Chapter 8: Mom’s strength
"That's not how you do it,"
A woman's voice said. Calm and firm. No frustration. Just certainty.
She stood with arms crossed, her training clothes marked with faint burns—proof of long days and longer nights. Her dark hair was pulled back, but loose strands framed her face, softening the intensity in her deep brown eyes. She didn't look angry. Just focused.
Ash clenched his fists. Fire danced at his fingertips, shaky and thin. It wouldn't listen. It never did. He stared at his hands, willing them to respond.
"Like this?" he asked, barely above a whisper. The flame cracked, then vanished.
She didn't speak.
He tried again. The fire sparked, then flickered out. His fingers curled tighter. His shoulders locked. His chest tightened.
"Kael keeps getting stronger, but I'm still stuck like this."
His voice cracked.
The fire answered him—wild, broken, mirroring the pressure inside. It sparked again, then died in silence.
Before the weight could drag him down, she stepped in. Her arms wrapped around him—not soft, not hesitant. Solid. Steady.