Chapter 7 – Breath and Burden
The next day ~The morning sun filtered through the high, arched windows of the combat amphitheater, casting slanted bars of light across polished stone floors. Students stood in neat rows, the murmurs of youth and rivalry echoing off the walls until Instructor Harn raised a single hand.
Silence fell like a hammer.
Harn strode to the center of the training platform, a leather-bound tome under one arm. His eyes swept across the class with the same cold intensity as always, but today something different simmered beneath his gaze—something weightier.
He stopped, faced them all, and dropped the book onto the stone with a heavy thud.
"You want to grow stronger? Good. Today, I show you how."
With a twist of his wrist, flames coiled around his fingers—controlled, deliberate, and deadly. He snuffed them out with a breath.
"Power is not something you wield. It is something you withstand. And advancement… is survival."
He opened the tome. Strange spiral glyphs and flowing script decorated its pages.
"Every one of you—regardless of your element—will begin with this. The Foundational Breathing Manual. No shortcuts. No personalized scrolls. This is the first step."
A few students shifted uncomfortably. One scoffed. Harn's gaze pinned him mid-breath.
"You think your fire or wind makes you special? Try advancing without a stable core. You'll tear yourself apart from the inside."
His voice dropped, gaining gravity.
"Elemental awakeners cycle spiritual energy through breath. The manual teaches the method—inhale in three beats, exhale in four. Build your core slowly, or you risk spiritual collapse."
Kael tensed. He had felt that instability before—the strange tug of water within, the erratic pulses of wind, and the dangerous, burning hum of something darker. He had never told anyone about the lightning. Not even Joran.
Harn continued.
"For those of you with beastial affinities, you'll require beast cores—refined, absorbed, regulated through meditation. They strengthen the body, but the process is painful. Not all survive it."
"And hybrids…" Harn's eyes lingered a second too long on Kael. "Those cursed—or blessed—with both paths must master both methods. Discipline, or death. That is your reality."
The silence that followed was heavy. Kael exhaled slowly through his nose.
A scroll was passed to each student. Kael's fingers brushed his, and for a heartbeat, the glyphs shimmered. Almost as if they knew him.
He quickly rolled it up before anyone noticed.
That Night
The academy grounds lay quiet beneath a pale moon. Lanterns had long since gone out, and the distant hoot of night birds echoed from the treetops. Kael sat cross-legged near the edge of the training fields, the scroll unrolled before him, its symbols glowing faintly in the dark.
Inhale: one… two… three…
Exhale: one… two… three… four…
The breath felt wrong at first—too shallow. He adjusted. Tried again. Water surged at the center of his chest. Cool. Familiar.
He continued. Another cycle.
Then wind stirred.
The air thickened around him, buzzing lightly against his skin.
Inhale… Inhale…
A sudden crackle snapped in his lungs. Kael gasped, his breath stuttering. Something surged upward—raw, sharp, electric. A spark burst across his shoulder, lighting the night for a heartbeat before vanishing.
He fell forward, gasping.
Too much… too soon…
"Trying to implode?" a voice asked calmly behind him.
Kael turned, heart pounding. Joran approached, arms folded, his white training robe open at the chest. He crouched nearby, studying the scroll.
"You're cycling too fast," Joran said. "The first few rounds need to be shallow. You're inviting your element in before you've even built a seat for it."
Kael wiped sweat from his brow. "I wasn't… I mean, I thought I was doing it right."
Joran shook his head. "You're doing what everyone does at first—forcing it. Breathe slower. Let the core open like a gate, not a flood."
Kael sat upright again, his body aching. "How do you even know this?"
Joran grinned faintly. "I have a good memory. And I hate getting yelled at by Harn."
They laughed, quietly.
Joran sat beside him, closed his eyes, and began breathing in rhythm. Kael watched him closely—there was no power flaring, no sparks or waves or tricks. Just breath.
Control isn't about what you release, Kael realized. It's what you hold back.
He tried again.
One inhale. Then two. By the third, the water inside him responded. Gentle, even. On the exhale, the wind stirred—but stayed obedient. No spark this time. Only a whisper of pressure that faded as the breath left him.
Ten cycles passed before either of them spoke.
"Feels easier with someone else nearby," Kael admitted.
Joran gave a slow nod. "That's because you stop trying to impress your own fear."
They sat quietly for a while longer.
The night sky shimmered overhead, stars blinking gently in the silence. Kael glanced down at his hand. For a moment, he swore he saw the faintest glimmer of blue-white static curl across his fingers—then disappear