Magister Orion's version of training is reminiscent of Jericho's somehow, though he doesn't insult me or force me to run massive amounts of laps.
It's more like this inexorable insistence that he believes in my ability that forces me to try, and try again, and again, until sweat is pouring down my face and back. It's worse than physical training because it's an agony that breaks my entire body down from within, but it's better because I can breathe without feeling like my lungs are burning out.
Magister Orion's voice washes over me, a soothing balm to my frazzled nerves. "Close your eyes, Ava Grey. Block out the world around you. Let your magic flow through your veins."
His instructions are the same as before. Simple. Repetitive. Calm.
I take a deep breath, trying to follow his instructions. My eyes flutter shut, and I attempt to focus inward. Earlier, he told me to stop screwing my eyes shut, but to only rest them like butterfly's wings.
