Lavender’s hands stopped shaking after a few hours.

  Not because they stopped hurting. They still did; an insistent throb that pulsed in time with the basin’s hum. Like her palms had become small drums the valley insisted on playing. But the worst of the tremors faded as the morning light, if it could be called that under a sky that never quite changed, settled into something steady.

  She sat with her back against the warm rocks, bandages re-wrapped tighter now. Brute had helped with frustrating confidence. Zemmal had watched with the air of a judge assessing poor craftsmanship, but he hadn’t interfered.

  Lavender suspected that was his version of mercy.

  “How long do you think before I can hold a weapon again?” she wondered, flexing her fingers carefully.

  Brute narrowed his eyes. “Are you asking because you want to defend yourself, or because you miss feeling dangerous?”

  Lavender grinned. “Both.”

  Zemmal made a sound that might have been a snort. You are already dangerous. Weapons are an accessory.

  She glanced at him. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  It was not nice Zemmal replied flatly. It was factual.

  Brute’s tail thumped against the ground. “He’s trying. It’s horrifying.”

  Lavender smiled despite herself and then winced because smiling tugged at her bruised ribs.

  Outside the overhang, the basin glowed.

  The lake lay beyond a slab of stone, out of direct sight, but Lavender could hear it now. Soft lapping against new rock. The slow shifting of water settling into the wound she’d helped carve into the basin floor. The lake no longer sang. The silence should have comforted her.

  It didn’t.

  Silence meant waiting. Listening without being listened to. Lavender stared at her bandaged hands.

  “I need water,” she said suddenly.

  Brute looked up. “To drink?”

  “No.” Lavender swallowed. “To learn it.”

  Zemmal’s head whipped in her direction. His gaze sharp upon her. Explain.

  Lavender exhaled slowly. “Fire and lightning, they’re loud. And earth is demanding. But water is everywhere and I don’t know how to touch it without…” Her throat swelled shut, and she hated it. “Without thinking of her.”

  Brute’s expression changed; softened, then hardened again like a shield sliding into place. “The siren,” he said quietly.

  Lavender nodded.

  Her mind flashed with the sound of the song, the way it had slid into her like a hook. The way it had offered her relief in a voice that almost sounded like sincerity. The way she wanted to believe it. Wanted to go.

  She hated that part most.

  Zemmal’s tail began tapping once again on stone. You wish to master water while fearing it. That is sensible. And unavoidable.

  Lavender shot him a look. “I think you know that’s not reassuring.”

  Training is not reassurance, was all he replied.

  Brute sighed. “He’s right though.”

  Lavender rubbed her palms against her trousers, then stopped when pain flared. She clenched her jaw. “I can’t keep avoiding it,” she said. “If I can’t use water, I’ll always be at a disadvantage. She controlled the basin with it. If she comes back and I’m useless…”

  “You won’t be,” Brute said firmly.

  Lavender’s eyes found his. “That’s a lot of faith.”

  Brute’s gaze didn’t waver. “Like Zemmal would say; it’s observation.”

  Zemmal rose smoothly, the movement filling the overhang with a sudden shift of heat and shadow. Then we return to the lake.

  Lavender felt sick. “Now?”

  Now, Zemmal confirmed.

  Brute stood too, stretching with a low grunt. “We won’t let you get pulled in,” he said, as if Lavender hadn’t been there for the last near-drowning.

  “I know.” She didn’t though. Not really.

  They emerged from the shelter into brightness that made Lavender squint. The basin looked almost peaceful from her vantage. Stone ribs curving like the remains of some ancient creature curled around the lake. Pale grasses shimmered. Mist drifted in soft threads that felt decorative instead of ominous.

  That was what made it so unsettling.

  The lake came into view as they rounded the ribs. It was not glassy anymore. The surface reflected light, but now faint ripples traveled constantly. Subtle, restless, as if the water could not settle after being forced to swallow a monster.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The new stone ridges that broke the surface looked like knuckles and bones. Lavender’s scars warmed. Not the pleasant warmth from earlier. This was alertness. Muscle memory.

  Brute bumped her hip with his shoulder. “Eyes on me.”

  Lavender forced herself to look at him instead of the water.

  Brute’s eyes expressed a kind of resolution. “If you faint, I’m going to drag you by your boots again.”

  Lavender’s mouth twitched at the corners. “You say that like you haven’t been looking for an excuse.”

  Brute huffed, “it’s true.”

  Zemmal took the lead, moving to the edge of the lake with careful precision. He did not touch the water. Instead, he crouched slightly, head angled as if listening to something beneath the surface.

  She is quiet, he said at last.

  Lavender felt a pang of terror. “Quiet isn’t dead.”

  No, Zemmal agreed.

  Brute’s ears angled forward, then back. “We do this fast,” he said. “We do it smart. And if anything sings…”

  Lavender cut in quickly, “I stop listening.”

  It was Brute’s turn to return a look. “And you tell us.” She nodded and approached the shore.

  The closer she got, the more she felt it; the lake’s pulled not with persuasion, but with presence. Water held memory. Held bodies. The siren.

  Lavender stopped just short of the edge, boots inches from the damp stone and silt.

  “Tell me what to do,” she said, voice thin.

  Zemmal lowered his gaze to her hands. You will not command water as you command lightning. Water does not strike, it carves. It moves. It finds weakness and becomes it.

  Lavender rolled her eyes, “so I become weak.”

  The dragon let out a snort. Steam escaped his nostrils. You already are. You just hate it.

