Page 275 of Elemental Becoming

The word still echoes in my head.

“You’re tired.”

“No.”

I gritted my teeth and adjusted my stance. I dodged left, barely managing to catch his next strike.

“You’re lying.”

And I had been. Every parry. Every dodge. Every impact. My arms still ache and my thighs still burn.

Of course Valen was there observing my training session. His expression remained neutral, but I could feel the concern rolling off in waves.

I had collapsed onto the training grounds, sweat-drenched and gasping for a moment of reprieve, and he’d crouched beside me with that infuriating look that always meant he’d noticed something I hadn’t.

“You’re pushing too hard.”

His words had been sharp, cutting through me with brutal honesty.

“You’ll burn out before you ever reach the war.”

Even now, submerged in steaming water, the words linger. I sink a little deeper, letting the heat wash over me.

Rest feels impossible these days. Every time I close my eyes, I still see them—the fallen. Their bodies broken, their blood pooling across marble floors at the ball. The desperate screams still echo in my mind, refusing to fade.

And worst of all, I remember the moment I knew I wasn’t enough.

I wanted to do more. I should have done more.

But I couldn’t.

Valen doesn’t fully understand. He isn’t the Spiritborn. Hedoesn’t carry the weight of prophecy. No one does. He doesn’t know what it feels like to have the expectations of an entire realm pressing down on your shoulders. To be declared a destiny.

So many died.

My magics are still too new. Too unsteady. This world, this war—I’ve spent the last year playing catch-up while the other warriors have trained for this their entire lives.

I wasn’t strong enough then. But I will be. Because the attacks won’t cease. Instead, they’re becoming more organized, more brutal. The borderlands are burning.

And we are running out of time. I can feel it in my bones.

Last night, I had a nightmare. I woke up gasping, my chest heaving, my skin damp with sweat. Thane was there before I could even catch my breath, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me back into what was real.

As I pressed my face against his chest, I told him what I had seen. Because even now, the images refuse to leave me.

The grand ballroom rose around me, but it wasn’t whole. The chandeliers had long since shattered, their crystal remains glinting like fallen stars in pools of blood staining the marble floor. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of charred flesh. The metallic tang of death sat on my tongue.

And the screams. Gods, the screams.

I spun, my breath sharp, magics crackling at my fingertips. But I was too slow. Always too slow.

A cry cut through the chaos before I even saw her.

Rowena.

She stood just a few paces away, dark hair tangled, blood trailing from her temple. Her blade was slick with dark ichor, her chest heaving.

Behind her, a shadow moved—too fast, too silent. I tried to call out, to warn her, but my voice was gone. The figure rippedher backward into the darkness. She was there one moment, her eyes locking onto mine, wide with terror and the realization that no one was coming to save her. Then she was gone.