Chapter 104: Learning Where to Stop
[WARNING! Unedited! Don’t buy!]
I stood. "Encouraging."
"You prefer lies?" he asked.
I didn’t answer.
He left us then.
Just... gone again.
Caroline hugged herself. "I don’t trust him."
"Good," I said. "Never trust immortals."
"What about you?" she asked softly.
"I don’t trust myself either," I admitted.
That night, sleep came in fragments.
Dreams of fire.
Water rising.
Valerius laughing.
Morgana’s eyes.
And a shadow that wore my face.
When I woke, dawn was bleeding through the cracked window.
Caroline was already awake.
"I had a nightmare," she whispered.
"Me too."
She hesitated. "In mine... I drowned someone."
My chest tightened. "Was it me?"
She shook her head. "No. But it felt like it could’ve been."
We sat in silence.
Waiting.
When Sol returned, his presence felt heavier than ever.
"Today," he said, "we find out what you truly are capable of."
Caroline stood, trembling.
I stepped beside her. "She won’t be alone."
Sol studied me. "That’s what scares me."
And for the first time—
I believed him.
Sol turned and walked toward the center of the ruined sanctuary, his boots crunching softly over broken stone. "Come," he commanded.
Caroline hesitated, fingers brushing mine. "Stay close," she whispered.
"I’m not going anywhere," I promised.
We followed him into what must have once been the main hall. The ceiling arched high, partially collapsed, moonlight and early sun bleeding through shattered stone. Faded murals watched us from the walls—saints with hollow eyes, their painted hands raised in blessings long forgotten.
Sol stopped beneath the open roof.
"Stand here," he instructed Caroline.
She obeyed, shoulders tense, eyes darting to every shadow. The wind stirred her hair, carrying the scent of rain and old dust.
"Close your eyes," Sol said. "Feel the water."
Caroline swallowed but did as told.
At first, nothing happened.
Then I felt it—a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. Moisture gathered, trembling, as though the world itself were holding its breath.
Caroline’s hands began to glow faintly, silver light pulsing beneath her skin.
"I feel... pressure," she whispered. "Like something is pushing back."
"That is fear," Sol replied calmly. "Do not fight it. Shape it."
A thin stream of water rose from the cracked stone floor, spiraling upward like a living ribbon. Caroline gasped, eyes flying open, but the water did not fall.
She was holding it.
My heart thundered in my chest. "You’re doing it," I breathed.
Tears slipped down her cheeks. "I don’t want to hurt anyone."
"Power does not decide that," Sol said. "You do."
The water wavered, trembling violently.
"Breathe," I urged. "Just breathe."
Caroline inhaled shakily.
The spiral steadied.
Sol’s lips curved faintly. "Good. Very good."
For the first time since all of this began, hope flickered—small, fragile, but real. And in that ruined sanctuary, surrounded by ghosts and broken stone, I realized something terrifying and wonderful all at once.
She wasn’t becoming a monster.
She was becoming stronger.
And so was I.
Sol did not allow the moment to linger.
"Again," he said, sharp as a blade. "But this time, without tears."
Caroline startled. "What?"
"You must learn control without emotion ruling you," he continued. "Fear weakens shape. Hope destabilizes it. Power requires neutrality."
"That’s cruel," I snapped.
"Yes," Sol replied calmly. "And necessary."
Caroline wiped her cheeks, shoulders squaring. She closed her eyes once more, jaw tightening as she forced her breathing to slow. I could see the effort it took—every tremor in her fingers, every shallow inhale betraying how terrified she truly was.
The air thickened again.
Water gathered from impossible places—seeping from cracks in stone, drawn from damp earth, pulled even from the air itself. It rose in smooth arcs around her, forming a slow-moving orbit like a silver crown.
My breath caught.
She wasn’t just lifting it now.
She was shaping it.
"Good," Sol murmured. "Now compress it."
Caroline frowned in concentration. The orbit tightened, water condensing into something heavier, denser. The air hummed faintly, pressure building.
"Stop if it hurts," I warned.
"It doesn’t," she whispered. "It feels... powerful."
The sphere collapsed inward suddenly, becoming a compact, pulsing orb. It hovered inches above her palms, trembling violently.
Sol’s eyes gleamed. "Release it. Forward."
Caroline hesitated. "Where?"
"At the wall."
She turned toward the far stone archway, ancient and cracked. Her hands thrust forward instinctively.
The water exploded.
A violent blast slammed into the wall, shattering stone in a thunderous crash. Dust and debris rained down, echoing through the monastery like cannon fire. The force knocked Caroline backward, and I caught her just in time.
Silence followed.
We stared at the destruction.
A hole now gaped in the wall where centuries-old stone had once stood.
Caroline’s face drained of color. "I—I did that?"
"Yes," Sol said. "And you held back."
She shook her head, horrified. "That could’ve killed someone."
"It will," Sol replied coolly. "One day. Unless you learn when to stop."
I glared at him. "She’s not your weapon."
"No," he agreed. "She is your responsibility."
That hit harder than any insult.
Caroline sagged against me, shaking. "I don’t want to be like them."
"You won’t be," I said fiercely. "You’re nothing like them."
"Intent matters," Sol added quietly. "But intent alone does not save lives."
He gestured toward the shattered wall. "You will practice daily. Precision. Smaller shapes. Thinner threads. Power without spectacle."
Caroline nodded weakly.
Training continued.
Hours passed in grueling repetition.
Caroline learned to form thin streams of water, shaping them like whips, then needles, then soft flowing ribbons that curved without breaking. Sometimes the water rebelled, slashing wildly, soaking everything in reach. Other times it collapsed entirely, leaving her gasping and dizzy.
I stayed close.
When she faltered, I steadied her.
When she cried, I let her.
Sol corrected mercilessly. No praise unless earned. No comfort unless necessary.
By evening, Caroline collapsed onto the cold stone floor.
"I’m done," she whispered. "I can’t feel my arms."
"You’re finished," Sol agreed. "For today."
She laughed weakly. "That’s the nicest thing you’ve said."
He ignored that.
I knelt beside her, brushing damp hair from her face. "You were incredible."
"Terrifying," she corrected.
"Both," I admitted. "But you didn’t lose control. That matters."
She closed her eyes. "I thought I would."
"You didn’t," I said. "That’s strength too."
Sol watched us quietly.
"You are her anchor," he said.
I stiffened. "And?"
"And anchors break," he replied. "Be careful."
He turned away, cloak fading into shadow once more.
Caroline sighed. "He’s exhausting."
"Tell me about it."
We sat together as the sky darkened outside the broken roof, colors bleeding from gold to indigo. Crickets began to sing. Wind whispered through ivy.
