The winter sun never rose high. Days lingered in gray light, and the forest seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something terrible to break.
Kael pushed Aradia harder with each dawn. Their training was no longer a lesson, but survival.
"Again," he commanded, his deep voice carrying through the snow-blanketed clearing.
Her arms shook, flames dancing across her palms as sweat dripped down her brow. Her cloak lay discarded, her body trembling from exhaustion, her breath misting in the frigid air.
"I can't—" she gasped.
Kael's hand caught her wrist, his grip firm, grounding. "You can. You will. Your fire is not your enemy. Fear is."
His words struck deep. She closed her eyes, feeling the storm inside her chest. It wanted to devour, to burn without mercy. But when she let herself feel him—his warmth, his strength, the bond between them—the fire steadied.
She opened her eyes. A steady flame burned in her hand, controlled, bright.
Kael's lips curved, pride softening his sharp features. "Good."
She exhaled, relief flooding her chest. "It feels… different."
His hand trailed down her arm, lingering at her elbow, rough and gentle all at once. "Because now you are not fighting alone."
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the training field faded. Her fire flickered, but not with fear—only with want.