Atrius turned to her. "He's not done."
She sat upright. "What? Why—"
Atrius looked at Soren again.
"Now we train your aura."
Soren's pulse tightened.
Valenna's whisper slid like ice and fire through his bones. At last.
Atrius gestured sharply. "Drop the practice blade."
Soren obeyed.
"Good," Atrius said. "Again. Center your stance. Breathe in. Pull from your spine, not your lungs."
Soren inhaled.
Something flickered beneath his skin.
Atrius circled him, voice low. "What you showed in the duel—the ice, the backlash against Rivan's aura—wasn't technique. That was instinct and spirit."
Valenna whispered: And now we teach you to call it on purpose.
Atrius stopped in front of him.
"Let it rise," he said. "Not your magic. Not the shard's. Yours."
Soren closed his eyes.
Reached inward.
And—
The floor shifted.
Not physically—through perception. Through awareness. Through something like pressure and breath and cold clarity blooming from deep in his ribs.
