The flame wavered before him, steady yet alive. Kael’s eye glowed faintly, silver threads cutting through the dark as he fixed his gaze on the candle Daren had placed in the dirt. His breathing slowed, his hands pressed to the ground to steady himself.

  At first, it was simple: a flicker, a bend of light, a soft sway. But once the glow of his eye took hold, it became something else. The flame fractured into a hundred movements, each tugging at his mind, each demanding to be followed.

  Kael clenched his jaw. He tried to track them all—every sharp tilt, every sudden flare—but it was too much. The weight pressed against his skull until it felt like his head might split apart. His vision blurred, and he dropped to one knee, gasping.

  “Again,” Daren’s voice was calm, but firm. “Do not chase everything. Hold to the rhythm. You are not meant to follow chaos—you are meant to see its order.”

  Kael wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His muscles were already sore from the week of training before this, but this strain was different. It wasn’t his arms or legs that burned—it was his mind.

  Still, he rose.

  He activated the eye once more. The glow spread, and the world sharpened around the small flame. The flickers came again, wild and countless, but this time Kael remembered Daren’s words. Rhythm.

  He drew in a long breath, steadying himself. The flame bent left, rose, swayed right. He matched his breathing with its movement—inhale, exhale, sway, rise.

  The pressure in his head eased, if only for a moment. For the first time, the flame held still in his vision. It was clear, whole, its movements like a song he could almost hear.

  Kael’s hand lifted unconsciously, fingers swaying with the flame’s dance.

  But the longer he held it, the heavier it became. The glow faltered, lines scattered, the clarity broke apart. His eye dimmed, and he staggered forward, catching himself before he fell.

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  “Better,” Daren said, his tone even. “You begin to understand.”

  Kael groaned softly, rubbing his temple. “It still slipped.”

  “It will slip a hundred times before it holds,” Daren replied. “But tonight you lasted longer. That is progress.”

  ---

  The night dragged into hours. Over and over Kael tried, and over and over he failed. Sometimes the flame stayed steady for only a heartbeat before breaking. Sometimes he held it longer, only for the strain to blind him. Each time he dropped, panting, sweat pouring down his back, his body begged him to stop.

  But Daren never allowed it.

  “You are not training for comfort,” he said. “You are training for survival. If your eye breaks in the heat of battle, it will cost more than your strength—it will cost lives.”

  Kael pushed himself up again, his arms shaking. He activated the eye. The glow burned. The flame split and danced, but Kael kept his breathing steady. One sway, one rhythm.

  The flame grew clearer, sharper. For five heartbeats, then ten, then more, it held.

  Kael’s hand rose once again, tracing the sway, matching its motion as though it were part of him.

  Then, as always, the strain surged, and the image collapsed. His knees buckled, and he fell forward, catching himself with his palms.

  He gasped, his body trembling. “I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can,” Daren cut him off, his tone like iron. “You are Lord of Ridgehall now. Do you think your enemies will grant you rest? Do you think the lords who despise you will wait until you are ready? No. You will hold it, or you will break.”

  Kael closed his eyes for a moment, drawing strength from the words. He remembered Rhea’s weary face when she returned empty-handed from searching for Lila. He remembered Orin’s vow to stand as his shield, Joran’s grin, Tarin’s promise to rebuild. They were out there now, carrying his commands.

  If he failed here, he would fail them too.

  Kael pushed himself upright, pain screaming in his temples. “Again.”

  Daren nodded once. “Again.”

  ---

  The candle flickered, small against the vast dark. Kael’s eye glowed. He locked on.

  This time he did not chase the flickers. He let them come, let them pass, breathing in rhythm. The flame steadied.

  One heartbeat. Two. Three.

  The glow sharpened, the world narrowing until there was nothing but the flame and his breath. He swayed with it, moved with it, as if his body had become part of its dance.

  The strain pressed against him, heavy and sharp, but he endured it. His muscles shook, sweat dripped into the dirt, but he did not falter.

  Five heartbeats. Ten. Fifteen.

  The flame remained whole.

  Then, for the first time, Kael did not collapse. He released the glow himself, the image fading gently rather than shattering. His body trembled, his head throbbed, but he was still standing.

  He exhaled slowly, his chest heavy. “I did it.”

  Daren studied him, a faint curve touching his lips. “Not mastery. Not yet. But control. You released it by choice, not by failure. That is the beginning of discipline.”

  Kael wiped his face with his sleeve, his legs unsteady but his spirit burning. “Tomorrow, I’ll hold it longer.”

  “Tomorrow,” Daren agreed. He stepped forward and snuffed the candle with two fingers, leaving only the stars burning above them. “For tomorrow, the real test begins.”

  ---

  Later, lying in his chamber, Kael stared at the ceiling. His body ached in every part, his mind felt wrung dry, yet something inside him had shifted. He had seen the flame not as chaos, but as rhythm. For the first time, he had bent the eye’s strain to his will.