Aeron's training chamber wasn't like the others. It was underground, carved straight from volcanic stone, and the air thrummed with old magic. The torches along the walls burned violet, flickering without smoke, casting long sharp shadows.
There were no weapons. No targets. No mats. Just a perfect circle of pale ash drawn on the floor.
And Aeron, standing inside it like he'd been born there—hands clasped behind his back, coat trailing, expression a mix of boredom and expectation.
"Step into the circle," he said without turning.
Nova hovered at the edge.
"It won't bite," he added. "You might. But that's why we're here."
She stepped forward.
The moment her foot crossed the line, the world changed tempo. Her heartbeat synced to something deeper—like drums beneath the earth.
Aeron finally faced her, pale eyes sweeping over her like she was an interesting puzzle he was deciding whether to solve or detonate.
"You've already used power accidentally," he said. "Let's find out what happens when you do it on purpose."
Nova swallowed. "I don't know how."
"That's adorable," Aeron said. "Sit."
She did.
"Close your eyes."
She obeyed.
"Breathe."
Inhale. Exhale.
"Again. Slower. Gods, you breathe like someone's chasing you."
Her brows knit.
"Are you going to insult me this entire lesson?"
"Almost certainly," he said. "Now hush. Find your wolf."
Nova exhaled, sinking inward. There—faint, fragile.
I'm listening, her wolf murmured.
"Good," Aeron said, even though she hadn't spoken aloud. "Now go deeper. Beneath instinct. Beneath fear. Find the thing inside you that glows."
She hesitated.
"Magic isn't fetched like a stick," Aeron continued. "It's coaxed. Tempted. Seduced, if you will. Treat it like a cat—ignore it until it becomes obsessed with impressing you."
Despite herself, Nova snorted.
"Better," Aeron said. "Laughing improves channeling by 12%. I made that number up, but it sounded convincing, didn't it?"
Nova concentrated.
And there it was— A warmth. A spark. Small, but alive.
"Yes," Aeron breathed. "Now shape it. A shield. But gently. You're not attacking the room. I enchanted it and would prefer it intact."
Nova inhaled and pictured light expanding from her center outward.
Nothing happened.
"Stop trying," Aeron said. "You're clenching your magic the way Jax clenches his jaw when Fin uses a big word."
Nova tried to smother a smile. "That obvious?"
"Oh, painfully. Now—stillness. Focus. And perhaps think of something comforting. Or enraging. Either works."
She breathed again.
She thought of—
The tower. Meredith's fingers on her throat. Her mother's voice. Fin's quiet promise. Jax's steady hand guiding her through the hallway.
Light stirred.
A flicker.
A shimmer.
Then—
FWSSHH.
A thin veil of silver expanded from her skin, rippling the air. The torches bent toward her as if bowing.
Aeron's mouth parted slightly in genuine awe—rare, fleeting.
"Well," he murmured. "Look at that."
Nova opened her eyes.
A shield, faint but unmistakably real, hovered around her. Silver. Moonlit.
Her hands glowed.
Her breath hitched. "I… I did that?"
"Yes," Aeron said. "Congratulations. You've just accomplished something most shifters can't do even under threat of dismemberment."
She stared at him. "What am I?"
Aeron stepped closer, studying her like a celestial event he'd waited centuries to witness.
When he spoke, it was soft.
And absolutely truthful.
"Something no one is remotely prepared for."
___________________________________________________________________________________
📚 Wooden Swords
Nova tightened the strap on her forearm brace, glancing up at the rising sun as it cast long shadows across the training grounds. Her muscles were still sore from yesterday's conditioning, and now here she was—about to do it again.
Draven stood at the head of the weapons ring, arms folded across his chest, looking more like a grizzled warrior than a professor. His expression was unreadable as he paced in front of the class, a pair of twin ironwood training swords strapped to his back.
"Sparring sticks first," he said with the bored efficiency of someone who'd said the same thing a hundred times. "Double grip."
Nova glanced at the rack beside her. The sparring sticks — short wooden swords, about the length of a forearm — were usually used one at a time in training. Today, they'd each take two.
"Swordplay is about timing, rhythm, and strategy," Draven continued. "But those of you who rely on brute strength? Don't bother. That won't save you in a real fight."
He flicked his eyes to Nova — not unkindly, but pointed. "You won't win a physical battle with size and strength, especially not against warriors twice your weight."
A few boys snorted. Nova caught the eye-roll from Millie, a tall, stocky blonde who clearly found the statement ridiculous.
Draven didn't flinch. "She doesn't need to. The key is using the enemy's strength against them. You're smaller, faster — make them overcommit. Make them swing wide, shift their center of gravity. Then take your opening. Don't force power — manipulate momentum."
Nova nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
He picked up a pair of swords and demonstrated: "When dual wielding, your dominant hand leads offense. The off-hand?" He pivoted, striking the air with one blade and following fluidly with a block and redirect. "Defense. Deflection. Distraction."
The class split into pairs. Nova got Rael — whose footwork was better than hers, but who was also kind enough to not slam her into the dirt every five seconds. They danced in quick bursts, blades clacking against each others with a satisfying rhythm.
He had improved since the last time they did this. Nova lost more than she won, but she could already feel the shift — the way her smaller frame let her pivot out of reach and strike back from the side.