Two girls strode through a narrow alley in the Docks district of Tramiria, the capital city of the Empire. Their steps fell into rhythm, arms swinging in unison as they hummed together a cheerful tune. Their melody skipped off the ramshackle dwellings that clung to life in the city walls’ shadow.

  Above, the last rays of the setting sun struggled to pierce the tangle of rooftops, painting the alley in shades of gold and deep orange. The haphazard buildings, stacked atop each other like drunken towers, rose four stories high, their creaking floors home to thousands who scraped by on hope and tight coin. These wooden constructions leaned into each other as if seeking support, their close-knit arrangement trapping the pungent scents of salt, fish and sweat in the corridors below.

  As the last notes of their melody faded, one of the girls let out a breathless laugh. “Phew, that was just what I needed. Thanks, Vivi.”

  The other girl caught her friend’s eye and chuckled. “When I saw you storming around the corner with that angry look on your face, I knew you could use a bit of cheer. So, what’s got you all riled up?” she asked, nudging her friend’s shoulder.

  “Uh. I spent the day with my dim-witted cousin Brick. We played together the entire time, and at the end, I told him about my hopes for tomorrow. You can guess the rest…”

  “Ari… Not that again—” Vivi paused, her eyes widening in reaction to the icy glare Ari shot her way. She raised her hands in a placating gesture. “I mean, you know that I’ve always tolerated this fixation of yours. Don’t give me that look now. But you can’t expect others to treat you seriously. And they’re worried about you too—who in their right mind wants to get cursed?”

  “Cursed? That’s ridiculous.” Ari’s voice hardened. “Everyone else uses the Power just fine, and I’ll have mine too. Just you wait!”

  “Others, maybe. But we don’t. You know the stories better than anyone, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. My father won’t let me forget. I’m sure he even concocted a few of his own when he grew bored with the old ones.” Ari’s expression soured.

  “They’re worried, and I am too.” Vivi softened her tone. “It would be better if you had no Power. Sorry.”

  “We’ve had these talks before, Vivi, but this is the first time you’ve actually said it out loud.” Ari’s face brightened as a newfound light sparkled in her eyes. “I don’t care, though. I want my Power, Vivi, and nothing you say will change my mind. Four centuries ago, the Empire crushed us because we stood no chance against mages. The resistance we Bandawi are so proud of? It’s nothing but a hollow boast—utterly useless. Those who migrated and settled in Tramiria sit in my uncle’s tavern, where they waste their hours inflating their courage with empty talk of reclaiming our land. But with what? How? At best, they might win a drinking contest, or a tavern brawl. But overthrow the Empire? Not a chance,” Ari spat, her voice dripping with scorn.

  Vivi’s expression tightened; her jaw clenched as she listened. “Don’t speak like that,” she said. “We Bandawi are a proud people. Our history is not something to be belittled. There is wisdom in our traditions, our ways.”

  “Oh, wisdom indeed. Wisdom that teaches us to fear and loathe what we don’t understand.” Ari’s scoff was bitter, a shadow of anger crossing her face. But then her voice turned lighter as she chuckled. “Still, being Bandawi has its perks. We don’t need to fear anything in the Docks; no sane person would dare to cross us in fear of retribution.”

  Vivi, however, remained serious. “With tomorrow looming, how are your parents handling it?”

  “They can’t stop me, and they know it. I remember all too well when I overheard them saying that testing us, Bandawi, is worthless. A waste of time. But also that ‘the Empire carries out the examinations more scrupulously than tax collection’. It eased my fears about them trying to lock me up or something. My father? He keeps warning me that my eyes and teeth would pop out if I ever dared to use the Power. But now, it’s just one day away. I’m almost there.”

  “You’re setting yourself for disappointment, Ari. You can’t wield the Power. It’s true, and you know it.”

  “Here we go again…” Ari sighed.

  “I’m being realistic. When it happens, you can come to me to cry. I’ll be here to cheer you up, as always.”

  “I’ll come alright, but it will be to dazzle you with my newfound Power.”

