The morning sun filtered gently through the dormitory window as Lira sat cross-legged on her bed, the green book open in her lap. Her fingers traced the delicate ink she had written the night before—notes about the flower, her healing touch, and the glowing soil. So much had changed in such a short time. Magic was no longer just something she watched or wondered about—it now lived in her hands, responded to her voice, moved through her without full understanding.
A question had started to take root in her mind, one she could no longer ignore: What more could this power do?
She stood slowly, her thoughts stirring like wind through tall grass. She didn't want to only react to danger or accident. She wanted to understand. To choose. Maybe if she practiced… maybe she could learn to call the earth when she needed it, not just when it needed her.
With quiet determination, she slipped out, heading toward the training ground. She didn't tell anyone. This moment was hers.
The training ground was quiet in the early light, dew still glistening on the grass. Lira stood in the center, her eyes closed, hands slightly raised. She focused on the feeling she had when healing, when singing, when the earth had pulsed beneath her palms in the greenhouse.
She breathed slowly, deeply, trying to call that presence again. Nothing happened at first. But then… a faint vibration stirred in her fingertips, like something ancient beneath the soil was listening.
Suddenly, a voice behind her broke the silence.
"Lira!"
Startled, she gasped and spun around—but before she could see who it was, the ground answered. Thick thorny vines burst up in a protective circle around her, arching high and trembling slightly like a living shield.
Dominica stumbled back with a yelp, hands raised. "Woah—! It's just me!"
Lira blinked, stunned. The vines quivered, then slowly loosened and withdrew back into the earth, disappearing as quickly as they'd come. She stared at her hands, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
"I didn't mean to scare you," Dominica said, brushing herself off with wide eyes. "What… was that?"
"I… I didn't know that would happen," Lira said softly. Her voice trembled. "But… it happened before. In the village. When I felt unsafe. I think—" she looked down at the place the vines had erupted— "I think my power tries to protect me when I'm scared."
Dominica stepped forward slowly this time, gentler. "That's actually… amazing."
Lira gave a hesitant smile. "Maybe. But I don't know how to control it yet."
She turned her gaze back to the soil, thoughts swirling. If her power could act on its own… what else could it do, once she learned to truly work with it?
As the thorny vines slowly retreated into the ground, Lira stood frozen, her breath caught somewhere between awe and fear. Dominica, who had stumbled back a few steps, stared wide-eyed at the space where the vines had sprung.
"You're… not like the other earth types," Dominica finally said, brushing leaves off her sleeve. "They're always so... gentle. Always helping with potions, plants, tending to the sick. But you—" her voice lowered slightly, "I've never seen the earth spit out vines like that. Not even in the archives."
Lira opened her mouth, unsure how to explain something she barely understood herself.
Dominica folded her arms, trying to mask her fascination with indifference. "Maybe you were just lucky."
"Do it again," she challenged, stepping forward. "Show me."
Lira hesitated, then focused, trying to summon the same force she had felt moments ago. She dug her heels into the earth, reached into that quiet place inside her—but nothing stirred. No glow. No vines. Just silence.
Dominica's smirk returned. "Thought so. My element is air," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Wind is sharp, quick. I use it like a blade. Controlled. Reliable."
She turned, calling over her shoulder as she walked away. "You'll see soon enough. We're having a training session with the teachers. But I suppose your type will be busy... planting more flowers."
Lira stood alone in the training ground, the weight of Dominica's words pressing down. But inside her, something flickered—quiet, green, and growing.
Still feeling the sting of Dominica's words, Lira walked briskly toward the greenhouse, her thoughts circling like restless winds. She found Thara gently trimming back a patch of medicinal vines, humming softly to herself.
Lira approached, hesitant but determined. "Thara… can I ask you something?"
The herbalist looked up with a kind smile. "Of course, little leaf. What's on your mind?"
"Have you ever heard of an earth elementar… using plants as a shield? Like vines growing out suddenly to protect someone—or even attack?"
