“Again!”

Meira bit down her frustration and squared her stance, eyes focused on the stone between her and the flinty earth wielder. With arms reaching wide towards her inanimate adversary, she dropped her hips lower. Her right hand tilted towards the left and she began a slow sweep towards the other arm, attention and gaze never diverting from the stone. As her hand reached the center of its path, the stone began to vibrate lightly, seeming to echo the pulsing energy she felt in her core. The vibrations increased, bringing to flailing stone a few centimeters above its previous position. Feeling buoyed, Meira pushed on the energy she felt as her instructor had suggested, and rapidly moved her hand the rest of the short distance to her other arm. The stone dropped with a resounding thunk.

Cassian’s face was unimpressed. The man was short and stocky, broad arms crossed over his barrel chest. While he wore his hair long like most Juri’a, the sides were shaved down, bright tattoos rising into the hairline.

“Again.”

Meira returned to her stance three more times with the same result—a stone that skipped briefly above the surface of dirt of the training space instead of launching at the pile of wood a few feet away. They had been at this move for days.

Cassian’s exasperation after the stone had skittered the opposite direction intended took him a few paces away for some deep, calming breaths.

Meira turned to Kirsi, who watched from a bench nearby. She remained as a translator, even though Meira was picking up on the Juri’a commands of her element instructors.

“I’m trying,” Meira said to the other woman, who simply shrugged her shoulders and gave a sympathetic look.

Cassian walked back toward Meira, muttering in Juri’a. There was something in the tone and the way Kirsi’s eyes widened that made her suspicious.

“What did he say,” she asked Kirsi, still looking at the haughty distaste present in Cassian’s eyes.

“It does not matter,” Kirsi replied, but Meira saw the way her eyes flicked to the man in red, how her fingers reached for her long hair in a nervous dance.

Meira pulled herself up to her full height, the one minor advantage she had over the man. His eyebrows twitched with displeasure.

“I want to know.”

Kirsi’s voice was quiet, “He asked how you are supposed to bring Juri’a together when a child can do more than you.”

Protests welled in the back of Meira’s throat, but she let them fall again. They simmered bitterly as she stared at her instructor of the last three weeks, realizing that he was right. With one last tilt of her chin, she returned to her stance, willing the stone to move once again.

***

Even after regular meetings, knocking on the door to the Verena’s quarters felt intimidating. Or perhaps that was the two humorless guards standing nearby.

“Meira, what a pleasure! I did not expect to see you this early in the day.”

The Verena answered the door with her usual exuberant kindness, pulling the woman into the sitting room. She spoke to a Juri’a attendant, who swiftly moved from the room, returning with cool tea after a few moments.

They perched on one of the plush sofas, the dark teal of the Verena’s outfit complimenting the deep jewel tones of the space. The rings on her long fingers spread streaks of light across the ceiling above them.

“What is troubling you?” the Verena asked after enduring a few of Meira’s attempts at distracted pleasantries.

“Verena, I—“

“We are alone,” she reminded Meira.

“Mahzarin,” Meira began again, using the woman’s given name, “I can’t wield and the others know it too.”

Mahzarin waited, her hand tapping lightly on the back of the shared sofa. She seemed to know there was more.

“How am I supposed to be a savior when I don’t even know how to do even the most simple things?”

Mahzarin leaned towards Meira slightly, as if telling a secret. “Do you know the significance of our tattoos?”

“Not really, no.”

“When a Juri’a learns to wield, the mark is given to center their energy. Without it, the energy can be harder to contain. Does it sometimes feel like it is everywhere, under your skin?”

“Yes,” Meira exclaimed, relieved that someone understood the intense buzzing she felt whenever wielding was occurring. The Verena grabbed her hand gently, touching Meira’s unmarred palm.

“The mark brings the energy here, so that you can use it out there.”

Mahzarin let go of Meira’s hand and turned to the cloth-covered table beside them. Cards with images were spread across the low table, ink bright despite the clear wear on the ancient deck. Meira spied swords, a man on horseback holding a goblet, and a woman petting a lion among the other images laid out in a pattern unrecognizable to Meira. The Verena’s hand hovered over the cards as she searched for one, finally plucking it up with a victorious sound. She handed it to her companion.