  They came to a stop at a narrow slit, where the buildings parted just enough to let the dying sunlight bathe them in a warm, amber glow. Their silver hair—a distinctive Bandawi trait—caught the light, shimmering like a calm lake under the twilight sky.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but good luck tomorrow,” Vivi said, her eyes holding a mixture of worry and support. Then, without another word, she turned and slipped into a side passage that quickly swallowed her in its shadows.

  “Thanks.” The word escaped from Ari’s lips, barely above a whisper—a fleeting murmur thrown to the now empty street.

  A shiver crawled up her spine, cold and unbidden. She whipped around, her hair brushing against her shoulders. The faint reddish glow of her narrowed eyes swept over the dim corners and shadowed recesses of the alley, straining to pierce the thickening dusk.

  Nothing. Not a flicker of movement, not a whisper of sound. Yet the sensation lingered. The oppressive silence pressed in around her as if the very walls held their breath. This was not the first time. For the past few years, the feeling had grown more persistent, more invasive—an inexplicable, haunting sensation of being observed.

  As the sun finally dipped behind the horizon, the air darkened even more and the walls lost their definition, their colors fading into muted shades of gray. Ari’s breath hitched; she swallowed hard and bolted, her heart pounding in her chest. She refused to even glance at the black, unlit spots she passed by. Monsters can’t get you if you can’t see them, she told herself. Yet her mind’s eye painted them lurking, waiting.

  (Just one more turn. Just one more.)

  She burst through the entrance to her complex, a communal hive housing more families than it had any right to. Without wasting a second, she rushed into the maze of narrow hallways, past the cramped, overcrowded apartments. Her feet barely touched the stairs as she flew upward, two at a time. On her floor, she darted down the dimly lit corridor, where a weak lightstone cast its pallid glow over the battered doors of her neighbors. Fueled by lingering dread, she sprinted until she skidded to a stop in front of her apartment door.

  As she stepped inside, the pungent aroma of an everyday meal—a blend of onions, boiled cabbage, and small lumps of fried meat—assaulted her nose. (Uh, dinner’s ready,) she thought.

  The flat greeted her with its usual sparse simplicity: bare walls, broken only by crooked shelves cluttered with worn family trinkets. The living room—the family’s prime gathering spot—consisted only of a large rectangular table surrounded by wobbly stools whose best days were long gone. Its austere decor had remained the same since her earliest memories, as unchanging as seasons.

  At the far end of the table, her parents and Aunt Kormelia sat huddled together. They must have been in the middle of a hushed conversation, but it fell silent the moment she stepped inside. Now, all three pairs of eyes turned, sharpening their focus on her.

  “You’re late!” Her father’s voice boomed like thunder as he rose to his feet—the lines on his face deepened with displeasure.

  “I was helping Brick!” she shouted back before she could think.

  Her father’s jaw circled in a soundless motion and the anger in his eyes dimmed—the name of his nephew had a mollifying effect; he had always been fond of Brick.

  Her mother gestured to an empty seat. “Ari, come here and sit across from Aunt Kormelia.” It was a command, not an invitation.

  Ari lowered her head and obeyed, dragging her feet as she crossed the room in a reluctant march. She already knew what this was about. Kormelia was not her real aunt, only her mother’s friend. Not even a close one—more of a colleague—they worked together at the docks. Kormelia was known for her talent in Power reading and source detection.

  (Talent my ass. She still has to work, just like my mother does. Useless,) Ari mused.

  She sighed, took a seat, and held out her hand toward Kormelia. Her aunt’s pale, bony fingers, seasoned by years of labor, skimmed across her palm and wrist, leaving a trail of sensations in their wake. They continued upward until they clutched Ari’s forearm, gripping like skeletal hands.

  “Ari, relax and look into my eyes,” Kormelia said in a soothing voice.

