Chapter 206- Seeing the Spark
CJ
I had been skeptical at first. Not about Lexy, not about her power or her instincts—those I had trusted with my life countless times—but about the idea of meditation with children, of drawing them into a circle of focus and energy. To me, it seemed trivial at first. Something meant to calm restless minds, maybe, but hardly a tool for shaping power or strategy.
I was wrong.
I had arrived in the garden quietly, intending to check on Tarria while keeping an eye on Lexy, when I saw them. Lexy seated beneath the willow, triplets in a circle around her, eyes closed, tiny chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm. At first, I couldn’t sense anything unusual—just the usual warmth of fire that always seemed to cling to her, even in moments of calm. But then it changed.
The air shifted.
A subtle current brushed my skin, faint but unmistakable. My heartbeat stuttered slightly as I felt it—the flow of energy moving outward, tethering between Lexy and the children. It wasn’t chaotic. It wasn’t aggressive. It was… precise. Controlled. Alive.
I watched Tarria crouched nearby, hands resting lightly on her knees, smoke curling faintly from her fingertips. Her expression shifted subtly as the energy moved through the circle. At first, curiosity—then awe, and finally, something else I hadn’t expected: hope.
I couldn’t hear her thoughts, but I could feel the tension in her body ease, the defensive curl of her shoulders relax. She leaned slightly forward, eyes widening as if she was seeing a vision of what she herself could achieve, what she might become. It was the first time I’d seen that in her since she had joined our ranks—a confidence born not from orders or victory, but from understanding.
And then I noticed the children. My heart caught in my chest. I had always known they were extraordinary, their fire inherited from Lexy and me, but the subtlety of what they were doing now… it was staggering. Each of them seemed to carry a fragment of control, an instinctive grasp of the energy that surrounded them. Their small hands lifted and lowered in perfect synchronization, their tiny forms radiating calm that felt almost palpable.
Lexy responded to it effortlessly. Her fire, which normally roared and flared when provoked or agitated, now flowed gently, brushing against the edges of the current without overwhelming it. I realized then that what I was witnessing wasn’t just meditation—it was a demonstration of harmony. Power, emotion, and presence moving together as one.
I had spent my life watching people fight, watching them struggle with the weight of what they could do, and I had never seen control like this. Not in battle, not in training, not even in the most disciplined of our allies. What Lexy had here—it was something deeper. Something innate. And I could see Tarria recognizing it too.
Her smoke, usually so sharp, so restless, so demanding of attention, was calm now, trailing lazily along the grass as if it had learned patience. I felt a small spark of relief. Tarria had always been powerful but unbridled. Reckless. Dangerous. Now, watching her take in this quiet display, I sensed a shift. The tension that had always hovered around her, the sense of fear that sometimes lingered even in her victories—it was easing.
And if Tarria could see this possibility in Lexy and the children… then perhaps the rest of us could too.
I took a slow step closer, careful not to intrude on their circle, and felt the energy brush against me. My own pulse synchronized without effort to theirs, a subtle acknowledgment, a whisper of resonance. The children were aware of it more than I realized. Their instinctive understanding of the flow, their ability to harmonize with Lexy and each other, extended beyond mere coordination. It was as though they were already learning lessons none of us could teach, lessons about presence, awareness, and connection.
I swallowed hard, remembering the battles we’d fought, the lives lost, the constant tension between control and chaos. I had always known Lexy was strong, more than anyone could possibly imagine, but even I hadn’t grasped the full depth of what she could do when she moved in tandem with her children.
Tarria’s eyes flicked toward me, and for a brief second, I saw her smile. Not a full smile, but the kind that reaches the eyes, the one that carries unspoken acknowledgment. She had seen what I had seen—the spark, the potential—and something inside her had shifted. That hope, fragile and yet undeniable, radiated outward in a way I could feel even without touching it.
I exhaled slowly. The garden seemed quieter now, the energy still lingering but softened, pulsing like faint embers after a fire had passed. The children shifted, tiny giggles escaping as they realized the exercise was ending, but even their lightness carried the subtle imprint of the power that had just moved through them.
Lexy rose slowly, brushing grass from her robes, and my chest tightened as I watched her place a protective hand over her belly. The strength in her posture was unwavering, yet softer than before—more tempered, more certain. She looked at Tarria, who returned the gaze with a mixture of gratitude and newfound determination.
I realized then how critical this moment had been, not just for the children or for Lexy, but for all of us. If Tarria could learn from this—if she could absorb even a fraction of the calm control Lexy exhibited—then she would be an ally stronger than I had dared to hope. And the triplets… their presence alone was teaching lessons none of us could replicate. They were small, yes, but they carried understanding that defied their age, a connection to power that was instinctive, pure, and untapped.
I felt a swell of pride, not only for Lexy but for Tarria, and for the children. Together, they represented something rare: balance. Control. A glimpse of what our alliance could become if we learned to channel not only our strength but our intent, our focus, and our connections.
I stepped closer, finally close enough to place a hand on Lexy’s shoulder, grounding her and myself in the aftermath of what we had just witnessed. She gave a small nod, and I could sense the shared recognition in that gesture: what had occurred here was not just a moment of meditation—it was a turning point.
Tarria rose then, her movements careful but confident. The smoke around her hands curled differently now, less erratic, more deliberate. The change was subtle, but I felt it in my bones. This was the Tarria who could stand beside us, who could wield her power with precision, who could harness her strength rather than be carried along by it.
I exhaled again, a long, slow breath, and allowed myself to feel the rare, precious sense of hope. We had been battered, tested, and threatened in ways most of our allies could not imagine, yet here we were. Together. Stronger. And, perhaps for the first time since this war began, I could see a future where our powers didn’t merely clash—they complemented, harmonized, and amplified one another.
I glanced down at the triplets, who were now leaning on Lexy, their small faces flushed with excitement and satisfaction. They had no idea of the impact they had just made, of the reassurance they had offered to someone like Tarria, or of the subtle ripple that would reach through our ranks because of this quiet moment. They only knew they had shared something special with their mother, and that was enough.
I looked back at Tarria and then at Lexy, and for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to believe. Believe that we could harness our power, that we could survive, that we could protect one another—and that even in the face of uncertainty, hope was real, tangible, and alive.
And in that moment, I vowed silently to myself that I would honor this lesson. I would learn. I would grow. I would be the ally I had once feared I could never become.
Because now, I had seen what was possible.
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