Page 358 of Elemental Becoming

I brace with my shield raised, knees bent, watching the storm we unleashed tear across the field. Even though this is practice, even though it’s controlled, I feel the weight of what we are. What we could do if turned loose.

As my breathing steadies, I lower my shield. After a fewseconds, the magics begin to settle. The wind dies. The fire dims. The earth stills beneath our boots.

Hundreds of soldiers stand shoulder to shoulder, breathing hard in the aftermath of so much power.

We train all morning.

The field becomes a blur of movement, sweat, grit, the sting of raw magics, and the weight of repetition. My muscles burn, but I don’t stop. None of us do, not with Thane watching.

Not with what’s coming.

By the time the sun hangs overhead, we break for the midday meal.

Training has been starting earlier these past couple of weeks. Daylight grows shorter with each passing day, the sun slower to rise and quicker to fade as autumn nears its end. The mornings arrive cooler now, but not yet biting.

Thane turns to face us, the flames along his arms curling into nothingness. He walks the front line at an unhurried pace, taking in every soldier, every weapon, every patch of scorched earth left behind by training.

His voice carries across the field on a current of wind shaped by the air channeler.

“You fight like a unit now. But a storm is coming. A real one. The kind that doesn’t give second chances.”

His attention passes over the formation before finding me for the briefest moment.

“So tomorrow, we do it again. And we make it harder. We will be ready for whatever comes our way.”

He raises, then lowers his blade, and the formation dissolves.

By the time we reach the soldiers’ mess hall, I can barely feel my legs. My arms ache. My shoulders throb from holding a shield for so long. Dirt clings to my hair, sweat dries against my skin, and I’m starving.

Lyra collapses onto the bench beside me with a groan thatsounds more like a dying animal than a person.

“If I ever say I miss formation drills again, hit me.”

“Gladly,” I say, grabbing a hunk of bread and tearing into it like a wild thing. “I’ll use my sword next time.”

Across from us, Rowena dumps a ladle of steaming stew into a bowl and slides it to Sera before serving herself.

“I think my spine cracked in three places during that last formation,” Rowena sighs.

“Three?” Garrick appears with a tray stacked high with food. Before sitting, he leans over and presses a quick kiss to Lyra’s head. She beams.

“Lightweights,” he declares as he drops onto the bench beside her. “Mine’s shattered entirely. I’m just pretending to function out of sheer pride.”

“Pride and stupidity,” Jarek says, settling beside him.

His usually neat hair is plastered to his forehead, and even he looks wrung out.

Rian joins us, bowl in hand, taking the seat across from Lyra and me. He doesn’t say much, but the way he exhales as he sits says everything. Even he’s tired.

Then Kieran saunters in, looking suspiciously refreshed for someone who should be dead on his feet.

“Well,” he says, setting his bowl down and stretching like a cat, “I, for one, feel amazing. Nothing like a few hundred formation shifts to keep the blood flowing.”

Lyra glares at him. “Were you even there?”

The words come out with enough bite that several people glance up from their food.

Kieran lifts both hands, suddenly looking very nervous. “Garrick?”