My temper instantly rises to the surface. “You didn’t tell me what time to meet you.”
“Early. That’s when we meet for training. Every single morning. And I know exactly what you’re capable of,” he says, his tone bossy, “so don’t even try to pretend there are things you can’t do.”
The words hit me like a slap. There’s no softness, no kindness in his voice.
Without another word, Rylan steps forward and raises his hand. The air around us shifts, and I watch in stunned silence as he summons a massive wave out of thin air. The water builds quickly, a towering wall of liquid power that surges toward us with a force that makes the ground tremble. Just when I think the wave is about to crash over us, drowning us both, Rylan flicks his wrist, and the wave freezes in place, the water solidifying into a crystalline wall of ice.
The frozen wave hangs in the air, a testament to his incredible control. My heart pounds in my chest as I stare at thespectacle, my mind struggling to comprehend the level of skill required to perform such a feat. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, Rylan disperses the ice, the frozen water dissolving into mist and rising into the sky. The mist gathers and shapes itself into a cloud, forming the silhouette of a majestic eagle, wings spread wide, before it dissipates entirely, leaving no trace of the wave behind.
I stand there, speechless, my mind reeling. I could never do that. No one could ever teach me to do that. The thought is a cold, hard truth that settles in my gut like a stone.
“By the first trials, I’ll expect you to be able to do that. And more.” Rylan offers no other words of encouragement, no acknowledgment of my awe or despair. Instead, he turns to me with that same impassive expression and orders, “We’ll start small. Conjure a wave.” He points to the middle of the field. “Right there.”
He is… kidding, right? But his eyes tell me he’s not, so I nod, though my confidence is already waning. I close my eyes and try to focus, feeling about my surroundings and inside myself for any sign of magic.
I breathe in deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. “Feel the water,” I tell myself. “Just visualise it.” I stretch out my hand, focusing all my will on drawing water out of the air. I picture it condensing and pooling into a small stream, but nothing happens. My hand drops in abject failure.
Rylan’s eyes narrow as he watches me struggle. “Try again,” he demands, his tone sharp and impatient.
I grit my teeth and try again, this time putting more force behind my will. I can almost feel it, the water, but it slips away like sand through my fingers. I clench my fists, frustration boiling over as I fight to control the element that has alwayseluded me.
“Focus,” Rylan snaps, his voice cutting through my concentration like a blade. “You’re not even trying.”
“Iamtrying!” I retort, my voice cracking under the pressure. But it’s no use. I can’t do it.
Rylan crosses his arms, his expression hardening if that’s even possible. “You’re too tense. Relax your mind, let the energy flow naturally.”
I nod, though my frustration is mounting. How am I supposed to relax when he’s glaring at me like that? I take a deep breath, forcing myself to loosen the tension in my body. I close my eyes again, trying to clear my mind, to feel the water’s pull. But every time I get close, every time I think I might finally have it, the connection slips away.
“Again,” Rylan commands, his voice growing colder with each failed attempt.
I try over and over, each time failing to squeeze even a drop of water out of the air. My muscles ache from the strain, sweat drips down my forehead, and my frustration reaches a boiling point. I can feel his impatience like a physical weight pressing down on me, his presence looming over my every failure.
I want to scream at him, to demand that he help me instead of just barking orders, but all I can do is stand there, my hands clenched into fists, my body trembling with exhaustion and anger.
“Again,” he commands, his voice like ice.
I try once more, but it’s no use. My magic feels frozen, locked away where I can’t reach it. The more I try, the more it slips away, leaving me with nothing but the bitter taste of failure. Echoes of Samfer’s threats trickle like ice in my veins, making everything worse.
Rylan’s eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, I think he might actually yell at me, but then he just shakes his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and frustration. “You’renot focusing,” he says, his tone harsh. “You need to control it. Find the source of your power.”
“I told you, Iamtrying, asshole,” I whisper, the words barely audible. But even as I say it, I know it’s not enough. I’m failing, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
The training continues, and with each passing moment, my frustration and exhaustion grow. Rylan pushes me relentlessly, making me feel smaller and more inadequate with each passing second. By the time the session ends, I’m drenched in sweat, my muscles aching, my spirit thoroughly crushed.
I’ve accomplished nothing. Nothing at all.
Just when I think it’s over, that I can finally retreat and lick my wounds in peace, Rylan speaks again. “You’re expected in the combat room in the castle,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Listen and learn. I’ll see you here tomorrow. We’ll try again. Don’t be late.”
His words are a command, not a suggestion, and before I can muster a response, he turns and walks off, leaving me standing there, completely drained and seething with resentment. I watch him go, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, the hatred burning in my chest like a wildfire.
After the gruellingtraining session with Rylan, my legs feel like lead as I make my way to the combat room in the castle. Every step sends a dull, jarring ache through my body, a reminder of how I’ve already failed so miserably this morning. The thought of facing more challenges today is almost too much to bear, but I force myself to keep moving. I have no other choice.
When I arrive at the combat room, I’m taken aback by itssize. The room is enormous, with high ceilings and walls lined with every weapon imaginable—swords, spears, maces, so many exotic armaments I can’t even name. The floor is marked with various training areas, each sectioned off for different types of combat. The sheer scale of it all is overwhelming, and for a moment, I just stand there, trying to take it all in.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar figure, a friendly face.
Mathis.
