The journey north was treacherous. Winter had tightened its grip on the land, and the roads were barely passable. Elara and Kieran traveled on foot, avoiding the main highways where Darius's soldiers patrolled.
On the third day, as they climbed higher into the mountains, Elara felt it again. The warmth in her chest, spreading through her body like liquid sunlight. She stopped mid-step, gasping.
"It's happening again," she managed.
Kieran turned immediately, his hand going to his sword. "Are you hurt?"
"No. The power. I can feel it growing stronger."
He relaxed slightly, though his eyes remained alert. "The closer we get to the Enclave, the stronger it will become. The Silvermoon Mountains are saturated with ancient magic. It calls to the power in your blood."
Elara pressed her hand against her chest, feeling her heartbeat quicken. Light began to seep between her fingers, soft and silver like moonlight.
"How do I stop it?" she asked, panic rising.
"You don't," Kieran said, moving closer. "You learn to guide it. Close your eyes. Breathe. Feel the warmth, but don't fight it. Imagine it flowing through you like a river, not a flood."
Elara did as he instructed, though every instinct screamed to push the power away. Slowly, gradually, the light dimmed. The warmth remained, but controlled, contained.
When she opened her eyes, Kieran was watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. Pride, perhaps. Or hope.
"Better," he said. "You're learning faster than I expected."
"I don't feel like I'm learning anything," Elara admitted. "I feel like I'm drowning in something I don't understand."
"That's what learning is," Kieran said with a slight smile. "The drowning comes first. The swimming comes later."
They continued climbing, the path growing narrower and more dangerous. As afternoon faded to evening, they reached a plateau where ancient stone markers stood covered in symbols Elara didn't recognize.
"We're close," Kieran said. "The Enclave's outer wards begin here. They'll know we're coming."
"And if they don't want us?"
"Then we convince them. The fate of the kingdom may depend on it."
A figure emerged from behind one of the stone markers, seemingly materializing from thin air. An old woman, her hair white as snow, her eyes the pale silver of a winter sky. She wore robes that seemed to shift between colors, never settling on one hue.
"Kieran Ashford," the woman said, her voice surprisingly strong. "Five years it has been since you last climbed this mountain."
"Magistra Lyra," Kieran bowed respectfully. "I come seeking sanctuary and training for one who bears the starlight."
Lyra's gaze shifted to Elara, and the old woman's eyes widened slightly. "The lost princess. We have been expecting you, child. Though I confess, we hoped you would arrive under better circumstances."
"You know what happened?" Elara asked.
"The stars tell many tales to those who know how to listen," Lyra said. "Come. The Archmagister will want to meet you. And you, Princess, have much to learn if you hope to survive what is coming."
As Lyra turned to lead them deeper into the mountains, Elara caught Kieran's eye. He nodded slightly, encouragingly.
This was the beginning of her true education. The beginning of her transformation from a fleeing princess to something far more powerful.
She took a deep breath of the cold mountain air and followed Lyra into the unknown.