Chapter Five: Eleanor's Awakening Powers

Eleanor's eyelids fluttered rapidly as the dream world ensnared her, its tendrils woven with the strange and surreal. Beneath closed curtains of sleep, sparks of light began to dance on her fingertips, sputtering like newborn stars unsure of their place in the cosmos. The room, blanketed in the hush of twilight, stirred with an unseen energy, a symphony of whispered enchantments that clung to the air.

Ezekiel, who'd been keeping a silent vigil from the shadows, stepped forward as the incandescent display intensified. His adept gaze caught every flicker of Eleanor's burgeoning power, his heart drumming a pace against his ribs. The time for training had come sooner than he expected.

"Control, Eleanor," he murmured, although he knew she couldn't hear him within the depths of slumber. He reached out, not to wake her, but to gently guide the magic that seeped from her subconscious mind. With gestures practiced and precise, he coaxed the errant streams of energy into a coherent flow, forming a luminescent orb between her hands that hovered just above the quilted coverlet.

"Focus on my voice," Ezekiel continued, speaking with the calm authority of one who knew the treacherous path they were about to tread. "Your power is a river. Guide it. Mold it."

As if hearing him through the veil of dreams, Eleanor's brow furrowed, her lips parting with the effort of concentration. The light stabilized, pulsating in rhythm with her deepening breaths. It was a connection made of more than just mentor and pupil—it was a bond forged by necessity and mutual trust, the unspoken understanding that what transpired between them was for Eleanor alone to know.

"Good," Ezekiel encouraged, his praise soft but sincere. "Now, draw it back. Slowly."

The orb dimmed, shrinking back into Eleanor's palms until it was no more than a wisp of radiance that dissipated into the encroaching darkness. Eleanor's hands fell limply to her sides, her chest rising and falling with the gentle cadence of peaceful rest. Ezekiel exhaled, the tension easing from his shoulders. They were safe—for now.

He knew Drakon's suspicions would be as sharp as the blade he carried, and secrecy was the shield that would protect Eleanor until she was ready to wield her powers openly. Ezekiel would ensure that readiness, even if it meant training her under the cloak of night, away from prying eyes. Her abilities were awakening, and with each nocturnal lesson, Eleanor grew stronger, more confident. But so too loomed the risk of discovery, a risk Ezekiel was willing to take to see her truly awakened.

With a final glance at Eleanor's tranquil face, he withdrew into the shadows once more, the keeper of secrets, the guardian of a nascent force that could change everything.