  It was not the first time, but that did not make it any easier. Ari steeled herself, took a deep breath, and plunged her gaze into her aunt’s. As their eyes met, a sudden jolt shot through her—an electric shudder that rattled her bones. Kormelia’s brown irises receded as her black pupils rapidly dilated, growing and growing until they swallowed Ari’s entire field of vision, immersing her in an abyss of impenetrable blackness. Within that dark expanse, someone—or something—was there, deep inside her mind. A minuscule presence prowled the edges of her consciousness, insolent and invasive. She struggled to expel it, to push it out with all her might, but it did not budge. The invader roamed unaffected, treating her like an insignificant insect not worth its attention.

  “Ari.” The muffled voice reached her from far away, reminding her of a scene when she had fallen into a dark, churning river. The children laughed. The adults screamed. All the noise trapped behind a veil, dulled and distant.

  “Ari…? Hey!”

  She jerked; her thoughts were sluggish, like waking from an evening nap soaked in nightmares. The room swam into focus; she was back at the table. Kormelia’s cold hand no longer held hers. The alien presence had dissipated, but her body still trembled, resonating with the intrusion. Her mother’s gaze weighed on her for a moment before she nodded to herself in satisfied affirmation. The adults returned to their discussion.

  “… there was nothing, just as always. You don’t need to worry Reif. She doesn’t have a single shred of the Power.” Kormelia smiled at Ari’s father. “However, I did find a slight resistance. It must be an effect of her blood. She looks and feels like a normal Bandawi girl.”

  Hot tears welled in Ari’s eyes, stinging with the unfairness of it all. (Do they have to do this even now, the day before?)

  “I will have my Power! You’ll see!” The words burst from her, heavy with frustration. She rose, slamming the table—her movement so abrupt the stool heaved and toppled over with a resounding thud.

  The noise acted like a catalyst for her escape, a final crack that broke her restraint. She ran without looking back. Half of the reason was that she could not bear to watch their judgmental faces full of hollow pity. The other half—she needed to hide the tears that threatened to spill. She darted past the kitchen, the dinner’s smell now nauseating, and climbed the creaking stairs. Each footfall was a beat driving her away from the pain until she found herself in her small room, door slammed shut, the echoes of their words a haunting melody she could never quite escape.

  “Ari!—Ari!” Reif’s wife sprang up, but their daughter was already gone.

  “Let her be. A harsh day of shattered illusions and crushed hopes awaits her tomorrow. But at least it will be over then,” Kormelia said, her lips curling as though she had tasted something bitter. “I speak from experience.”

  Reif’s forehead creased with concern as he shook his head. “Her attitude. Where did she get it from? To fancy the Power. It’s a disgrace to our family.” He sighed, relaxing, as Kormelia’s barren reading dispelled the tension that had gripped him earlier. None of his other children were as troublesome, not even his rebellious eldest son. The fear of having a cursed daughter had been gnawing at him this entire time.

  “And she didn’t eat dinner,” complained his wife.

  “Kormelia’s right; let’s leave her be. We’ve endured it this long; we can do it for one more day.” Reif rose to his feet and strode toward the kitchen. “I recently procured a bottle of fine brew straight from the Highlands. As a token of gratitude for your assistance, perhaps you’d care to stay a little longer?”

  Kormelia’s smile softened. “I’d be delighted,” she said.

  Wooden cups clattered onto the table, soon followed by the husky laughter and chatter of the Docks’ gossip. The mood in the room bloomed, shedding its weight like old skin. Reif leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling, letting his alcohol-laden mind spin. (Tomorrow, it will finally be over.)

  Ari’s flight ended when she slammed the door behind her, collapsing onto her bed in a controlled tumble. She swaddled herself in a thin quilt, molding her body to the confines of the small place. The space was cramped, a tight fit for her growing limbs, but it was solely hers—a luxury her brothers did not enjoy, sharing the common room.

  Beneath the quilt, she muffled a quiet sob, her tears soaking the pillow. (Damned goat herders and their senseless hatred for the Power. They can keep their stupid resistance, cowering in their mountain hideouts. What will they do next? Will they banish me or worse, just as they did in the old days? It serves them right to be trampled by the Empire. How do they plan to fight against mages? Shoot them with a bow? The entire nation is damning itself into oblivion because of these idiotic beliefs. And they want me to be the same!)

