First-Person — Nyra
The forest outside the ruined chapel is quieter than it should be. No birds. No wind. Just the steady rhythm of Kael's voice and the pulse of my own heartbeat.
"Again," he says.
I grit my teeth, hands trembling as the faint shimmer of power gathers between my fingers. The air bends, light warping, a whisper of flame that refuses to settle. My mark burns under my ribs — alive, restless, angry.
"I said again."
I whirl on him. "You think shouting is helping?"
His mouth twitches — not quite a smile, not quite mockery. "It's not shouting if you need it drilled into your stubborn head."
"Maybe you should find someone else to drill things into," I snap back before I can stop myself.
His gaze sharpens. Silence hums between us, thick and charged. The corner of his lip lifts, the faintest hint of danger. "Careful, Nyra. I might take that as an invitation."
Heat floods my face. "You wouldn't."
He steps closer, boots silent on the dirt, his shadow brushing over mine. "Wouldn't I?"
The mark flares. I can't tell if it's reacting to him or to my own pulse going wild.
Kael stops just close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from his chest. His hand lifts — slow, deliberate — until his fingers hover inches from my stomach, where the mark throbs beneath my skin.
"This," he murmurs, "isn't a curse to fear. It's a blade. You either master it…" His eyes meet mine — dark, steady, impossible to look away from. "…or it masters you."
I swallow. "And you know so much about control?"
"Enough to see you don't have any."
The insult should sting. Instead, it ignites something — anger, defiance, heat.
I focus, dragging breath into my lungs, forcing the energy to obey. The shimmer returns, then twists, spiraling between my palms. Kael's gaze never leaves me, and somehow that steady stare anchors me. The flame steadies.
"I—" I start, but the power flickers. My knees buckle.
Kael moves faster than I can react — catching me by the waist. His arm is firm, steady. I feel the strength coiled in him, the warmth of his breath brushing my temple.
"Easy," he whispers. "Don't fight it."
My heart is a drum. My power hums under my skin, alive, wild, and dangerously close to losing control again. But with him there, holding me… it listens.
I meet his eyes — and for a heartbeat, something breaks open between us. Something neither of us can name yet.
Then he steps back, releasing me as if nothing happened. "Better," he says, voice even.
"You call that better?"
"For you?" His gaze flicks to my mark, then back up. "It's progress."
He turns away, heading toward the trees. "Rest. Tomorrow we push harder."
I watch him go, my pulse refusing to calm. The wind shifts, carrying the faint metallic scent of danger and rain. Somewhere beyond the trees, something moves — watching us both.
Whatever it is… it's not human.