Lyrilla Casta's Arc

Chapter 8 of 10

Lyrilla woke before sunrise and walked straight to the practice chamber. Her hands stayed empty at her sides. No tools would help her now—only focused work would build the strength she needed. She faced the mirror and commanded her energy to rise. The air around her palms began to shimmer. She pushed harder, focusing on the warmth building inside her chest. Sweat formed on her forehead as the shimmer grew brighter. Her arms trembled from the effort, but she held the energy steady for ten full breaths before releasing it. The glow faded and left her gasping. This was real progress—power drawn from her mind alone. She steadied herself and began again, building the warmth from nothing. Each attempt stretched longer than the last. By the time light showed through the window, her legs shook and her vision blurred at the edges, but satisfaction replaced the doubt that had lived in her chest since the trader laughed. Outside the practice chamber, students gathered near a large sphere that sat on a copper base. The sphere held swirling patterns of orange and red that seemed to move inside the stone. Heat radiated from its surface and warmed the cold morning air. Lyrilla joined them and held her hands toward the sphere, letting the warmth sink into her tired muscles. A student beside her leaned closer to the copper base and sighed as the heat touched her face. Lyrilla looked at the glowing stone and felt something shift inside her. This sphere existed to serve a purpose—it warmed those who needed it without demanding anything in return. Real strength worked the same way. It did not need tricks or announcements. It simply existed and others recognized it. She pulled her hands back and turned toward the practice chamber again. Her muscles still ached and her energy felt drained, but she would train again. And again. Until every being across every dimension saw her power as clearly as she felt this sphere's heat. The path was long, but she was finally walking it the right way. A clear tone rang across the courtyard. Lyrilla turned toward the sound. A large crystal bowl rested on a violet pillow near the study hall entrance. A student ran her hand along its rim and the bowl sang out again, marking the start of morning sessions. The note hung in the air and seemed to settle into Lyrilla's chest. She understood now what she had been missing. Structure would help her build strength the same way this bowl organized the day. She would train at sunrise every morning until her energy no longer flickered and died. She would practice until holding power felt as natural as breathing. The trader had laughed because she relied on objects instead of her own mind. That version of herself was gone. She walked back into the practice chamber as other students filed toward their lessons. Her path was clear now—train without tools, build real power, and earn the respect she had always wanted. The dream had not changed. Only her method of reaching it. By afternoon, the master found her and led her through the guild grounds. They stopped at a red stone platform with two metal stools facing each other. Students gathered around it, watching two beings locked in concentration. Their eyes stayed fixed on each other while sweat dripped down their faces. Neither moved or spoke, but the air between them rippled like water. One finally blinked and slumped forward, defeated. The master gestured toward the empty stools. "You need to test yourself against others who resist," he said. "Training alone builds strength, but facing opposition shows you where weakness remains." Lyrilla stepped onto the platform and sat on one stool. Another student took the seat across from her. Their eyes met and Lyrilla pushed with her mind, commanding the student to look away. Pressure built behind her eyes as the other student pushed back. The strain grew until Lyrilla's vision blurred, but she held on. The student's gaze dropped first. Lyrilla released her focus and breathed hard. Her head pounded, but victory felt solid in her chest. She would return here every day. She would face stronger opponents until no mind could resist her commands. The trader would not laugh when they met again.