Pushing through her limits

Nyxara's fingers were cool against her forehead—two simple points of contact.

But the moment they pressed—

Warmth.

Lira gasped softly as something poured into her. Not a voice. Not a vision. Information.

A stream of thoughts and patterns, foreign yet familiar, like reading a book she somehow remembered writing. It wasn't painful—but strange, like her mind was stretching in ways it never had.

Her eyes fluttered.

And then, in a soft breath, the words escaped her lips:

"Heavenly Cloud Qi Absorption Method."

Nyxara nodded with satisfaction, withdrawing her hand.

"Mhm," she said. "This is the method all my disciples were taught. It draws from breath, bone, and sky. You'll absorb the spiritual energy that flows through this sanctuary and begin reshaping your inner world."

Lira stared at her, overwhelmed—but steadied.

"I haven't… accepted you as my master," she said quietly.

Nyxara smiled, the first hints of affection softening her sharp edges.

"No. You haven't."

She tilted her head.

"But I've already given it anyway."

Lira's throat tightened.

Nyxara's voice dropped, patient now. "When the sun is highest, you'll meditate. In the hot spring. Let the Qi flow into your limbs. Follow the instructions embedded in your spirit. It will guide you."

She turned gracefully on her heel.

"But first," she said, gesturing. "Come with me."

---

The archery field was nothing like the arena.

It was quiet.

Wide.

Peaceful.

Rows of distant targets shimmered at varying lengths, the air between them calm as still water. There was no crowd. No rush.

Just focus.

Nyxara stepped toward a rack and retrieved a simple wooden bow—no carvings, no glow. Just solid, balanced craftsmanship.

She handed it to Lira.

It wasn't light.

Not impossible.

But just heavy enough to make her arms feel it instantly.

"This is your first test," Nyxara said. "No arrows. No targets."

Lira blinked. "Then what—?"

"You'll hold it," Nyxara said flatly. "Raise it. Draw the string."

She gestured the motion with elegance.

"And do it again. And again. And again—until your arms feel like melted wax and your shoulders cry for mercy."

Lira swallowed.

Nyxara's gaze sharpened—not cruel, but commanding.

"You want to become something more? Then break the part of yourself that quits when it hurts."

Lira took a breath.

Then raised the bow.

Drew back the string.

And began.

---

—Part II—

Lira

The bow felt heavier with each repetition.

At first, it was simple. Raise, draw, hold. Lower. Repeat.

The first twenty times were manageable. Her shoulders rolled. Her grip was solid. Her breathing even.

But by the thirtieth repetition—

Her arms began to shake.

Her shoulders tensed like ropes being pulled too tight. Her breath grew shallower. Sweat beaded at her temples, trailing down her neck. Her fingers ached from the tension of the bowstring. Her back burned.

Still—

She kept drawing.

And again.

And again.

Nyxara stood off to the side, watching in silence. No praise. No corrections. Just presence. Like a statue of expectation.

Lira's legs wobbled as she planted her feet again. Raised the bow. Drew.

Her left arm trembled.

The string slipped halfway.

She let out a shaky breath, bit her lip, and did it again.

And again.

And again.

Her body screamed.

And the voices in her head—the ones she thought she'd buried—started to rise.

You're not a fighter.

You're just a maid.

You'll never be like them.

Her arms dropped.

She fell to one knee, the bow falling beside her.

Her breath came in sharp gasps. Her entire upper body pulsed with aching fire. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes—not from the pain, but from frustration.

She stared at the ground.

And thought about running.

Just for a second.

Then—she remembered Solene's eyes when they were hurt.

Seraphyne's fury when she'd nearly lost them.

Nerys's quiet strength.

She remembered standing in that bath, unsure if she even belonged beside them.

She wanted to belong.

She wanted to stand with them—not behind.

So she reached for the bow again.

Hands shaking.

And stood.

Nyxara didn't speak.

Didn't move.

But when Lira raised the bow and drew again—

She nodded.

Just once.

Lira held the bowstring until her vision blurred.

And only lowered it when she couldn't feel her arms.

—Part III—

Lira

Her legs barely worked.

Her arms felt like paper.

The bow slipped from her fingers as she stumbled, but before she could hit the ground—

Nyxara caught her.

Effortlessly.

Arms beneath her knees and back, lifting her like a princess, Nyxara cradled her with surprising gentleness.

"Good girl," Nyxara said, smiling down at her. "You have a very strong will."

Lira flushed, too weak to protest, too dazed to pretend it didn't feel good to be seen.

Nyxara turned and began walking—slow, graceful steps toward the sanctuary's hidden spring.

