Mastering the Shift: Learning to Trust the Game

  Arvanya's POV:

  The sun hung high in the sky, casting dappled light through the gaps in the towering trees that surrounded our secluded training ground. Warm rays filtered through the leaves, painting shifting patterns on the ground as a faint breeze rustled the branches. A few birds chirped in the distance, their calls briefly interrupting the tense silence that had settled over our group.

  Lucian stood in the center, the orb in his hands pulsing with a quiet energy, its surface rippling as it cycled through fire, water, earth, and air. His stance was relaxed, but his sharp gaze missed nothing.

  He motioned for us to form a circle before tossing the ball to Nico. “Now, we’ll test how well you can sense elemental shifts,” he said, his tone even but expectant. “Nico, Dante, Kai, Sofia, Lila, Esme, and Aria—you’ll each take turns holding the ball. I’ll manipulate its elemental state, and you must detect the shift before it fully manifests. Once you do, throw the ball to the person whose element matches it.”

  The heat of the sun pressed against my back as Zane stepped forward. “For example, if the ball is in Nico’s hand and Lucian changes it to water, he has to sense it before the shift is complete and throw it to Sofia or Lila, since they’re water elementals. If you fail to pass at the right time or to the right person, it could be dangerous.”

  A dry twig snapped under Ryker’s boot as he smirked, folding his arms. “And you’ll have to react fast—especially if it shifts to fire or earth. Throw it to the wrong person, and you might end up burning them or crushing their hands. Also, the shift time isn’t fixed. It could take ten, fifteen, or even five seconds. So, no pressure.”

  A bead of sweat rolled down my temple. The weight of his words settled heavily in the air, the warmth of the midday sun suddenly feeling stifling.

  Nico exhaled sharply, his grip firm around the ball. The sunlight reflected off its shifting surface as he focused, muscles taut with anticipation. Across the circle, Lucian remained still, watching. The faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eyes—he was waiting for someone to slip.

  The change came in an instant. Nico’s fingers twitched, and he hurled the ball toward Kai. But just as it left his hands, the glow twisted, bleeding into a deep blue hue—water. A miscalculation.

  Kai was an earth elemental.

  A sharp crack split the air as Kai caught it, his hands jerking slightly from the clash of opposing energies. The conflicting forces sparked between his fingers before the ball settled, its glow dimming. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, the tension in my shoulders still coiled tight.

  Lucian’s eyes darkened. "That was a mistake." His voice remained calm, but the weight behind it was unmistakable. "If that had been during a real game, the energy backlash could have been worse. You have to sense the shift faster, Nico."

  Nico’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. "I thought I had it in time."

  "Thinking isn’t enough." Lucian’s gaze swept over the rest of us, his expression unreadable. "You all need to sharpen your instincts. Let’s go again."

  The sun burned overhead, but a chill still prickled my skin.

  Kai’s jaw tightened, fingers pressing into the smooth surface of the ball. A faint shimmer pulsed across it, flickering between elements, its energy restless in his grip. The air in the clearing felt thick, the heat of the sun clashing with the tension between us. Shadows of shifting leaves danced across the ground as we all locked onto Kai, waiting for his move.

  The ball’s glow wavered—unpredictable, unstable. Each flicker sent a pulse through the space between us, our bodies coiled, ready to react. The moment stretched impossibly long. And then—

  Kai launched the ball toward Esme.

  The instant it left his hands, the flickering stopped. The glow dulled, solidified—earth.

  Esme’s eyes widened. She barely managed to jerk back as the ball slammed into the ground beside her, sending up a spray of dust and pebbles. The impact echoed through the clearing, the weight of the near miss settling deep in our chests. A second later, and it would’ve been her fingers crushed beneath stone.

  A charged silence followed, thick and unmoving. The only sound was Esme’s breath, quick but steady as she flexed her hands.

  Zane broke the silence, his voice sharp, controlled. “That’s exactly why you need to focus. If Esme had caught that, her fingers would’ve been broken. Sense the shift, then throw it to the right elemental. No guessing.”

  Kai exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, Esme.”

  Esme let out a small breath, rolling her shoulders before giving him a wry smile. “No problem. Just try not to break my hands next time.”

  Seeing Esme barely dodge, out of the circle, Ryker let out a low whistle before clapping a hand on Calen’s shoulder. “Looks like you actually got lucky not being part of this team. At least your hands are safe.”