The card was nicer than the rest, clearly less used, though it appeared just as ancient. It held a symbol similar to what Meira had seen in the books Mahzarin had shown her on her first visit. The triangle was upright, though it was intersected by a circle centered around the point. Neither shape was complete, the other flowing through the break. She traced the ink with her finger.

“This is you. Your symbol.”

The Khaantul’s head rose as the Verena gently took the card and laid it across Meira’s open left palm. The effect was immediate. Since she had entered the city, energy seemed to crackle constantly through her core, brightening and expanding whenever someone wielded nearby. Now it had quieted, like a loud humming that she could choose to ignore.

“You feel it,” Mahzarin said, a soft smile blooming on her face. Meira nodded, still looking at the card in wonder.

“We can give you your tattoos on the next full moon,” she continued excitedly. The woman began talking about preparations.

Pulling her hand back, Meira tried to school her features. Her mouth had suddenly dried at the Verena’s proclamation, an unsteadiness she couldn’t explain filling her. The image of a door slamming shut flashed in her mind at the idea of marking herself so fully as a Juri’a.

“I want to at least try to get something down myself,” Meira diverted, feeling the excuse was as transparent as their untouched tea. Mahzarin’s silvery curls, loose and wild about her head bobbed as she nodded with consideration.

“It is customary for a wielder to have some basic mastery prior to getting their tattoos and advancing,” the woman said before letting loose a conspiratorial smile. “However, you are learning four elements at once. I’m sure the gods would make an exception.”

Meira tried again, pulling in her knowledge from previous conversations with the Verena.

“Perhaps we can wait until I have learned more of the Juri’a language from you and Kirsi. I want to understand the ceremony. Then it would be more meaningful. What if we wait until the Imbiloc?”

Her reference of one of the large Juri’a festivals lit something in the Verena’s eyes.

“We could introduce you formally,” she said, political wheels clearly turning, “And it would be ideal for the unification.”

At Meira’s quizzical brow, she continued, as if it was obvious.

“You are meant to bring balance to all wielders. Uniting the Juri’a is the first step. Only then can we be delivered from our enemies.”

A small laugh slipped between her plump lips, and she tilted her head with a grin as she said, “Though, I always thought if the Soul Wielder came, I would have to teach a wielder about the enemy; not the enemy about how to be a wielder.”

She said it lightly, but the Juri’a was alerted to her misplaced humor as Meira forcefully leaned back, away from her companion, eyes wide with betrayal.

“Oh, Meira, no!” Mahzarin‘s long curls sprang to life as she shook her head violently, putting her hands out in appeal to the frozen woman before her.

“I just didn’t expect you to be Khaantul, no one did.”

Meira’s throat bobbed, a dismay she hadn’t expected lodging by her vocal cords. She knew she shouldn’t care—she didn’t even want to be Juri’a. She’d been trying to get out of their tattoos just moments ago. But somehow her status as the enemy in their story sunk deeper into her than any weapon.

Mahzarin had continued to speak platitudes until Meira waved the words away with her hand. The brunette forced a smile and reassured the Verena, even as she dodged her contrite gaze. Her eyes landed on the bookshelf across the room.

“Can I borrow some of these? Maybe they’ll help me get better,” Meira said, walking to the leathery tomes and ancient texts.

With the Verena’s curation, Meira left with five books, all in Juri’a. She returned to her quarters and began slowly translating the first one, working with Kirsi as the sky turned from blue to pink, to the deep purple of night. A generous yawn from Kirsi interrupted the progress, and Meira noticed her own aching back and heavy limbs.

“You can go,” Meira told the woman. She knew how tired the redhead was when she didn’t protest.

“Remember, you wield with Neera tomorrow,” Kirsi said as she approached the door.

Meira groaned. The air wielding instructor insisted on training at dawn. A huff of laughter broke from Kirsi at the response, seeming to agree.

“Good night, Meira.”

