Rowan Whitethorn stood at the edge of the training arena, his keen eyes observing the fluid movements of his children as they sparred. His eldest, a 17-year-old girl with her mother's fiery spirit and his own calm demeanor, faced off against her 16-year-old brother, Sam. Despite being a year younger, Sam's height now surpassed his sister's, a fact that amused Rowan as he watched their playful exchange. The siblings moved with the precision and grace he had taught them, each strike and parry a reflection of his own training.

“Hit lower,” Rowan’s voice rang out, his tone both commanding and calm. “Use more strength, Sam. You’re pulling your punches.”

He shifted slightly, his gaze flicking to his daughter as she expertly deflected her brother’s strike. “Don’t lean on your left side,” he added, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “You’re leaving yourself open.” The air around them grew inexplicably colder, a subtle shift that did not go unnoticed by Rowan. His daughter narrowed her eyes, her focus sharpening as her movements became even more precise. Then, in a heartbeat, her sword ignited with a mesmerizing blue flame. Rowan’s breath caught in his throat. He had never witnessed such a phenomenon.

His mate, Aelin, possessed the ability to wield fire, but this azure hue was entirely foreign. The blue flames licked the edges of his daughter’s sword, crackling with power. Rowan felt a chill spread through him, a mix of awe and confusion. Blue fire was something new—something he had never seen, not even in the darkest corners of the world.

His heart swelled with a mixture of pride and uncertainty. His children were growing into their own, their powers unfolding in unexpected ways, and though Rowan was certain of their strength, there was always a part of him that worried about what these powers might mean. He had always expected greatness from them, but this? This was beyond anything he had anticipated.