Page 342 of Elemental Becoming

Rian ignores them. “Then came the Spiral, which should have been smooth, but someone—” he glances at Garrick “—overshot his arc and nearly crashed into Roran.”

“That was not my fault,” Garrick says, pointing with his fork. “Roran veered left when he was supposed to hold the line.”

Jarek lets out a short bark of laughter. “So, naturally, your solution was to dive straight at him?”

“I was improvising.”

“You were barreling toward disaster,” Rian deadpans.

Garrick shrugs, unfazed. “And yet, no disaster.”

Jarek turns to Lyra. “See? This is why we all need to eat before training. A starving Garrick is a reckless Garrick.”

Lyra laughs, propping her chin on her hand. “So what I’m hearing is the squad’s sharpening up, except Garrick, who’s a danger to everyone when he’s hungry.”

Garrick jabs his fork into his scrambled eggs. “Sounds accurate.”

I hide a smile behind my cup, listening as their voices overlap, sharp jabs softened by laughter. This kind of teasing can’t be manufactured. It’s earned through shared hardship, trust, and time.

These bonds aren’t just forged on the battlefield.

They’re built here too, in stolen food, sarcasm, and the quiet moments between the war.

I glance to my left.

Thane is watching them. His shoulders are relaxed, his attention drifting easily between conversations.

He notices me watching.

“What?”The word drifts through our bond.

“I like seeing you smile,”I answer, the thought slipping frommy mind to his like a breath.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his hand slips through my hair before trailing down my back, the touch so familiar it steals my breath. Then, without ceremony, he picks up his fork, spears a piece of fruit, pops it into his mouth, and smiles.

“Morning!”

I glance to my right and see Kieran approach the table. Rian and Jarek shift over, making space. Kieran carefully sets a blade on the table, then places a plate in front of him and drops onto the bench across from Lyra, like he’s always belonged here.

The blade is smaller than the ones Thane, Garrick, and Rian carry. Slender, curved, and built for speed rather than brute force. I haven’t seen it before. It looks out of place beside the heavier longswords and broad blades favored by the Fire Clan.

Kieran notices me studying it and raises a brow. He taps the hilt with two fingers before drawing it in a single smooth motion.

“Wind-carver,” he says. “That’s what the Air Clan calls it.”

His fingers trace the blade’s edge.

“Short. Curved. Made for quick, precise strikes. It’s not about strength. It’s about speed, agility . . . knowing where to cut.”

He picks it up, spinning it once between his fingers with fluid ease. The motion looks casual even though it isn’t.

“The Fire Clan likes to crush their enemies.” His blue-silver eyes glint. “We prefer to cut them down before they see us coming.”

The blade flashes in the light before settling back onto the table.

“A longsword will wear you out in a drawn-out fight. This?” He gestures toward the weapon. “This keeps you moving.”

Garrick shakes his head. “So you’re saying you all carry tiny swords because you don’t have the stamina for a real fight?”