"Lift on three," Elian commanded, his voice cutting through the crisp morning air. "One. Two. Three."
"I've got it!" Caleb grunted, his face turning a deep shade of crimson as he strained against the massive, charred oak beam.
"You don't have it," Elian said calmly. He reached over with one hand, his silver-gold aura flaring just slightly beneath his skin, and lifted the timber off the boy’s shoulder with effortless grace. "Guide the end toward the cart, Caleb. Don't try to bear the weight."
"Right. Sorry," Caleb panted, wiping sweat from his soot-stained forehead. "You make it look too easy."
"I had ten years to practice lifting rocks on a frozen mountain," Elian replied, tossing the heavy beam onto the wooden cart as if it were a twig. "You've had one week of clearing rubble. Give it
