Chapter 48 48
Annabeth's POV:
The clearing Marcus had chosen was deep enough in the woods that I'd gotten lost twice trying to find it, even with his directions. Six in the morning and barely light out, cold enough that I could see my breath, and I was standing in the middle of nowhere waiting for my just-known father to teach me how to kill people.
He was already there when I arrived, dressed in black pants and a dark shirt, looking way too awake for this hour. I was in old jeans and a t-shirt I didn't care about ruining, my hair pulled back in a ponytail, no coffee because he'd told me not to eat or drink anything before training.
"You're late," he said.
"It's six-oh-three."
"I said six. That's three minutes you could be dead if this was a real attack." He gestured to the center of the clearing. "Stand there."
I walked to where he'd pointed, my body still waking up and my brain foggy from not enough sleep. The ground was dirt and dead leaves, the trees forming a rough circle maybe forty feet across.
"Show me your fire," Marcus said. "Full strength, everything you've got."
"Shouldn't we warm up first or—"
"Now."
I called up my fire and it came easily, always did in the morning when my dragon nature was close to the surface from sleep. Red flames burst from my palms and climbed up my arms, hot and familiar. I held it for maybe ten seconds before pulling it back in.
Marcus looked at me like I'd just shown him a card trick a five-year-old could do.
"That's it?" he asked. "That's what you call full strength?"
"I can hold it for two minutes now. That's progress from where I was—"
"You're pathetic." He said it flat, emotionless. "You're a red dragon, the most powerful lineage that exists, and you're producing fire that wouldn't scare off a fucking raccoon. Is that really the best you can do?"
Anger flared in my chest. "I'm trying—"
"Trying isn't good enough. The Order doesn't care if you're trying, they care if you can defend yourself. And right now you can't." He walked closer. "You're wasting your potential because you're too afraid to let your fire actually burn. You're holding back, controlling it instead of using it, and that's gonna get you killed."
"Kaelen said control was the most important thing—"
"Kaelen is a golden dragon teaching you golden dragon techniques that don't work for red fire. Our fire isn't about control and balance and meditation bullshit. It's about rage and power and letting it consume everything in your path." He stopped a few feet away. "Now stop acting like a scared little girl and show me what you can really do."
Something in me snapped. All the anger I'd been carrying for the past week, at Kaelen for lying, at Marcus for abandoning me, at the Order for existing, at myself for being stupid enough to fall in love, it all came rushing up at once.
"You want to see my fire?" I said, my voice shaking with fury. "Fine."
I didn't call it up gently this time, didn't ease into it with breathing exercises. I just opened myself completely and let it explode out of me.
Red fire burst from every inch of my skin, so hot the air around me turned wavy and distorted. It poured out of my hands, my arms, my whole body, spreading across the ground in a circle that grew wider with every second. The dead leaves caught immediately, then the grass, then the underbrush, flames climbing up the trunks of trees.
I could hear myself screaming, or maybe it was just the sound of the fire, or maybe both. Everything was heat and rage and power, more than I'd ever felt before, more than I knew I could produce. The fire wanted to keep spreading, wanted to consume the entire forest, and I could barely hold onto consciousness through the force of it.
Twenty feet. Thirty. Forty. The entire clearing was burning and the fire wasn't stopping, was pushing outward toward the trees beyond, and I couldn't pull it back. Couldn't make it stop. It was too strong, too much, feeding on my anger and grief until it took on a life of its own.
I was gonna burn down the whole forest. Was gonna lose control completely and kill everything around me including Marcus and maybe myself.
"PULL IT BACK!" Marcus's voice cut through the roar of flames. "Annabeth, FOCUS! Pull it back into yourself NOW!"
"I can't!" My voice came out hoarse, barely recognizable. "It's too much, I can't—"
"Yes you can. Stop being afraid of it and PULL!" His voice got harder, commanding. "You're in control, not the fire. It comes from you, it obeys you. Now MAKE it obey!"
I tried but the fire fought me, resisted, wanted its freedom. My whole body was shaking from the effort of reeling it back in, sweat pouring down my face and my muscles burning with exhaustion.
"Pull from your center," Marcus yelled. "The fire originates in your core, in your dragon nature. Call it back to that point. Do it NOW!"
I focused on my chest, on that place where my dragon lived, and imagined the fire as a physical thing I could grab and yank back. Inch by agonizing inch, it started to retreat. The flames on the ground flickered and died, the ones climbing the trees sputtered out, and slowly, so slowly, the fire pulled back into my body where it belonged.
When the last of it disappeared inside me my legs gave out and I collapsed onto the scorched earth, gasping for air. Everything hurt, my muscles, my lungs, my head pounding with the mother of all headaches. The clearing was devastated, a perfect circle of burned ground maybe fifty feet in diameter, black and smoking.
Marcus walked over and stood looking down at me where I lay in the ash and dirt. I couldn't read his expression.
"That," he said finally, "was better."
Better. I'd almost burned down the forest and myself with it, and he thought it was better.
"The rage is good fuel," he continued. "Use it. Channel it. But you need to maintain enough awareness to pull back when necessary, or you'll burn yourself out from the inside." He reached down and offered me his hand. "Get up. We're doing it again in five minutes."
"I can't," I said, my voice wrecked. "I'm exhausted, I need—"
"The Order won't wait for you to rest. Get up."
I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet, every muscle protesting. I was covered in sweat and ash, my clothes smoking slightly, and I felt like I'd just run a marathon while on fire.
"Again," Marcus said. "This time, control the expansion. Make it grow to exactly thirty feet and then hold it there for ten seconds before pulling back."
"I almost died just now—"
"And you're still alive, which means you can do it again. Stop complaining and start burning."
I wanted to tell him to fuck off, wanted to walk away and never come back, but I didn't. Because as brutal and harsh as his methods were, they'd worked. I'd created fire stronger than anything I'd managed before, had pushed past limits I didn't know I could break through.
And some part of me, the part that wanted to survive, wanted to be strong enough to protect myself, knew I needed this. Needed him, as much as I hated to admit it.
So I centered myself, called up my fire again, and started over.