  Calen smirked, crossing his arms. “Lucky? More like blessed. I like my bones unshattered, thank you very much.”

  Esme, still shaking off the near miss, shot him an exasperated look. “Shut up, Calen, or I swear the next time this ball shifts to fire, I’m throwing it straight at you.”

  Calen took a step back, hands raised in surrender. “Whoa, whoa—violence is not the answer, Esme. Let’s all just take a deep breath and—”

  Ryker snickered. “Yeah, Calen, let’s see how blessed you are when you’re dodging a fireball.”

  Calen huffed. “Somehow, I don’t think my blessings cover spontaneous combustion.”

  Esme rolled her eyes, but the small smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

  I forced a slow breath, steadying the tightness in my chest. My gaze swept across the circle, over my teammates, before landing on Lucian.

  He was already watching me.

  The dappled light of the sun cast sharp angles over his face, but his expression remained unreadable. It was his eyes that spoke volumes. A quiet message, crystal clear. Now you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into.

  A knot tightened in my stomach. The weight of it settled in my bones. This wasn’t just a game. It was dangerous. More than instinct and strategy, it was survival. The margin for error was razor-thin. A hesitation too long, a misjudged throw, and someone would get hurt.

  And then, the realization hit—because of me, my friends were part of this.

  The thought struck deeper than any training mishap. If anything happened to them, it would be my fault. The responsibility curled around my chest, squeezing, demanding. I had to keep them safe. No matter what.

  But the game wasn’t going in our favor. The elemental shifts were erratic, unpredictable—sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow. Every miscalculation sent a jolt of tension through the group. A second’s delay, a moment of doubt, and the ball veered toward the wrong person. Close calls piled up like a slow-building storm.

  This wasn’t just a test. It was a battle. A battle against the very forces we were supposed to command.

  If I could use my other abilities, this wouldn’t be an issue. No matter what state the ball shifted into, I’d catch it, control it, bend it to my will. But here—now—I had to play by the rules. And that meant being just as vulnerable as the rest of them.

  Which meant staying alert. Not just for air—but for fire, earth, and water too.

  One wrong move, and I wouldn’t just be responsible for my team’s safety.

  I’d be the one getting hurt.

  After struggling for what felt like an eternity, we slowly started to catch the pace. What had once been a chaotic struggle smoothed into something resembling control. Movements sharpened, instincts honed. The ball no longer felt like a wild force of nature but an extension of our focus, flickering between elements as if responding to our growing awareness.

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  Then Lila caught it.

  Her fingers tightened around the ball, shoulders tensing. A flicker of hesitation crossed her face, brief but undeniable. Her gaze sharpened in concentration. She was trying—really trying—to sense the shift.

  And then she threw it.

  Straight to me.

  A second too late, I realized the mistake.

  The air between us shimmered, the ball shifting mid-flight. A sudden flare of red.

  Not air.

  Fire.

  Flames erupted just as my fingers closed around it.

  Searing heat lashed through my palms, a blistering pain that shot straight to my nerves. A sharp gasp tore from my throat as I reflexively let go. The ball struck the ground with a dull thud, its glow fading back to neutral, but the damage was done. My hands burned. A raw, stinging heat pulsed beneath my skin, stubborn and unrelenting. I hissed through clenched teeth, shaking them out, as if that would chase away the fire still licking at my flesh.

  “Aria, watch out!”

  Lucian was there in an instant.

  The usual ease in his stance was gone. He moved fast, instinctively, his presence a solid wall between me and anything else that might go wrong. His stormy eyes locked onto my hands, his expression darkening. His jaw clenched.

  “You shouldn’t have caught it.” His voice was lower now, edged with something sharp. Not just frustration—something else. Something almost… protective.

  The words barely registered. The burning in my palms drowned out everything else, every nerve screaming for relief. My instincts flared, reaching for the only thing that could soothe the pain—water. The energy stirred within me, a cool, eager pull beneath my skin, ready to respond.

  But then—I saw him.

  Lucian.

  Watching.

  I couldn’t risk it.

  Couldn’t let anyone know.

  So I swallowed the pain, forcing my hands to still, forcing my face to stay neutral as the fire continued to bite into my skin. My fingers curled into tight fists, locking the agony inside.