  In her heart, Ari knew that her rage was misplaced. It was not the faceless Bandawi populace she was truly furious with; it was her own parents. They scolded and rebuked her every time she so much as breathed a word about the Power. Their reproach was not just verbal—they buried her beneath an avalanche of chores, their misguided attempt to ‘keep her from thinking about nonsense’.

  Icy hatred roused in her heart. Too many nights spiraled like this. Right before falling asleep, the hush of darkness made her mind a treacherous stage, replaying conversations in her head. The things she wanted to say. The scenes she wanted to happen. With each remembrance, the chill of resentment burrowed deeper, invoking even more potent hate. Yet, at some point, she realized this state of her mind was not persistent. Come morning, she would run down the stairs and laugh alongside her mother again as though nothing had happened, the previous night’s ephemeral ire vanishing like morning mist on a sunny day. But these feelings were never truly gone. They lurked, waiting to surge back unscathed and stronger, their intensity redoubled right after another misstep or wrong word ignited her parents’ wrath once more. This never-ending cycle baffled her. How could such fervent feelings simply melt away overnight? She was certain of one thing—the pile grew larger with each recurrence. She stored her resentment in layers, letting the simmering pyre burn a little brighter and hotter every next time.

  A sudden gust of crisp air wove through her fingers, and a dense, swirling fog enveloped her. Wisps of white mist curled around her, playful and almost alive, wrapping her form before stretching into distant streaks, lost in the uniform expanse of milky haze. It was her dream, the one that returned to her again and again. Here, all the bitterness melted away like snow under the spring sun.

  With a grace she could never replicate in the waking world, she twirled and soared, letting go of the worldly notions of up and down. Unhindered by the constraints of gravity, she reveled in the freedom to glide in any direction she chose. As she propelled herself through the ethereal mist, her eyes caught sight of the twisted forms of familiar vapor pillars. These dense, ever-shifting structures served as landmarks in her dreamscape. Even though their shapes changed over time, they retained enough similarity to be her guiding markers that heralded the proximity of the lone denizen of this realm.

  In the distance, a humanoid figure loomed, its outline obscured by the fog’s veil. As she approached, the shroud of mist pulled back to reveal an imposing set of armor. A helmet forged in the likeness of a snarling wolf’s face dominated the visage. Its craftsmanship was so intricate that one could almost hear the growls emanating from the metal. The helmet’s detailed fur lines, sharp fangs, and deep-set eyes gave it an uncanny realism. It was seamlessly integrated with the breastplate, which further extended to the arm and leg protectors. Gleaming gauntlets and greaves completed the ensemble, each piece of metal shimmering even in the light-deprived fog.

  Shifting her trajectory, Ari reoriented herself to match the armor’s alignment, floating beside it, as if an invisible force anchored them both in space. There they stood, face to face, Ari and the vacant sentinel.

  From the depths of the helmet’s dark sockets, twin crimson orbs flared to life. “All… must… die…,” came the slow, ominous rumble.

  “Hey Wolfie,” Ari greeted the armor, her smile widening.

  She had been visiting him every few nights, or perhaps it was he who haunted her dreams. She could not tell. Bound to utter only a single phrase, he stood alone and did nothing else—just existed there, in the fog.

  Ari settled down, wrapping her arms around the armor’s sturdy leg guard, her cheek rubbing against the metal as she exhaled from the pleasant sensation. The ambient warmth seeped into her skin, filling her with a serenity she had not felt in the waking world. The cool metal warmed beneath her touch, soothing her frayed nerves and calming the turmoil in her heart. Here, at last, she felt safe, even as the armor continued its relentless chant, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

  “You know, Wolfie,” she whispered, her words imbued with hope. “Tomorrow’s my day. I’ll take that stage, show them all—especially my parents—that I have the Power. They won’t look down on me anymore. They won’t treat me like this again. Everything’s about to change.”

