Foster had decided to devote the entire day to training Orëlas. The sun had just broken through the canopy of Vollua, casting soft golden rays over the training clearing, slightly illuminating the place as if dawn itself wanted to witness the young elf's progress.
Orëlas stood in the center of the clearing, an expression of deep concentration on his fine, determined face. In front of him, his outstretched hand trembled slightly as a fine, precise flame flickered gently in his palm. Foster watched silently, a few steps away, noting every detail, every fluctuation of energy, every breath Orëlas took to master this destructive magic.
- Breathe slowly," Foster gently reminded him in a calm, reassuring voice. Let the magic flow freely through you. Don't force it, let it flow naturally from your core to your fingers.
