Chapter 199- Sparks in the Arena
Lexy
The morning after the reunion, the world looked different. Brighter somehow, as though even the air carried the warmth of my children’s laughter. Their little hands still clung to my memory like sparks that refused to fade.
But a queen could not stay buried in yesterday’s joy. The realm still trembled, still fragile. There were powers to be honed, threats to extinguish, and allies to strengthen. And among those tasks, one called to me louder than the rest—guiding Tarria as she learned to wield what she had unleashed.
We chose the open training grounds, their sand still marked from old battles, their air always thick with the scent of sweat, dust, and magic. It was where warriors were forged, and fates decided. Today, it would serve as something more: a space to teach control, to replace fear with trust.
As CJ and I walked to the arena, my mom and mama Sheera trailed behind, each with a triplet perched at their side. My children’s chatter filled the air like music—questions about everything they saw, observations only children could make.
“Why is the sand so shiny?” one asked, crouching low.
“Because warriors spilled their power here,” CJ’s mother explained patiently. “The ground remembers.”
That seemed to impress them. I smiled; glad they would see this place not just as a field of war but as a crucible of growth.
Tarria was already waiting in the center. She stood tall, though I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitched at her sides as if still haunted by the moment she took Kael’s life. Her eyes lifted when she spotted me, determination and unease warring in her gaze.
“My queen,” she said with a respectful nod.
“No titles here,” I replied softly. “Today, we are student and teacher. And tomorrow, perhaps, we are equals.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. The relief that flickered in her eyes was brief but genuine.
We began simple. Breathing. Centering. I guided her through the exercises CJ, and I had once used to find balance when my phoenix fire threatened to consume me.
“Your power isn’t meant to chain you,” I told her, circling as she knelt in the sand. “It’s meant to serve you. To answer when you call—not when fear or rage demands it.”
She exhaled slowly, her breath trembling at first, then steadying. Shadows flickered at her fingertips, curling like smoke before vanishing into the air.
My triplets clapped from the sidelines, their little voices ringing out. “She did it! She did it!”
Tarria glanced toward them, startled, then smiled despite herself. The sight was rare, precious.
“They believe in you,” I said, catching her attention again. “Let their belief be your anchor.”
“You can do it titi” little Alexia yelled.
We moved into shaping exercises, asking her to form the smoke deliberately rather than letting it spill uncontrolled. At first, it resisted her, twisting wildly, dissolving before she could hold it. Sweat formed on her brow, her jaw clenched.
“This is pointless,” she muttered, frustration breaking through.
I crouched beside her, lowering my voice so only she would hear. “You once believed yourself powerless, Tarria. Yet you ended a threat none of us could. That was not chance. That was you. Now you must choose to be that woman every day.”
Her eyes lifted, shining with something raw—fear, guilt, hope. And then she tried again. This time, the smoke formed into a clear shape: a small dagger, sharp and steady. It wavered, but it held.
The triplets erupted with cheers, their hands waving wildly. “A sword! She made a sword!”
“It’s a dagger,” CJ corrected them, though his smile betrayed his pride in Tarria’s progress.
The dagger dissolved, but the victory remained. Tarria’s breathing came fast, but her shoulders no longer sagged with defeat. She had tasted control.
We pressed further. Movement drills, asking her to unleash bursts of smoke without losing herself to its pull. She faltered often, shadows spilling wider than intended, but each mistake was met not with scolding but with guidance.
Once, the smoke surged too far, curling toward the sidelines. My heart leapt, but before I could intervene, my children’s giggles rang out.
“It tickles!” one squealed, waving their hands through the harmless mist.
Tarria’s face was drained of color. “I didn’t mean—”
I placed a hand on her shoulder firmly. “And yet, they laugh. Do you see? You are not a monster. Your power is not poison. It is what you make of it.”
Her breathing steadied again. This time, when she lifted her hand, the smoke obeyed. It gathered in a sphere before her, pulsing once like a heartbeat, then dissipating cleanly.
The triplets clapped again, chanting her name as if she were a champion.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the arena in gold, I called for one final exercise. I faced Tarria directly, heat building in my palms, flames curling at my fingertips.
“We must test your control against mine,” I said.
She hesitated. “What if—what if I hurt you?”
I gave a small smile. “Then you will learn. And I will survive.”
Her eyes widened, but she nodded, summoning her smoke. It rose around her, dark and thick, meeting the blaze I unleashed in a controlled arc. Fire and smoke clashed, swirling together like storm clouds set aflame.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then Tarria’s will pushed through—steady, controlled. The smoke bent but did not consume, folded but did not shatter. My fire dimmed, curling away.
And there she stood, unbroken, her smoke dissipating in calm wisps.
The triplets screamed their joy, running into the sand before anyone could stop them. They threw their arms around Tarria’s legs, laughing as if she had won the grandest of games.
She froze, eyes wide, before slowly lowering her hand to touch their hair. Her lips trembled. “Why… why do they cheer for me?”
I stepped closer, placing a hand on her back. “Because they see what you cannot. They see your heart, not your shadows.”
Her shoulders shook, though she did not cry. Instead, she nodded once, fiercely, as if promising herself something unspoken.
We left the arena as the first stars pricked the sky. My children skipped ahead, retelling the training with wild exaggeration—“She made the biggest sword ever!”—while our mothers laughed softly at their antics.
CJ slipped his hand into mine, his warmth grounding me. “You’ve given Tarria hope,” he murmured.
“No,” I said, watching her walk with the children at her side. “They did.”
And as I looked at the triplets—my fire-born miracles—I realized they were not only my legacy. They were the future’s fiercest keepers, already mending wounds greater than mine.
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