Page 228 of Elemental Becoming

“Too much,” Valen says sharply. “Don’t pull. Regulate. Let her give.”

I try to suppress it, but the pressure builds. My breath catches.

“Stop,”Calryx says, her voice edged now.“You’re still grasping. Breathe.”

I release the channel in a gasp, staggering back. The magics drops away, leaving a hollow ache behind.

Valen steps forward, handing me a flask of water.

“That was nearing burnout,” he says. “Again. Slower this time.”

I nod, my jaw tight. After taking a long sip, I hand it back andtry again. Valen retreats a few paces, giving me space.

“If you are ready,”Calryx whispers, “then open yourself.”

I let the bond remain open. Let the magics come to me. It hums through my chest, warm, unwavering, but restrained. A shared current instead of a flood.

I don’t force it. Ishapeit. Let it move where it will.

Wind rustles at my back. My skin tingles, not with sparks this time, but with a low thrumming glow that pulses below the surface.

“Good.” Valen raises his voice. “Now hold. No more pulling. Just hold.”

The magics stabilize, dancing just beneath my skin. I’m sweating, my breathing shallow, but I’m standing.

Calryx’s pride thrums across the bond.

“This is only the beginning,”she says, satisfaction coloring her voice.

And I believe her.

We continue, again and again. Sometimes I pull too much. Sometimes everything clicks.

After an hour of practice, the magics begins to rise at a thought, like an old friend answering a call. It still demands my focus, but it no longer steals every ounce of it.

When we finally pause, the silence feels different.

Earned.

LETTING GO

THIRTY-ONE

We press onward, even when exhaustion weighs upon us, when grief has hollowed us out and we feel there is nothing left to give. We endure for them. For the generations yet to come. For our families, our lovers, our friends. These bonds are stronger than any magics. Indeed, I wonder if they are not the truest magics of all, the spark from which every other wonder is kindled.

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

AMARA

We rest for an hour, sharing a light lunch Valen packed while the world around us settles into the quiet rhythm of the afternoon.

“This is nothing compared to Water Clan cooking,” Valen says after handing me a slice of fresh bread and a wedge of sharp cheese. “Our meals were rarely hurried.”

“Oh?” I smile. “I somehow can’t picture you spending hours in a kitchen.”

His laugh is warm. “I wasn’t the one cooking. I was usually the apprentice sent to chop vegetables or haul water.” He shakes his head. “The healers believed food should nourish both body and spirit. Meals were part of the healing process.”

“They trained everyone?”