𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋
Sweat slicked every inch of her bronze skin as she pushed the smallest of the boulders for the third time. The training court was nearly as wide as a football field, and while the stone wasn't visually massive, its Hematite core gave it the crushing weight of a grand piano.
From the moment she moved it just an inch on her first try, I knew we were off to an encouraging start. She possessed the innate strength; she just needed to hone it, to forge that raw potential into ammunition for the arsenal of skills she was gathering.
Electricity existed, but it needed wires to flow. Music existed in the mind, but it required an instrument to be heard. Magic existed in the soul, but it needed a trained body to manifest. Watching her like this was a form of undiluted torment—her arms flexing, her core tight, and her face hardened in a mask of absolute focus.
