Morning came soft and golden, and Lita was already outside.
She moved through the training grounds with a kind of joy that was almost contagious—her new magic hilt glowing faintly at her side, weapons materializing and dissolving with each sweep of her arm. A sword. A staff. A bow. She cycled through them like she was trying each one on for size, laughing a little when one came out crooked and adjusting with a focused little frown before trying again.
Flare watched from the edge of the courtyard, arms folded. There was still the weight from the night before sitting in her chest—Sylana's threats, the letter, the name of the Valliere matriarch hanging in the air like a storm cloud. But looking at Lita now, spinning with a shimmering blade and utterly delighted by her own progress, it was hard not to let that weight ease a little.
"Look, Flare!" Lita turned, beaming, a little breathless. "I'm getting better, aren't I?"
"You are," Flare said, and she meant it. "Keep this up and you'll be more than ready for Ardent Peak."
Lita's whole face lit up at the mention of the academy. She turned back to her practice with renewed focus, and Flare let herself watch in quiet approval.
It lasted until the question came.
"Flare." Lita lowered her hilt, head tilting with that particular look she got when something had been on her mind for a while. "How strong is my mother, really? She never shows me. I've always wondered."
Flare went still.
It wasn't the question itself—it was what followed it. The memories came without warning, the way they always did when someone asked about power like it was a simple thing. Screams. The cold, devastating precision of someone who didn't hesitate. Blood and ruin and the terrible efficiency of it all. Flare had been a student once, watching from the ground as her mentor tore through enemies like they were made of paper. She had learned many things back then. Most of them she never spoke about.
She pulled herself back to the present. Lita was still watching her, waiting.
"She's stronger than you can imagine," Flare said, careful with each word. "But her strength isn't just power, Lita. It's control. Knowing exactly how much to use, and when. That's what makes her what she is."
Lita frowned slightly, clearly not satisfied but sensing there was a wall there. "What do you mean?"
"You'll understand in time." Flare offered a small smile. "For now, focus on your training. There's more to being powerful than raw strength. Your mother knows that better than anyone."
Lita let it go, though she was quieter after that, her movements more thoughtful as she resumed her practice.
Flare stayed where she was and said nothing more. The full truth wasn't something she could give Lita—not today, maybe not for a long time. But she kept her own silent vow, the same one she'd been keeping since the girl was small.
As long as I'm here.
She was still thinking it when the wall exploded.
The slice of magic came out of nowhere—or rather, it came from Lita, who had been mid-swing on something ambitious and lost the thread of control entirely. The energy ripped through the air and slammed into the side of the manor with a crack that shook the ground. Stone crumbled. Debris scattered. Inside the office, the wall buckled.
Flare's dagger was in her hand before she even consciously decided to move, putting herself between the damage and her mother's desk—
—where her mother sat completely unmoved. Sipping her tea. Reading a document. Not a single paper had shifted on the desk, as if the universe itself had decided to leave her work alone.
"Lita!" Flare was already running.
She found her in the courtyard, pale-faced and shaking, the hilt still faintly glowing in her hands. Tears were already starting. "I—I lost control, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry—"
"Hey." Flare crouched down in front of her, one hand on her shoulder. "Look at me. No one's hurt. You didn't hurt anyone."
"Is mother angry?"
Flare glanced back toward the office. Her mother had set down her teacup and picked up a different document.
"No," Flare said. "She's really not."
Lita had to see it for herself.
She walked back into the office on unsteady legs, took one look at the cracked wall and the scattered debris, and felt her stomach drop all over again. "I'm really sorry," she said quietly. "How long to fix it?"
Her mother looked up. Looked at the damage. Looked back at Lita with an expression that was, against all odds, perfectly calm. "About a week. Maybe less."
"I'll do better next time," Lita said.
"See that you do." But there was something underneath the words that wasn't quite coldness. Something that might have been approval, if you knew how to read it. "Control is key. That's all."
Lita left the office feeling lighter than she'd expected.
In the hallway, Flare was waiting. "Everything sorted?"
"She's not even mad." Lita still sounded a little amazed by it.
"Told you." Flare gestured toward the courtyard. "Come on. Back to training. The faster you master control, the fewer walls become casualties."
Lita laughed—a small, real one—and followed her out.