything these people believe I can be. But I can give her this.

“I’m here,” I say, feeling more committed to my role in this war than ever before. “And I am at your service.”

Thane’s fingers brush the back of my neck again. The bond shifts, subtle and certain, as though the space between us hasnarrowed without either of us moving. Warm approval hums through the connection, followed by something softer that settles around my heart like a blanket. I don’t need words to understand it.

I stand, squeezing the woman’s hand. She holds on for a moment longer before finally letting go.

Thane’s hand brushes the small of my back. Not to guide me or to push. Just enough to remind me he’s there.

We keep moving.

Some patients bear burns. Others are wrapped in bandages, stitched and splinted. There are cracked ribs, shattered bones, and faces swollen past recognition. Injuries that will take time—and something deeper than time—to heal.