"First time's always brutal," she said lightly, "but you didn't give in. That matters."

Lira blinked, half-limp against her.

"You're not going to make me crawl to the hot spring?"

"Oh, I considered it," Nyxara grinned. "But I like you too much."

She looked down again, her voice softer now.

"I'll guide you through meditation this time… and in the future, if you experience any bottlenecks—feel free to ask this Big Sister for help, kay?"

Lira managed a tiny, breathless laugh. "Okay… Big Sister."

---

The hot spring steamed softly in the low light, framed with shimmering icelilies and ethereal herbs growing in clusters along the stone. The air here felt different—thicker, alive with unseen energy that hummed through the water like a whispered promise.

Nyxara set Lira down gently.

Then, with no ceremony at all, she slipped off her outer robe and wrapped herself in a soft white towel.

Lira hesitated—then followed, stripping off her training garb with trembling fingers and quickly covering herself in a towel as well.

Nyxara tossed a handful of glowing herbs into the water. They hissed faintly on contact, turning the steam a shimmering gold.

"Okay," she said, voice calm and slow now, the teasing edge softened into instruction. "Sit in the shallow side. Right where the flow is strongest."

Lira obeyed.

She lowered herself into the water, settling into the lotus position—legs crossed, spine straight, hands resting on her knees.

"Good," Nyxara said, kneeling behind her in the shallows. The water rippled softly around them, warmth sinking into sore muscle and tired skin.

"Now close your eyes. Slow your breathing. Find the rhythm. In. Hold. Out."

Lira followed.

"Now," Nyxara whispered, "follow the method. Reach out—not with your hands. With your spirit. Pull in the energy around you."

Lira breathed.

She reached.

And then—

She felt it.

Warmth. Not from the water—but inside.

She gasped softly as Nyxara pressed a single palm to the center of her back, over her spine.

"You'll feel my hand here," Nyxara said. "Don't tense. I'm just guiding the spiritual energy through your meridians. Think of them as veins—but for power."

Lira exhaled again, slower this time.

And then—

She felt it move.

Golden energy.

Sliding through her, flowing under Nyxara's hand, shifting like wind through silk. It pulsed at her core. Drifted through her limbs. A slow, glowing tide that asked nothing but awareness.

And in that moment—

Lira's pain fell away.

Her fear eased.

She simply existed.

Guided by power more ancient than this very world.

—Part IV—

Lira

Time became meaningless.

Lira didn't know how long she sat in the hot spring—eyes closed, back straight, Nyxara's hand warm and steady against her spine. She only knew what she felt.

The golden spiritual energy flowed into her—not just around her muscles, but into her bones, sinking deep, reinforcing her marrow with a quiet strength that hummed. She felt it glide into her organs, and for a heartbeat, it startled her.

It was as if a light—a golden shield—had formed over her lungs, her heart, her liver. Her body vibrated with vitality. Each breath came easier. Each beat of her heart steadier.

The energy didn't stop there.

It flowed deeper.

Into her cells.

Each one drank it in, pulsing faintly with light, a thousand tiny flames beginning to burn.

And then—

She felt it.

A path.

A current through her body.

The spiritual veins Nyxara spoke of. Invisible channels that ran beneath skin and soul, directing the flow of her cultivation like a river network.

She followed them inward.

Deeper.

Until she reached a space.

A cave.

Silent. Empty. Nestled in the very center of her being.

And slowly, that cave began to fill—the golden energy pouring in like liquid light, pooling at the center of her soul. When it could hold no more, the radiant pool began to spill over.

Then—

The light condensed.

A single glass orb formed at the heart of the pool, hovering, humming.

Cracks began to form across its surface.

Panic flickered through her.

Was it breaking? Had she failed?

But then—

The orb didn't shatter.

Instead, the cave around it expanded, stretching and doubling in size, making room. The orb glowed even brighter, the cracks mending instantly as the golden light surged into it once more.

She had grown.

Not broken.

Not failed.

Evolved.

Lira gasped softly—and her eyes opened.

The steam of the spring rose gently around her, the sun filtering through the clouds above. Her body felt lighter. Stronger. Her skin tingled with energy that hadn't been there before.

Her breath was calm. Rooted.

And behind her, Nyxara's voice rang with quiet, genuine pride.

"Congratulations, Lira," she said. "You've officially become a cultivator."

Lira blinked, barely believing it.

Nyxara continued, her voice warm.

"Keep up the work. Keep pushing forward. And I have no doubt—none at all—that you will become the woman you want to be."

Lira smiled.

And for the first time in her life…

She believed it.