Thara's hands stilled. Her expression shifted from surprise to thoughtful curiosity. "No… not that I remember," she said slowly. "We earth types usually heal, nurture, grow. We're the gentle hands—healers and gardeners, like the human herbalists of old. But…" she trailed off, eyes narrowing slightly. "Maybe the Grandmaster might know something. He often studies the older records of the Academy. He has access to archives I've never even seen."
Lira nodded quickly. "Thank you. I'll send him a message."
She stepped outside and gently cupped her hands, summoning a small rainbow-hued bird woven of soft elemental magic. Whispering her question to it, she sent it fluttering skyward in a shimmering trail.
The reply came faster than expected. A scroll materialized in a whisper of golden light, sealed with the Grandmaster's mark.
Unrolling it, she read:
You may visit my office tomorrow after class, once I return. —Grandmaster Elion.
Lira pressed the scroll to her chest, heart fluttering. Finally, a chance to learn more—maybe even understand this strange part of herself.
She spent the rest of the afternoon helping Thara with the greenhouse, her hands steady, her senses sharper. She identified herbs more quickly now, moved with quiet confidence. Thara noticed, smiling softly.
Before she left, the tiny greenhouse fairy fluttered beside her, holding a small vial of golden liquid. "This is honey from our hive," the fairy said, her voice like wind through petals. "Usually we save it for honeymead, but… for you, we can spare a little."
Lira blinked in surprise, then bowed low with heartfelt gratitude. "Thank you. I'll treasure it."
As she left, the vial tucked safely in her pouch, Lira felt something warm blooming inside—like sunlight filtering through a canopy. Despite the questions ahead, she felt… ready.
The next day, after classes ended and the hallways began to quiet, Lira made her way through the stone corridors toward the upper tower. Her steps echoed softly, the scroll with Elion's seal still clutched in her hand.
She reached a tall, arched door marked with a carved tree that shimmered faintly with old magic. She hesitated, then knocked gently.
"Come in," said a calm voice from within.
She opened the door and stepped into a large circular room, lined with old books, dried herbs, and strange artifacts in glass cases. Sunlight streamed in through high windows, catching dust motes in golden beams. At the center, Grandmaster Elion stood beside a tall desk, leafing through a thick tome.
He looked up, his silver hair catching the light, and smiled warmly. "Lira. Come closer."
She approached slowly, heart pounding.
"You asked an unusual question," he said, closing the book with care. "About vines acting as a shield."
"Yes," she said quietly. "It happened twice now. Once when I felt afraid in a village… and again when someone startled me. It was like… like the earth reacted for me, even though I didn't call it."
Elion studied her with thoughtful eyes. "It is rare. But not unheard of." He turned and pulled a slim, aged scroll from a case. "There are old stories—older than this school itself. Of earth-bound practitioners whose gifts went beyond the usual healing and tending. They were called Verdant Guardians."
He unrolled the scroll and pointed to a faded illustration: a figure standing amid swirling vines, hands glowing with green light.
"They were said to be protectors. The earth responded to their emotions—especially fear or the instinct to protect life. It's not common. Many doubted the tales."
"But it's real?" Lira asked, voice soft.
"I believe it may be," Elion said gently. "You may have inherited this deeper current of earth magic. It is tied to instinct and emotion, not just will and study. That makes it powerful… and unpredictable."
Lira swallowed. "So I'm not broken?"
"No," he said with a faint smile. "You may be something older than we remember."
He moved to a shelf and retrieved a small, green-bound journal. "Take this. It belonged to a Guardian apprentice, long ago. Most cannot read the signs in it. Perhaps you can."
She took the book carefully, reverently.
"I'll be here if you need guidance," Elion added. "But remember—true discovery will come through your own path."
Lira bowed. "Thank you, Grandmaster."
As she stepped out of the tower, the air felt sharper, clearer. The sun was beginning to set, bathing the academy in gold. She held the book to her chest.
Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't just learning her gift.
She was remembering it.