Hope's lessons changed after that.
No more gentle awareness exercises, no more playful exploration of her power. I pushed her harder than I'd ever pushed anyone—harder than I'd pushed myself in millennia.
"Again," I said, for the tenth time that morning.
Hope stood in the center of the clearing, sweat on her brow, power crackling around her small hands. She'd been trying to maintain a dimensional shield—a technique that had taken me centuries to master.
"I can't," she gasped.
"You can. Try again."
She gritted her teeth and reached deeper. The shield flickered, solidified, held for three seconds, then collapsed.
"Better," I said. "Rest."
Hope collapsed onto the grass, breathing hard. I sat beside her, watching the Bayou's eternal dance of light and shadow.
"Why do I have to learn this?" she asked. "Why can't the grown-ups fight?"
"Because the grown-ups won't always be here." I looked at her—really looked, seeing the child and the warrior she was becoming. "And because you're going to be stronger than any of us. Stronger than Klaus. Stronger than me. The things coming—they'll see your power and want it. You need to be ready to say no."
Hope was quiet for a moment. Then: "Is that why you're training me? To fight your war?"
The question cut deeper than she knew.
"No," I said. "To survive your own."
She considered this, then nodded slowly.
"Okay. Let's try again."
[Dimensional shield: PROGRESS 45% → 52%]
[Hope's resilience: INCREASING]
[Trust level: MAXIMUM]
[Evolution progress: 92% toward Stage 5]
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