Meira returned the sentiment, settling into her sumptuous bed. It was only after her mind drifted toward slumber that she realized that their last conversation had been in Juri’a all along.

***

It felt like searching for a thread. The books that Meira had borrowed from the Verena had helped her filter through the cacophony of energy she seemed constantly to feel, and instead focus on the particular strands that made up the living web. The energy that pulsed through her came from the surrounding wielders. It took concentration, but Meira had begun to distinguish between them: feeling the crackling tension of fire wielders, the cool flexibility of water, and the easy lightness of air. Earth was heavy and robust, but somehow came easier for her to pluck than fire or air.

“It is a feminine energy,” Mahzarine had said knowingly as they discussed her progress over the weeks as she had studied.

Now she could feel the energy writhing within her, nestled between the others. She centered her attention on pulling it up, close to her heart and holding it with all the internal strength she could muster. It was all metaphysical, after all. To Cassian and anyone else watching, she likely looked insane.

Her eyes were closed as she focused internally. The move she was about to attempt meant her hands were curled into fists with the thumb tucked under her first two fingers, palms down. Sweat trickled down her neck, pooling at the collar of her maroon top.

Finally, her wrists snapped, turning over as the first three fingers sprang open on each hand. But no one was watching her hand.

The column of stone that had emerged from the ground at her command stood proudly. Kirsi clapped in excitement, the sound causing Meira to open her eyes and huff a small laugh. Cassian’s usually down-turned lips had evened out. It was as close to a smile as Meira figured she would get from the man.

“You need to keep your eyes open,” he said, “The enemy will not give you time to focus.”

Meira bit back her annoyance, recognizing the truth of Cassian’s words. But she wouldn’t let him stop the pride she felt at completing the move she had been working on. A month ago she could barely move a stone across the ground; now she was moving the ground itself.

Her head tilted to watch Cassian, pausing to take a long drink from his flask of water. He had paused in the blistering sun, head tilted back and eyes closed as he enjoyed the cool liquid dripping down his throat.

Her hands changed forms beside her, taking on the outstretched index and middle fingers as Corvina had taught her. The cool energy plucked up easily as her eyes stayed trained. The small jet of water out of Cassian’s flask hit him square in the face, just as she had hoped.

He sputtered a little, shaking the water off before turning to look at Kirsi fiercely. Her surprise gave away the culprit easily, though Meira wasn’t hiding with the sly grin on her face.

“You should keep your eyes open,” she said clearly in Juri’a. She wasn’t sure if it was her audacity or the language that surprised Cassian more. His long stare continued, and Meira began to think through the consequences of her impulsive pettiness.

The boom of his laughter was not one she expected. He looked ten years younger without the brooding frustration across his features and his toothy grin beamed. Cassian walked back to his position across from her as his chuckles slowed. His face held no grudge.

“Again.”

***

Pillars of earth continued to erupt as Sorin watched the training from his position in the wall above. The small observational room had gotten more use in the past two months than in the last two hundred years.

A small throat clear punctuated the air, but his gaze did not waver.

“What is it?” he asked the air wielder who entered the sparse room.

Otsana crossed without a word, handing the missive to the tall man at the window. He read the brief note and let out a curse.

“More casualties in the north. Gather some advancements to ride to the villages for support.”

When Otsana didn’t leave at his command, he looked up at his number two. Prickles of exhaustion slipped past her careful facade of professionalism. The deep indigo of her uniform highlighted the rings of sleeplessness under her eyes. She’d been taking on more as he tried to factor the Soul Wielder into their strategy and plans.

“Khaantul forces are amassing in the west. By Avad’ar.”

The pulsing tension of a headache built near his temples. He cursed again, looking back out the window at the sound of a woman’s laughter.

“Are we really going to rely on her to end this with the Empire?”

Otsana’s voice was dripping with disdain as she also watched the scene below. Her white-blonde hair swayed in the breeze, tickling his arm. He stepped back from the window.

“Get advancements ready. Take half to Avad’ar.”

With a curt nod, Otsana departed, but her words rang in Sorin’s mind.