  “I’m so sorry!” Lila’s voice trembled. “I—I got the shift wrong! I thought it was air—I didn’t mean—”

  She looked stricken, guilt tightening her features.

  I forced a breath, pushing the pain aside. Shaking my head, I met her eyes. “It’s not your fault, Lila,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “You didn’t do it on purpose. We’re all new at this—we’re bound to make mistakes.”

  Lucian barely seemed to hear the conversation around him. His gaze was fixed on my hands, brows drawn tight, jaw set like stone. His fingers twitched slightly—an unconscious movement, like he was restraining himself from acting too quickly.

  Then, without a word, he reached for them.

  His touch was careful, hesitant at first, before his fingers wrapped around mine, warm and steady.

  "Is it burning?" His voice had softened, but there was an edge beneath it—firm, unwavering. "Give me your hands. Let me check."

  Instinct kicked in, and I pulled back, shaking them out as if I could scatter the pain like drops of water. But Lucian was faster. His grip, though gentle, didn’t waver.

  "Aria."

  My name came quieter this time, threaded with something unspoken, something that left no room for refusal.

  Swallowing, I hesitated for only a moment before slowly offering my hands.

  Lucian took them with a care that startled me, as if afraid I might shatter under his touch. His fingers curled around mine, firm yet impossibly gentle, his thumbs brushing lightly over the reddened skin. The crease in his brow deepened as he studied the burns, his jaw clenching.

  Then, without thought, he lifted one hand slightly, his grip still holding mine, and the air shifted.

  A cool sensation ghosted over my skin.

  Tiny droplets formed at his fingertips, slipping down like a gentle rain, trailing along my scorched palms. The moment the water touched me, relief spread through my hands, soothing the lingering burn. The pain dulled, retreating beneath the cool caress.

  A shiver ran through me.

  Not from the cold. From something else.

  Lucian didn’t seem to realize what he had done. The motion had been instinctive, effortless. Natural.

  Like a mate shielding what was his.

  His fingers remained wrapped around mine, his expression unreadable. But then—just for a second—something flickered in his gaze. Something raw, something intense.

  Then he blinked, looked away.

  But he still didn’t let go.

  A presence at the edge of my vision made my stomach clench.

  Kai.

  He stood close, silent, watching. His posture was relaxed—too relaxed. But his eyes... they told a different story.

  He knew.

  Knew what I was hiding.

  And the way he looked at me—steady, knowing, unreadable—made one thing clear: this secret of mine was dangerous. And it wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

  Before I could fully process it, Lucian’s voice pulled me back.

  "You should’ve let it go." His tone was quiet, but his grip stayed firm, his attention locked on my hands.

  "It was instinct," I whispered, my own voice unfamiliar to me.

  His fingers tightened slightly, his jaw shifting like he wanted to say more—but held back.

  "Instinct could’ve hurt you worse." There was something else in his voice now. Something rough. Something he wasn’t saying.

  "Does it still hurt?" he asked, softer this time. Just for me.

  I swallowed hard, caught between the lingering coolness of the water and the heat in his gaze.

  The moment shattered when Sofia’s voice cut through.

  "Now I understand why Zane, Ryker, and Lucian kept warning us about this competition." She exhaled sharply, rubbing her arms. "This isn't just a game—it’s dangerous."

  Zane let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Thanks to the elements, you’ve finally knocked some sense into yourself."

  Sofia rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

  Nearby, Ryker pulled Lila into a loose side hug, his arm draped over her shoulders in quiet reassurance. "It’s not your fault, Lila," he murmured. "You didn’t mean to hurt her."

  Then his voice hardened as he addressed the group. "Here, you’re all friends. You’re trying not to hurt each other, and yet Aria still got burned. But in the arena?"

  His gaze swept over us, sharp and unwavering. "Your opponents won’t care. They’ll exploit every weakness. The ball isn’t just part of the game—it’s a weapon."

  Silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

  I finally looked up.

  Lucian was still watching me. His hands still cradled mine, the last of the water slipping from his fingertips. His gaze held something I couldn’t quite name, something unspoken but there.

  Concern.

  I forced a faint smile, shaking my head. "Don’t worry," I said, keeping my voice steady. "We’re going to participate. And we’re going to win."

  I turned, meeting the gazes of my teammates, letting the weight of my words settle. "And in the game, we’ll have each other’s backs. No one will harm us—not if we stand together."

