Korvath landed in the remote clearing, surrounded by dark mountains, while a crystal-clear river flowed quietly among the rocks. The clearing seemed frozen in time, as if no one had stepped there for centuries. Even the water seemed to flow cautiously, as if it recognized this place as a boundary not to be crossed lightly. The air smelled of wet earth and ancient moss. A song of distant birds mingled with the rustle of the river, creating a slow, hypnotic rhythm. April felt a lump in her throat: every step brought her closer to what she feared most—herself.

“This is where we’ll begin,” announced the dragon, his deep voice blending with the water’s whisper.

April slowly dismounted from Korvath’s back, still trembling. The river quivered slightly, as if sensing her fear. It did not react violently. It was an uneasy attention, like someone watching for an imminent misstep. Her chest tightened. It wasn’t her first failure, but each attempt reminded her how dangerous what she carried within was. Every mistake could attract invisible enemies, and she had no time to waste.

“See?” the dragon explained. “Water doesn’t follow orders. It follows who you are.”

Star approached with a reassuring smile.
“Try thinking of something that calms you,” Star suggested.

April focused all her attention, but the agitated water around her did not respond.

The water hissed and boiled around her, ignoring every mental command. April felt her hands clench into fists, her knees tremble.
“You can’t… you can’t control it…” her inner voice repeated.

Every thought trying to calm herself became a wave that overwhelmed her. The more she sought control, the more the water showed how fragile the line between will and panic was.

“Listen,” said Korvath, his voice vibrating like distant thunder. “The Blue Thread is part of you. You don’t dominate it: you accompany it.”

April closed her eyes, trying to feel the rhythm of the current beneath her skin, finally sensing a small pulse in sync with the water.

Star smiled lightly: “It won’t work if you keep thinking you have to calm down.”

“Maybe I can’t control it. But I don’t want to give up,” April said in her mind.

Korvath stepped before the river, majestic and solemn. “Your power is like a stormy sea,” he said. “Forcing it is useless. Water does not obey those who fear themselves. But every sea has a shore. You must find it.”

April clenched her fists, feeling the tension rise. Star placed a hand on her back. Star’s touch was not magic, yet April felt her heartbeat slow. It was presence. And for the first time, April realized that perhaps not everything that saved her had to shine. For a moment, she forgot magic and fear: there was only Star’s presence, calm and attentive, as if saying,
“You are not alone, and you can do it.”

“What if I fail?” April asked, hesitant.
“Then you’ll try again. Until you succeed,” Star replied firmly.

For an instant, April found inner balance: the arc of blue water rose and fell, finally calm. It lasted only a few seconds. Her arms burned as if she had held her breath underwater too long. When the arc dissolved, it left behind a subtle exhaustion, as if something inside her had held its breath too long. But it was enough for April to understand that control was possible and losing it hurt even more.

April stepped back, trying to slow her breathing. She let the water return to its natural course. For a moment, it worked. Then her foot slipped on a wet stone. She fell to the side, hitting her hip against the ground. The pain was sharp, real, devoid of magic. The river did not react. It remained indifferent. It did not support her. It did not help. Star rushed to her side.

“April!”

April stayed on the ground, gritting her teeth. She wasn’t seriously hurt. But she had fallen alone.
“I… didn’t even use the power,” she murmured, more to herself than to Star.

Korvath watched silently.
“And that’s what scares you,” he finally said. “Not failing with magic. But failing without it.”

April closed her eyes. For the first time, she understood that the power was not the problem. It was what remained when she didn’t have it. And that part of herself was still inexperienced, vulnerable, and necessary. Star clapped, smiling:
“See? It’s not impossible!”

Korvath gestured for her to close her eyes.
“Listen to the world as we dragons feel it. Things live. And they speak,” he said, his voice deep as the river itself.

April closed her eyes, concentrating. Star gently explained:
“When you tremble… the world scratches me.”

Suddenly, the arc of water trembled and burst into an inverted fountain, splashing Star. April covered her mouth in shock.
“Oh dear… Star! Sorry!”
Star laughed through a spray of water: “Okay, that was definitely suppressed emotion.”

April lowered her gaze, her face burning. Laughing helped, yes, but the fear of hurting her remained. The water, however, did not stir. It remained docile, as if recognizing that lightness as a form of respect. Korvath shook his wings amused, while the two girls, soaked to the bone, burst into laughter together.

Brought near a calm stream, April tried to lift a small drop. It fell on her forehead, provoking Star’s laughter.
“Not great,” April commented, blushing.
“Smart drops like to get familiar first,” Star laughed.
“This is just the beginning,” Korvath observed. “But a good beginning.”

April looked at the sky, the river, and Star, with determination.
“Alright. Then… teach. I will learn.”

The wind stopped abruptly. Korvath raised his head, predator eyes alert.
“Something is moving out there.”

Star grabbed April; the river water withdrew to the bottom, eerie. Later, at night, April awoke near the river and heard a voice singing in the water.
“Who… who are you?” she whispered.
“You are not alone,” answered a mysterious and calm voice. It did not sound like a speaking voice. It seemed like a memory that had learned to use words.

The Blue Thread in April’s chest pulsed once, slow. Like a heart responding to a call. April stepped back, and Star sat behind her, wrapping her hands around hers.
“Then don’t tremble alone,” she said gently.

April leaned slightly on Star. Not out of need. By choice. Star remained still. She did not move away. But she didn’t fully return the embrace either. April felt it immediately. Not as rejection. As a new caution.

“Star?” she whispered.
Star inhaled slowly.
“Sorry…” she said. “It’s just that… when you get this close…”

She did not finish the sentence. April recoiled a step, struck more by that emptiness than by any words.
“Do I scare you?” she asked, without accusation.
Star shook her head, but did not look at her. “No. You make me… feel too much.”

She sat next to her, not against her.
“And I want to stay,” she added softly. “Just… I don’t know how yet.”

The water around them remained calm. But it did not sing. April nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She had saved Star. And now she had to learn not to lose her. And the water, around them, understood.

The sunset painted the sky peach, and the water reflected the surrounding mountains. Star and April, close and immersed in the river, watched the horizon.
“Or maybe it just wants to see us fall again,” April joked.
“Possible,” Star replied, smiling. “But we can always try again,” she continued.

Their true journey had just begun. And the water finally stopped trembling. Not because it had been tamed. But because, for the first time, it had not been treated as an enemy.