THE APPRENTICE II

33

Stephen Strange tapped on the concrete, her knee pressed against his face and his other arm being pulled by the girl. She let go of her grip and stood up, panting. A smile crept up on her face while the cloak picked the man up. He places his hands on his knee and caught his own breath— he couldn't decide if he should be ashamed or proud.

"Ha! I can't believe I just won that." She chirped and threw him a face towel. He grabbed it and buried his face in the fluffy white fabric.

"Alright, alright. No need to get excited about it, this is training." He grumbled and took a sip out of his water jug. He knew it was nothing to be ashamed of; any success of hers is one of his, given who trained her. Plus, she was a force to be reckoned with— losing against her was...acceptable. He scrunched his nose when he found her standing in the middle of the square. "What are you doing? That was the last round,"

"Training." She answered briefly and practiced one of the spells she had always found tricky: The Winds of Watoomb. It was a spell that required a lot of energy, focus, and connection to the divine. It was difficult to visualize when not in focus or shadowed by doubt.

"You mustn't overwork yourself, especially now. You just healed." He was referring to the wounds that had completely returned to normal. The arms healed first after about one day, but the head took 5 days to do the same. During this period, the golden film flaked off to reveal new and unblemished skin.

"You don't have to stay, I find that working alone can also be progressive and has its own advantages." She informed him and he couldn't help but smirk— they really are just two sides of the same coin.

He had nothing else to do that day, so he figured that staying was the best option. He silently sat down on the staircase and leaned back to enjoy the show. Stephen knew that she had been struggling with this spell; she would summon the winds, but they were usually not as strong or enduring as his.

She shut her eyes and did the movements for the spell, the winds appearing before her. He smiled in delight. The spell began to falter, and a look of determination appeared on her face. She shut out her surroundings and tapped into the divine, then the winds got larger and larger. She breathed deeply and held it there, challenged herself to keep it moving for as long as possible. Hazel got in touch with her inner self and harnessed as much energy as she could. The winds grew rapidly.

Much to their surprise, bolts of lighting began to appear as clouds manifested through the spell. Her master's eyebrows shot up in shock— that wasn't part of the spell. How did that happen? After she recovered from the surprise, she tilted her head with curiosity and wonder. The bolts of light suddenly turned into huge and ardent flames. Strange stood up from his seat, absolutely taken aback.

"Hazel...Ho-how are you doing this?" He breathed out and slowly made his way to her.

"Quiet! I need to focus!"  She firmly snapped and briefly looked at him. He observed that her eyes were once again glowing with the familiar golden light, but it didn't seem to be doing any harm. Her skin wasn't cracking or breaking at all, and she didn't look like she was in pain.

Her concentration was at its peak. Much like the element she was handling, Hazel was using her body furiously, making big movements. Then, she grunted through gritted teeth. The fire beamed up and transformed into waves of water mixed with air. The waves were swooshing roaring like the angriest tides in a dark ocean.  It took Strange every ounce of his self control to stay silent through all this. Finally, she directed the water to the ground and it dissipated into light during impact.

She was knocked a few steps back from the residual energy from the spell. She panted and took quick breaths as her eyes turned back to their usual hazel color.