  “Would you truly die if you showed kindness?” Brute was ever vigilant. “Must you be sardonic ALL the time?”

  Zemmal’s voice rumbled with something like amusement. You do not become weak, Little Flame. You become adaptable. You become patient. You become…

  He paused, searching for the word like he was being careful to not offend. …Persistent.

  Lavender breathed out slowly. “Fine. Persistent.”

  Zemmal’s eyes found and held hers. Do not reach for the lake as if it is prey. Reach for it as if it is salvation.

  Her stomach fluttered. “That’s …poetic.”

  It is accurate.

  Brute moved to her side. “I’m here,” he said quietly. “Start small.”

  Lavender nodded and lowered herself to a crouch. Her hands hovered over the water. She hesitated. Fear rose like bile.

  The siren. The song. The pull.

  Lavender forced herself to breath. She remembered the hum of the earth. The weight. How it settled. The way the valley had answered her when she asked instead of demanded.

  Water, then. Not command. Not fighting. Permission.

  She dipped her fingers into the lake. Cold shot up her arms. Sharp and immediate, like plunging into winter.

  The water did not ripple. It accepted her touch too easily. Lavender’s heart hammered. “It feels like…”

  “Like it’s waiting,” Brute finished, his voice low.

  Lavender’s fingers trembled. She forced them still. Closed her eyes. Tried to feel the lake not as an enemy or a grave but as motion. Inevitability. As something that did not care about her fear.

  She let her breath slow. Let her shoulders relax, and her mind stop clawing. At first nothing happened. Then the water shifted. A tiny ripple spread outward from her fingertips, perfectly circular, expanding smoothly across the surface. It moved around the stones without breaking, as if the water knew exactly how to hold shape.

  Lavender’s breath caught. “I did that.”

  Brute was quiet, almost reverent. “Yes.”

  Zemmal watched without blinking. Again.

  Breathing, settling, inviting. She swallowed and tried again. This time the ripple came faster, stronger, spreading farther. The water’s surface brightened slightly as it moved, catching the basin light and flinging it outward like a shiver of stars.

  Her scars thrummed with magic. Recognition. Then…

  A bubble rose near one of the stone ridges.

  Just one.

  It popped silently. Lavender froze.

  Brute’s muscles tensed. “Did you do that?”

  Lavender’s response was barely a whisper. “No.”

  Zemmal’s head lifted, eyes narrowing to slits. Do not stop breathing.

  Her lungs locked anyway.

  The water responded. Not with a ripple this time, but with a faint current tugging at her fingers even after she’d pulled away. Like the lake had noticed her leaving and disliked it. “It’s pulling.”

  Brute moved instantly, stepping closer until his body fully blocked her from the water again. “Back.”

  Lavender stumbled back a step, breath ragged. “I didn’t mean to…”

  Zemmal’s voice was low and dangerous. She heard you.

  Lavender’s blood ran cold. “She’s awake.”

  She is aware, Zemmal corrected. Awake is something else.

  Brute’s ears pinned back. “We’re done for today.”

  Her hands curled into fists, bandages straining. “No.”

  Brute stared. “Lav…”

  “No,” she repeated, voice shaking but stubborn. “If I stop every time I’m scared, I’ll never learn. And if she’s aware, then I need to be better now, not later.”

  Brute’s gaze softened for a moment before hardening again. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “Probably.” She gave a sarcastic, big-toothed smile.

  Brute groaned. “I hate you.”

  “No you don’t.”

  Brute’s tail thumped once. “Unfortunately.”

  Zemmal watched them, then turned his gaze to the lake. We do not remain at the shore, he said. But we do not abandon the lesson.

  Lavender’s brow raised. “How?”

  Zemmal’s eyes moved toward the far side of the basin, where the black stone path continued upward again. Toward a cleft in the valley wall that looked darker than it should have.

  We continue to the threshold, he said. You will practice in motion. In fear. In reality.

  She found her stomach tightening. “That sounds terrible.”

  Yes, Zemmal replied calmly. It will make you stronger.

  “Dragons are allergic to fun,” Brute muttered.

  Lavender managed a weak laugh. “Apparently so.”

  They moved away from the lake slowly. Lavender’s gaze flicking back despite herself. The surface returned to its restless ripples, bright and innocent again. No song. No face.

  But she felt it. A presence under glass and rubble. Caged. Watching. Remembering her touch. Her scars ached, as if to warn her: it is not finished.

  The path rose along the basin’s far rim, climbing toward a narrow passage carved into the rock. The light dimmed as they approached it. Not because the sun moved, but because the stone itself seemed to swallow brightness.

  The hum beneath Lavender’s feet stirred once more. Not soothing now. Grave.

  Brute’s warmth was present at her side. Zemmal moved ahead, silhouette immense against the narrowing dark. Lavender looked up at the passage.

  Not a door. Not a gate.

  A threshold.

  A seam in the world where air felt heavier and quieter. Like sound itself did not want to cross.

  Brute’s voice came quietly, sarcastic and tender all at once. “Ready to go meet whatever nightmare is waiting up there?”

  Lavender’s mouth formed a grimace. “No.”

  His tail flicked. “Good. Me neither.”

  Zemmal did not look back, but his voice rolled like stones settling. Then we proceed.

  And together, hurt and stubborn, they approached the threshold’s domain.

  She wondered to herself whose lamplight was waiting on the other side.

  Thank you for reading my story. I spent a long time working on it and am glad I get to share it with others. Not your speed though? Check out another cool author below to give a try!