The response was immediate.
The moment I let myself be seen, the land reacted as if a long-held breath had finally been released. The wind shifted direction, no longer screaming but circling, slow and deliberate. Stones along the cliff edge vibrated softly, humming in a tone that resonated deep in my chest.
Below us, the hunters froze.
They hadn't expected resistance.
They had expected fear.
One of them lifted a hand, tracing a symbol in the air. The mark burned briefly before shattering, its light bending away from me as though refusing to obey.
Rowan stared. "They can't anchor you."
I didn't answer. I was listening.
The world spoke not in words, but in alignment. The river far below altered its course by inches. Birds took flight all at once. Even the sky seemed to dim, clouds thickening in acknowledgment.
This was not dominance.
This was recognition.
"They taught us you were destruction," a voice carried upward, amplified by something older than magic. A woman stepped forward, hood falling back to reveal eyes filled not with hatred, but uncertainty. "They said if you returned, everything would burn."
I met her gaze across the distance. "Does this look like burning?"
She hesitated.
Elara's voice shook as she spoke. "They feared what they couldn't command."
The hunters began to murmur, their certainty fracturing. Power feeds on belief—and belief was slipping.
But belief is not the only weapon.
The ground lurched violently. A fissure split the cliff face, not where I stood, but between us and the hunters—clean, deliberate, final.
Rowan grabbed my arm. "Ariana, that wasn't you."
I felt it then—the shift. A pressure not aligned with me, but pushing against the same threads I touched.
Nyxara's presence flared, sharp and alert.
They're forcing it, she warned. If they can't control you, they'll provoke you.
From the depths of the fracture, something moved—an echo shaped by fear, summoned to test whether I would break or burn.
I stepped forward instead of back.
"Stop," I said—not as a plea, not as a command, but as a certainty.
The thing froze.
Power rippled outward, not explosive, not violent. The fissure sealed slowly, stone knitting itself together like flesh remembering its shape. Silence fell so completely it felt sacred.
The hunters dropped to their knees.
Not in worship.
In understanding.
The woman who had spoken first bowed her head. "You're not her shadow," she said. "You're her continuation."
The words settled into me—not as a burden, but as balance.
Behind me, Elara wept softly—not from fear this time, but from release.
I exhaled, finally aware of how long I had been holding my breath.
The world had answered back.
And for the first time, it hadn't answered with violence.