Morning came fast.
Jelo was already at the training ground before the others arrived—standing in the center of the packed earth, the air still cool, the sky carrying the pale grey of early light that hadn't fully committed to day yet.
He wasn't warming up.
He was thinking.
Ember Step had worked once in the field. Once, under pressure, with no room to second-guess the mechanism and a Daba's charge making the decision for him. That was one kind of mastery—the kind the body produces when the mind gets out of the way. But it wasn't real mastery. Real mastery was doing it deliberately, on command, with full control of direction and output, without needing a crisis to trigger it.
He didn't know yet if he had that.
He took a step.
The ground flared at the contact point—the familiar brief tongue of fire converting instantly into forward motion. He covered the distance cleanly, stopped, assessed. The movement had felt right. Controlled.
He tried again, directing it sideways.
Clean.
