Amelia sat on the edge of her bed, the light of her room casting long shadows on the walls. Her reflection in the cracked mirror across from her stared back, and for once, the confidence in her eyes was gone. Instead, guilt churned in her stomach, making her feel sick. She touched the bandages on her knuckles—the result of her own reckless strength earlier that day. If things had gone worse, if the stone she shattered had been any bigger or faster... she clenched her teeth, fighting back the wave of self-loathing. Nachtan could have been seriously hurt. All because I couldn't keep my temper under control.
She let out a long breath, her fists trembling. Control had always been the hardest lesson for her, the one thing that set her apart from her siblings in all the worst ways. When her anomalyte surged, it felt like fire under her skin, begging to be unleashed. And every time she let it take over, the aftermath left her feeling hollow.
A dull thud echoed as she punched the small training bag hanging from her ceiling. The punching bag wasn't particularly durable—it couldn't withstand her full strength—but it served as an outlet. She struck it again, then again, each blow harder than the last. Sweat dripped down her forehead, and she forced herself to remember why she needed to be better. Why losing control was never an option.
Flashback: Therapy Session
The room had been dimly lit, just like her bedroom now, but sterile, clinical. There were no comforting touches here, no softness—just the cold, reflective surfaces and quiet hum of machinery. Dr. Lira Vestine, her psychiatrist, sat across from her, legs crossed, a faint blue glow surrounding her fingertips. Dr. Vestine's anomalyte was a rare one: emotional stabilization. She could sense, and to some degree influence, the emotions of those around her. It made her the perfect fit for dealing with patients like Amelia.
"How are you feeling today?" Dr. Vestine's voice was calm, her eyes soft but alert, always searching for signs of turbulence.
"Fine," Amelia had said, too quickly. She knew it was a lie. Dr. Vestine probably did too.
The psychiatrist leaned forward, her glowing fingers tracing a delicate pattern in the air. "Amelia, you know we can't make progress if you don't tell me the truth. Your strength isn't just a gift—it's a responsibility. If you lose control, it won't just hurt you. It'll hurt everyone around you. The people you care about."
Amelia had looked away, her jaw set. "I'm not weak."
"No one said you are," Dr. Vestine replied gently. "But you can't ignore what's inside you. The anger, the frustration—you need to confront it, not suppress it."
"Confront it?" Amelia spat back, her hands curling into fists. "What do you want me to do? Hug my rage and sing it a lullaby?"
Dr. Vestine didn't flinch. "I want you to understand it. To find where it's coming from. And to control it, instead of letting it control you." The glow around her fingers brightened slightly, and Amelia felt a calming warmth spread through her chest. "Anger is like a flame. If you don't keep it in check, it will consume you—and everything around you."
Amelia's hands relaxed just slightly. But she remembered the fear in Dr. Vestine's eyes, the fear that even her ability might not be enough to hold Amelia back if she truly lost herself.
---
The memory faded, but the weight of it remained. Amelia punched the bag again, harder this time, the leather cracking. She needed to be better. She couldn't be the reason people she cared about got hurt.
A knock on her door snapped her back to reality. "Hey," came Nola's voice, soft but firm. "Dinner's almost ready. You should join us."
Amelia hesitated, her knuckles stinging. "I'll be down soon."
Nola lingered for a moment before speaking again. "Nachtan's with Silas. He's okay, you know. He'll be okay."
Amelia closed her eyes, letting the words sink in. "I know," she whispered, though the guilt still gnawed at her. She heard Nola's footsteps retreating, and she let herself breathe for a moment. I have to be better.
She turned back to the mirror, wiping sweat from her forehead. Her reflection stared back, and she forced herself to hold its gaze this time. They would be heading to Abranta tomorrow—all of them, under Nola's watch. There was supposed to be a small pre-festival event, something light and celebratory. Amelia wasn't sure how she felt about it. But one thing was certain: she couldn't afford to lose control again.
She would protect her family. Even if it meant protecting them from herself.