  One by one, they nodded, their stances shifting—shoulders squaring, jaws setting. Determination flickered in their eyes like embers catching fire.

  Lucian was the last to release my hands. His fingers loosened slowly, hesitating, as if his body resisted the action. But even when the space between us grew, his gaze never wavered.

  His brows remained drawn, his lips pressed in a firm line. He wasn’t convinced. His fingers twitched at his sides, the motion barely noticeable—like a restrained impulse, a silent war within him to reach for my hands again, to confirm what his eyes refused to believe.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead, his eyes narrowed as my skin—raw and reddened just moments ago—smoothed over, the burns fading at an unnatural speed.

  The air around us seemed to shift. A flicker of awareness passed between the group.

  "Whoa…" Esme broke the silence, stepping in slightly. Her gaze swept over my hands, wide with astonishment. "Your healing ability is incredible, Aria."

  I flexed my fingers experimentally, the last traces of warmth fading as sensation returned. A heartbeat passed before I forced a small smile. "Guess I got lucky," I said, keeping my tone light, casual.

  Lila’s shoulders had drawn in, tension wrapping around her like a cloak. Guilt clung to her expression, her gaze darting from my hands to my face.

  I turned toward her, lifting my palms in an easy, open gesture. "See? I’m fine now."

  She lingered for a second, uncertainty flickering across her face—then exhaled, her shoulders easing. A small, relieved smile broke through.

  But when I glanced back at Lucian, I found him still watching me.

  Unmoving. Unreadable.

  A storm brewed behind his eyes, shadows stirring beneath the surface.

  I knew that look.

  He was connecting the pieces, tracing an invisible thread between cause and effect, unraveling something I wasn’t ready to face.

  A cold weight settled in my stomach. My healing—how had it happened so fast?

  I didn’t have an answer.

  And I didn’t want him searching for one.

  Straightening, I pushed the thought aside and injected energy into my voice. "Let’s start again." My gaze swept over the team, grounding myself in the task ahead. "We only have a few hours left to practice."

  Everyone took their positions again, reforming the circle. I glanced at Lucian. His fingers flexed at his sides, his usual confidence dimmed by uncertainty. When our eyes met, the crease in his brow deepened. He was thinking the same thing I was—how could he shift the ball’s elements without risking hurting me again??

  The hesitation in the others’ movements was just as clear. Passes came slower, hands lingered too long before letting go, eyes darted nervously between teammates. After what happened to me, they were overthinking every throw, and the rhythm we had started to build had completely fallen apart.

  I exhaled sharply, stepping forward. “Listen, guys. If you keep worrying about not hurting each other, that’s all you’ll focus on. And if your mind is stuck on that, you won’t be able to sense the shift properly. We need to put all our attention on detecting it. If we do that right, no one will get hurt when we pass the ball.”

  Zane, standing outside the circle, let out a low chuckle. “Looks like Ms. Collins is way smarter than the rest of you.”

  Kai rolled his eyes but nodded. “She’s right. We’ve been thinking about this all wrong. Focus on the shift, not the fear.”

  Lucian let out a breath and adjusted his stance. “Alright. Let’s try again.”

  This time, when the ball moved, so did we. The first few passes still held some hesitancy, but then something clicked. Hands adjusted mid-catch, movements became smoother, sharper. The ball no longer felt like a threat—it was a challenge, one we were finally learning to meet.

  As Lucian shifted its elemental states, we adapted. Water, air, stone. No more second-guessing, no more stalling. Our speed picked up, faster, sharper, smoother. For the first time, we weren’t just passing a ball—we were flowing as a team.

  Now, we weren’t thinking about avoiding mistakes or hurting each other. Our complete focus was on the ball itself—its weight, its shifts, its timing. And because of that, we could sense the changes before they happened.

  Then, Sofia’s eyes widened. “Fire!” she called, twisting on her heel and launching the ball toward Dante. Midair, flames erupted around it, burning bright and fierce.

  Dante’s grin was instantaneous. He caught the ball effortlessly, the fire swirling harmlessly between his fingers as he rolled it from one hand to the other. “Now that’s more like it.” His smirk widened. “Feels right at home in my hands.”

  For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then, as if on cue, the entire group erupted into cheers. Laughter, excitement, high-fives—after all the frustration, all the failed attempts, we had done it. We had found the rhythm. We had learned to detect the shifts.