Chapter Five: Fractured Paths

The training began at dawn.

Lyra stood in the center of the camp, the elder's crystal resting in her palm. A faint mist hung over the clearing, blurring the edges of the world as if it, too, were hesitant to commit to form. Around her, a few of the rogue Binders watched from the shadows, their expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness. Rowan lingered at the edge of the clearing, offering an encouraging smile.

The elder circled Lyra slowly, her sharp eyes appraising every twitch and tremor. "Your Echo is fractured," she said, her voice calm but firm. "But fractures can be a source of strength if properly understood. Today, you'll begin to feel the shape of your power—not what you think it should be, but what it truly is."

Lyra frowned, tightening her grip on the crystal. "And how am I supposed to do that?"

"By releasing your control," the elder replied.

"What?"

"Control comes later. First, you must let go. Echoes are manifestations of emotion. The tighter you hold, the less freely they flow. Trust your instincts."

Lyra's chest tightened. Letting go felt like the exact opposite of what she needed to do. Control was all she had—her last line of defense against the unknown.

Still, she closed her eyes, trying to block out the murmurs of the camp and the weight of the elder's gaze. She reached inward, searching for the wellspring of energy she'd felt in the village. It was there, vast and cold, a force that pulsed like a second heartbeat.

The crystal in her hand began to glow faintly, its light flickering like a candle in the wind.

"Good," the elder said. "Now let it grow."

Lyra focused, drawing the energy upward. The light grew stronger, steadier—but then it twisted. A sudden jolt shot through her hand, and the crystal splintered with a sharp crack, fragments scattering across the ground.

She gasped, her eyes flying open. Around her, the mist seemed to shiver, and the faint outline of an Echo—a jagged, translucent barrier—flickered into existence before vanishing again.

The elder's expression was unreadable, but Lyra could feel the tension in the air.

"I—I'm sorry," Lyra stammered, looking at the broken shards of the crystal.

"You're fighting it," the elder said. "Your power isn't meant to fit into neat lines and shapes. It's fractured, yes, but fractures can create something entirely new."

"What does that even mean?" Lyra's frustration bubbled over. "I don't want something new—I just want to know what I am!"

For a moment, the elder said nothing. Then she knelt, picking up one of the shards of the crystal. She held it up to the light, tilting it so the fractured edges caught the sun.

"Look," she said.

Lyra hesitated, then leaned closer. The shard was small and jagged, but as the light passed through it, it refracted into a spectrum of colors, scattering rainbows across the ground.

"Fractures don't weaken," the elder said softly. "They reveal. You've spent your whole life trying to be Sorrow because that's what the world told you to be. But your Echo isn't just Sorrow. It's something more, and until you accept that, you'll never master it."

Lyra stared at the shard, her mind spinning. Was that what had happened in the village? Had she been trying so hard to create a barrier that her Echo had lashed out, becoming something else entirely?

The elder straightened, her gaze steady. "We'll try again tomorrow. For now, rest. Let your Echo settle."

Lyra nodded, though her thoughts were anything but settled.

She turned to leave, but the sound of slow applause stopped her.

"Well done," Kieran said, leaning against a nearby tree. His smirk was infuriatingly smug. "You managed to break a rock. Truly inspiring."

"Go away, Kieran," Rowan snapped, stepping between him and Lyra.

"What? I'm just saying she's off to a great start," Kieran said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Lyra clenched her fists, fighting the urge to snap back. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Rarely," Kieran replied. "But seriously, you did better than I expected. Most people can't even summon a barrier on their first try, let alone a… whatever that was."

"Thanks," Lyra said flatly.

Kieran laughed. "Relax. You'll figure it out eventually. Or you won't, and the Harmonium will catch us all. Either way, it'll be interesting."

"Kieran," Rowan warned, her tone icy.

"Fine, fine. I'll leave you to your soul-searching," Kieran said, waving them off as he sauntered away.

Rowan turned back to Lyra, her expression apologetic. "Don't listen to him. He's just trying to get under your skin."

"It's fine," Lyra said, though her frustration lingered. "He's not wrong, though. I still don't know what I'm doing."

"That's why you're here," Rowan said. "And you're not alone, no matter how much Kieran tries to make you feel like you are."

Lyra gave her a small, grateful smile.

That night, as she lay in her tent, Lyra turned the elder's words over in her mind. Fractures don't weaken—they reveal.

She traced her fingers over the birthmark on her collarbone, the jagged edges that had always seemed wrong to her. For the first time, she wondered if they weren't a flaw, but a clue.

The thought both terrified and thrilled her.