  “All… must… die…” came the armor’s unrelenting refrain.

  Ari’s senses dulled, the comforting warmth lulling her into a gradual drift from one dream to another.

  As Ari slipped into sleep’s embrace, a massive, puma-sized cat lay on the circular rug beside her bed. The cat stretched, arching his back before rolling to his other side. His sleek black fur blended seamlessly with the darkness of the room, which was lit only by the twin moons hanging over the capital, their soft glow casting pale beams across the floor. But the cat did not care to hide—no mortal or immortal being could perceive him unless he willed it. His deep, rhythmic purr filled the room as he took a lazy glance at the sleeping girl. He curled up again, ready to resume his nap, when a brilliant light erupted near the wall, startling him.

  A woman stepped out of the light. Golden curls cascaded down her shoulders and her white gown billowed like mist at her feet. As the radiance waned, her azure eyes swept the cramped room, lingering on Ari with a flicker of glee before shifting to the cat.

  “Yo.” The woman smiled as the cat’s gaze met hers. “Long time no see.”

  “You should be slumbering—you ought to be dormant.” The cat’s tone held no warmth; his tail twitched against the floor in irritation. “Why have you come?”

  “Maybe I should be. So should Core, but neither I nor he is, so…” She shrugged in response.

  “Core is awake? This just keeps getting better and better. But still—why are you here?”

  The woman gave him a sly grin. “Must you even ask?” She turned toward the sleeping child, her soft, golden curls swaying with the motion. “I’ve come to see my little girl.” She approached the bed with featherlight steps and reached out to caress Ari’s cheek. Her fingertips drifted along the girl’s jawline, gently brushing aside strands of silver hair.

  “Can you sense her seething rage? It’s intoxicating—so chilling, so pure. It hums through my very soul. I intend to linger for a while, to savor the blossoming of her ire,” she murmured, easing herself onto the bed beside Ari, “Ah, but she’s already plunging into the depths of sleep. Her fiery emotions are waning. A pity.”

  Opting for diplomacy, the cat remained silent, recognizing the capriciousness of the woman. Engaging with her was a delicate dance, one he hoped would not disrupt his assignment. He decided to ignore her presence, sparing a fleeting glance through the window. Outside, hidden in the shadows of a distant rooftop, a figure kept watch, its eyes fixed on Ari’s room. Satisfied that the sequence of events followed the schedule, the cat returned to his nap.

  *

  Twin celestial guardians, the moons Taro and Tarra—the elder brother and younger sister—beamed their silvery embrace upon the dockside dwellings. A cloudless sky unveiled the chorus of stars, their glimmers merging to bathe the night in an ethereal light. It was one of the season’s brightest.

  Atop one particular roof, Shadow Guard Naymila Vego sat motionless, her knees tucked tightly to her chest, fingers laced around them. Stiffness crept through her limbs after holding this rigid stance for nearly two hours, yet she had not allowed herself even a sliver of movement. The wind howled and clawed at her, threading its icy fingers through her clothes and wrapping her in a biting chill. Despite the cold lashes gnawing at her flesh, she remained a statue, unseen by others, as she observed the still room in the neighboring building.

  Inside, her target lay ensconced in sleep, blissfully ignorant of the stalker. The girl’s earlier tumultuous entry—marked by tears and sobs—was now a distant memory. Naymila had braced herself for the ensuing domestic drama, but as the time ticked by, only silence remained.

  Suddenly, a solitary lock of the girl’s hair shifted, a movement too deliberate to be a mere chance. Naymila’s instincts flared, and her sharp eyes combed the room for signs of an intruder. Nothing. The room appeared empty except for the sleeping girl. Perhaps it was a stray gust of wind drafting through the warped walls, or maybe a trick of her imperfect night vision. It would not have been the first time it misled her.

  (Enough of this idleness.) Naymila pushed herself up, feeling an immediate sense of liberation as she stretched her tense muscles. (Oh, that’s good. Truly good.) For a moment, her body reveled in subtle spasms of pleasure.

