Nature was her ally now.
Lyrelle's breath came in steady rhythms as she stood beneath the canopy, her arms raised, her fingers dancing in sync with the breeze. Every movement pulled the wind closer, spiraling around her legs, lifting her hair, brushing past her like a silent partner. Vines responded slow, rooted and hesitant, but the wind? The wind answered.
A sharp exhale. She pivoted, making a wooden blade then slashing the air with ease. A blast of wind shot out, slicing clean through a line of training dummies. Leaves burst into the air. Somewhere nearby, a squirrel shrieked in protest.
Fel sat on a toadstool just outside the training clearing, munching on a golden apple. "You've gotten better," she said with her usual nonchalance. "Almost makes me feel useless."
"You're already useless," Valen called from a nearby tree branch, lounging upside down with his cloak dangling like some rich bat. "But at least you look good doing it, I suppose."
"Thanks," Fel deadpanned, biting her apple harder.
Lyrelle ignored them both, hands raised as she guided a gust upward, spiraling it into a tight cyclone above her palm. A few tiny vines rose with it, trying to entwine the spinning wind. She grimaced. They didn't blend quite right yet. Her nature magic wasn't weak, but it always felt slower. Less instinctual. Like the roots didn't quite trust her the way the wind did.
Still, she was improving. Without Valen's help. Without shortcuts.
She let the wind go, stepping back with a soft sigh.
"I think I'm ready."
Fel raised an eyebrow. "Ready for what? Finally ready to make ends meet?"
Lyrelle smiled despite herself. "To return to my clan... the battle of succession is close."
Valen landed beside her without a sound, his crimson eyes faintly glowing in the dark. "So you're going through with it, without my help?.."
She met his gaze. "Of course.. I've trained for this all my life. I will win. With my way."
Valen shrugged, then smirked. "I'll be waiting when you return then. Don't die. It'd be a waste of effort."
Fel stood, brushing off her skirt. "If they ever try to hurt you, or undermine your efforts, remember. You are always welcome in my forest."
Lyrelle gave a short laugh, stepping forward and hugging her tightly. Fel stiffened, then awkwardly patted her back.
"I won't let them bury me," Lyrelle whispered. "Even if they never expected me to return."
She didn't look back as she stepped out of the forest, wind gathering behind her like a loyal shadow.
The journey to her clan's territory was long, but it felt short. Her steps were steady, her focus unbroken. Along the way, birds flew beside her, branches parted, and even the stubborn roots seemed to gently shift as she passed. She hadn't noticed that before. Maybe... maybe her nature magic had grown in its own quiet way.
By the time she arrived, the outer gates of the Verdant Root Clan stood tall and moss-covered, carved with shifting symbols of breeze and bloom.
The ancient stone arches were still wrapped in vines, but now, to Lyrelle's eyes, it felt different. It wasn't just home anymore, it was a place where she had to prove herself, where she had been kept at arm's length for years.
But she wasn't the same as she had been when she left. She had come a long way since being labeled the "outcast." She had spent time alone, trained under the stars, and learned not just to wield the wind, but to command it, learned to shape the earth beneath her feet.
A pair of sentries saw her and froze in surprise.
"L-Lyrelle?" one of them gasped. "You're alive?"
"More than alive," she said, voice calm. "I'm ready."
As she walked deeper into the heart of the clan, the whispers followed her, murmurs of disbelief and judgment. She ignored them all.
Inside the inner courtyard, the other heirs were already gathered, each of them standing tall and confident in their family's colors. She was the last to arrive.
Faelan, the clan head, stood before them. His robe billowed with the faint pulse of magic, and his staff caught the light, twisting with power. He met Lyrelle's eyes for a brief moment, the longest of any heir, before speaking.
He raised a hand. Silence fell.
"Today, we begin the trials of succession. You six stand here, not as children of blood, but as candidates for leadership. Each of you will lead a team, drawn from our initiates and scouts, into the Breathing Glade."
The heirs exchanged glances, surprise flashing in their eyes.
"You will be tested not just for strength," Faelan continued, his voice carrying across the courtyard, "but for leadership, unity, and resilience. The land will test you as much as your teams will."
"And when do we get to fight?" one of the heirs asked, impatience in their tone.
Faelan's gaze sharpened. "The battle will come after. Only two of you will pass this trial. The two strongest shall face one another beneath the Heart Tree."
His eyes swept over them all.
"Only one heir shall rise."
Lyrelle stood tall, the wind swirling around her, her confidence unwavering. She could feel the pulse of nature beneath her skin, still not fully her own, but it would be enough.
Her heart raced, not with fear, but with anticipation.
I'll make it to the final two. And I'll win.
A stir ran through the crowd.
Lyrelle's breath caught.
"The trial will begin tomorrow at dawn. All candidates will be placed in teams. Survival, cooperation, resourcefulness, and harmony with our gifts, will determine who among you has the spirit worthy of leadership."
No gasps. No protests. Just grim understanding.
Lyrelle stepped back, eyes narrowing. A survival trial? Good. She didn't need approval. She just needed to prove, she belonged.
Somewhere, the wind brushed her shoulder. She could almost hear it whisper.
Then prove it.