The moon hung low over Blackwood, swollen and silver, its light spilling through the tall windows of the ancient training hall. Dust motes shimmered in the air like tiny stars, drifting lazily as Ivy stood alone in the center of the stone floor, her chest rising and falling too fast.
Her muscles ached. Her bones burned. Every nerve in her body felt raw, as though she had been struck by lightning and somehow survived.
Again.
“Focus,” she whispered to herself, clenching her fists.
Power stirred beneath her skin vast, ancient, impatient. It coiled in her veins like a living thing, pushing, testing, demanding release. The harder she tried to control it, the more violently it surged.
She inhaled slowly, grounding herself the way the ancient texts had taught her. Feel the stone beneath your
