Chapter 4:
The inside of the ruin breathed with magic.
The air shimmered faintly, and ancient symbols pulsed along the stone walls like the heartbeat of the place itself. Aelira stepped lightly, her fingers brushing against a vine-wrapped archway. As she crossed the threshold, warmth surged through her subtle, but alive. "This place is old," she whispered. "But not dead."
Behind her, Oren the owl fluttered to a perch atop a cracked column. "Correct. These were once teaching halls. Before the war, before the Sundering. Most forgot they even existed."
Thorne stayed outside, muttering something about "dusty mage business."
Aelira approached the center of the room, where a circular platform was etched with spiraling sigils. She felt drawn to it. Her feet moved without instruction, guided by something deeper than memory like music she hadn't heard in years but somehow knew the melody to. "Place your hand in the center," Oren said softly.
She obeyed.
The stone flared with golden light. Runes bloomed to life beneath her feet, whirling outward in radiant rings. Her eyes widened as a warmth blossomed in her chest then surged outward, up her arm, through her fingertips.
She cried out as fire erupted from her hand. But it didn't burn. It danced swirling like a ribbon of light, casting long shadows across the room. The flame responded to her emotions, shifting with her fear, her awe, her wonder. "You've awakened it," Oren said. "Sunvale magic was always tied to emotion and potential. Yours... burns bright."
"I didn't mean to!" she gasped. "I don't even know how I did that!". Oren chuckled, "No one does the first time, magic is not instruction. It's invitation."
The fire began to fade as her panic settled, dissolving into golden embers that scattered into the air. Aelira stood there, trembling but smiling. "I did it."
"You can do it," Oren corrected. "Which means now we begin."
The next few hours blurred.
Oren guided her through breathwork, visualization, and basic glyph focus. She set a dried leaf on fire (accidentally), cracked a stone with a misdirected spark (unintentionally), and created a flickering orb of light that hovered above her palm (deliberately—after the seventh try). Outside, Thorne called in.... "Something's moving in the woods."
Oren's feathers bristled. "Well. That's inconvenient."
The ruins rumbled.
From the shadows at the edge of the glade, twisted creatures emerged more mana-beasts, this time smaller, leaner, and faster. Their bodies shimmered with black magic, and their eyes gleamed with hunger.
Aelira's breath caught.
Thorne had his axe ready. "We're surrounded."
"Aelira," Oren said calmly, "this is your moment."
She stepped forward, heart hammering. The flicker inside her rose again this time not from fear, but determination. She closed her eyes.
The beasts lunged.
She raised her hand.
Fire surged forth in a golden wave, not wild this time, but guided. The blaze struck the ground before the creatures, flaring into a barrier of light. The mana-beasts reeled back, snarling, and scattered into the trees.
Silence fell.
Aelira opened her eyes. Thorne stared. Even Oren looked impressed briefly.
"Not bad," the owl muttered. "For a beginner."
Aelira's legs gave out and she sat down in the grass, laughing breathlessly. "I think I like magic." Thorne snorted. "You'll be dangerous in no time." And under the canopy of silver leaves, Aelira realized something new.
She wasn't just surviving Elyria.
She was becoming part of it.
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