Chapter 11:The Frost and the Storm

Ariadna was only ten years old when she first awakened her affinities. It had been a day she eagerly awaited, hoping to possess the same remarkable gifts as her father, Crameyus, who commanded six affinities with legendary skill. Yet when the spirit stone glowed with the cool blue of ice and the crackling white of lightning, her excitement dimmed. Two affinities—just two—seemed like a meager inheritance. She had expected to match her father’s prowess, but disappointment clouded her joy.

Her father’s attempts to teach her met with resistance. She was impatient, often refusing to put in the effort needed to progress. Though she grasped the basics, her training stagnated at the intermediate level, as Ariadna found herself frustrated by the gap between her expectations and reality. There was an emptiness in her heart, a feeling that gnawed at her and left her unmotivated. It was a void left by the loss of her mother, whose memory was little more than a fading silhouette in Ariadna's mind.

One afternoon, as she wandered outside the camp near the villages, she stumbled upon a sight that filled her with awe—and something else. Her cousin Criselda, three years older and already a graceful wielder of ice and lightning, was practicing alone. The elements flowed from her with an elegance that made them seem less like magic and more like art. The ice shards danced in intricate patterns, while lightning arced and crackled in a show of controlled power.

Ariadna stood at the edge of the clearing, watching with growing envy and a twinge of shame. She had never moved with such finesse, never shaped the elements with such ease. Criselda noticed her, turning to face her young cousin with a welcoming smile.

“Come out, Ariadna. I saw you watching,” she said, lowering her hands and letting the elements dissipate.

Ariadna hesitated, her pride warring with her desire for guidance. Eventually, she stepped forward, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. “Can you… teach me?” she asked, her voice smaller than she intended. “I’ve tried with Father, but… I haven’t been able to learn much beyond the basics.”

Criselda’s eyes softened with understanding. “Father’s lessons aren’t always easy to keep up with,” she said. “But if you’re willing to work, I’ll help you.”

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Ariadna’s cheeks flushed at the mention of work. She had always shied away from hard effort, but seeing Criselda’s mastery up close stirred something in her—a drive to close the distance between them.

The days that followed were filled with rigorous training. Criselda was a patient teacher, guiding Ariadna through techniques for shaping ice into forms beyond mere barriers or weapons, and for wielding lightning without losing control. Under Criselda’s watchful eye, Ariadna learned how to merge the two affinities, summoning a storm of frost-laden bolts that crackled with an icy chill.

It wasn’t easy; there were countless setbacks. More than once, Ariadna’s impatience got the better of her, causing her to lose control and forcing Criselda to intervene. But she persevered, fueled by a stubborn determination and the slowly growing joy she felt as she began to understand her affinities on a deeper level. She learned that ice, though often associated with stillness, could be as fluid as water, shifting forms at will. Lightning, while wild and dangerous, could be harnessed with precision if one approached it with calm focus rather than brute force.

For weeks, they trained outside the camp, away from the eyes of the other villagers. Criselda’s guidance slowly began to pay off, and Ariadna’s skills improved in leaps and bounds. Her ice became a versatile tool, not just for defense but for manipulation of the environment, and her lightning no longer erupted in uncontrollable bursts but streaked across the sky in thin, deadly arcs.

As her control grew, Ariadna found herself enjoying the training. The emptiness she had felt began to fill with a newfound sense of purpose. Though her mother’s absence remained a scar on her heart, Ariadna no longer saw her affinities as a disappointment or a burden. Instead, they were a legacy—a connection to her family, even to the mother she could scarcely remember.

One evening, as they finished a particularly demanding exercise, Criselda placed a hand on Ariadna’s shoulder. “You’ve come a long way,” she said, pride clear in her voice. “But remember, mastery isn’t a destination. It’s a path you walk every day. There’s always more to learn.”

Ariadna nodded, the determination in her eyes a far cry from the reluctance she had shown at the start. “I won’t stop,” she vowed. “I’ll keep getting stronger. Not just for me, but… for those I’ve lost.”

Criselda’s smile widened, and she gave her cousin’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Then you’re already on the right path.”

Ariadna looked up at the sky, where the first stars were beginning to emerge. She had not gained six affinities like her father, but she was beginning to understand that it wasn’t the number of affinities that defined one's strength—it was the resolve to master them, to make them a part of oneself. And with each step she took on this path, she was beginning to find her own way.