Page 59 of Elemental Becoming

I sneak a glance at Thane beside me, likely oblivious to the entire conversation unfolding in my mind.

“When will we fly again?”Calryx asks, her tone edged with impatience.“It’s been a few days.”

“I know. I’m itching to fly as well. I’m just trying to figure out everything going on with Thane, and the capital, and the council. And now I have to go to a ball.”

“Humans and their politics and traditions. So much wasted time. It is a sad thing that your discussions and ceremonies take up so much of your short lives.”

Calryx truly sounds sorry for us.

“I appreciate your concern.”I laugh, softly.“Let’s fly tomorrow.”

“Ah. Yes, that would be excellent.”

A sensation like a door gently closing follows, and the connection fades.

As we approach his father’s wing, something in Thane shifts. His posture straightens. His steps slow, his hand tightening in mine before easing again.

And with it, the bond quickens, uneven beneath my skin. I press my thumb lightly against his hand to try to steady him.

The corridor grows quieter here; the air heavier.

This matters.

Not because of who Thane is now—Warlord, commander, the man everyone answers to.

But because of who waits ahead. The man who raised him, who shaped him, who once ruled these halls before the weight of duty passed to his son.

His father.

I think of my place here. How much has changed, how much I’ve changed. I’m not walking into this as the girl who barelysurvived.

The bond hums beneath my skin. In this short time, it’s become something I lean into without thinking. It changed everything. And I know not everyone will accept what we are.

I inhale deeply through my nose and exhale a controlled breath through my mouth. Once. Twice. A third time. Counting my breaths helps settle the unease curling in my stomach, the same technique Valen taught me to center myself when wielding.

Control your breath. Control your mind.

It doesn’t make the nerves disappear, but it keeps me from fraying at the edges.

Beside me, Thane glances down at me, assessing.

“Nervous?” he asks, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“I definitely am,” I admit, my voice quieter than I mean for it to be.

His fingers tighten around mine, a reassuring squeeze.

“He will love you,” he says. “Just like my mother would have. No matter what’s changed in him over the years, I know his heart.”

The words settle deeply, unexpected and grounding all at once.

I hold his gaze for a moment longer, then nod.

As the massive doors swing open, the sheer grandeur of the space unfolds before me. The room is vast, heavy with history. Dark beams stretch overhead, the stone walls softened by crimson and black tapestries embroidered with the victories of the Fire Clan. The space is glorious, built for a ruler.

The floor is layered with rich rugs, their warmth dulling the echo of our steps. A large bed stands against the far wall, carved from dark wood, its presence commanding but not indulgent. Everything is orderly and maintained.

To one side, a fireplace sits cold, the season making its heat unnecessary. Nearby, a table and chairs suggest quiet conversations once held here by the Lord and Lady of the realm.