"Illusions?" he'd scoffed. "Amberine, you have a mana of fire in your blood. Don't waste it on parlor tricks."
Amberine drew a long, unsteady breath. That memory of her father—his scorn laced through every word—carried a weight that pressed at her chest, lingering despite the comforting hush of the Practice Garden. Every time she thought she'd moved on, something as innocent as a half-lit orb would drag her right back to that day. Just a moth, one ephemeral creature of light, but it had embodied everything she'd secretly longed to be. Delicate, yes, yet shining on its own terms. Powerful in a way that didn't involve raw destructive force.