  She turned her focus back to the girl, her gaze lingering for a moment. (Just one more day, little one,) she mused. Just one more day until she was relieved of this duty.

  Manipulating the weave of the surrounding Power, Naymila reshaped her protective auras. Static concealment, an intricate mesh of deception, hid her from the world by bending the emanations of sound and light. But since it was a challenge to maintain whilst in motion, she let it dissolve, opting now for its more passive counterpart, which only blurred her presence. While it would not render her invisible, it made her barely perceptible unless one knew where to look.

  Roof tiles whispered beneath her feet, their creaks muted by her Power. Like a ghost, she darted between buildings, leaping from one rooftop to the next. Below her, the hum of mundane life carried on—voices, footsteps, the occasional clatter of carts—its participants, consumed by their dull activities, remained oblivious to her swift passage overhead. Only those who intentionally sought her out might glimpse her vague, elusive form. Adults rarely did, stuck in their routines and seldom looking beyond the expected, but children, with their curious eyes and unburdened minds, often stared at her in wide-eyed wonder.

  With the buildings packed tightly together, Naymila’s rooftop traversal was effortless. Her long ponytail trailed behind her in gentle, unhurried waves despite her speed. Each leap propelled her closer to her next destination. The crisp night air tasted clean on her lips—a pleasant change from the putrid odors wafting up from the streets below.

  Her body moved with precision, not a single misstep in her path. She slipped into a trance-like state, her thoughts evaporating, leaving only the sensation. After spending hours locked in stillness, every shift and stretch of her muscles vibrated in her awareness, sharpening her senses to a fine edge. She perceived every detail around her: moths fluttering in the darkness, hunting the ever-coveted light; motes of dust swirling in currents and glimmering like stars suspended in the dark; tendrils of smoke curling from chimneys and vanishing into the vast night sky. Her every sense was heightened, stretched to its limit, every moment an eternity in itself.

  On the next rooftop, a thief crouched in the shadows. It had to be a thief. Who else would be up here in the middle of the night? A thick cloak, tightly wrapped around his shoulders, protected him from the biting wind. The hood on his head, drawn low over his brow, narrowed his vision to the immediate patch of space before him, obscuring the world beyond. He remained clueless that his roof now hosted one more visitor.

  Naymila slipped past him, an unnoticeable wraith gliding in the night—the thief would never know how close danger had come. The thrill of his ignorance tingled within her, but it faded quickly—the thief was unimportant, his petty crimes not her concern. Her eyes fixed on the target building ahead.

  A few graceful leaps later, she reached her destination. Standing poised at the roof’s edge, she looked downward. Below, the muffled cacophony of drunken banter revealed the building’s nature—a tavern where loud disputes and bickering flared as often as ale was spilled. Ignoring the din of raised voices, she approached the quieter side of the building and swiftly descended into its shadow. After landing, she crept to a small, ground-level window, her gaze sweeping over the dark alley to confirm she was alone before she dared to peer through the glass. Only the dense veil of darkness greeted her from within.

  When she pressed her fingertips to the wall, a faint tingle of energy pulsed against her touch. Her lips curved into a knowing smirk. The structure was laced with protective enchantments designed to alert its occupants to any breach. In the past, she had spent a considerable amount of time unraveling the arcane lattice of this very spell, isolating the singular flaw she needed.

  Her fingers traced the window’s upper corner, gently probing the pulsing vein of energy. Her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed as she intertwined her own Power with the enchantment, careful not to disrupt its rhythm. After pinpointing the precise nexus she sought, she expanded her influence over it, inflating her area of control. Gradually, through heavy mental toil, she encased the entire window in her Power, wrenching it from the spell’s control. With a soft flick of her wrist, she pushed it open. Ducking low, she peeked again to assure the room’s emptiness before slipping inside in one seamless motion.

  It was a forlorn storage chamber. Dust blanketed the scattered wooden crates in a thick, undisturbed layer, while cobwebs hung like tattered curtains in every corner. The scent of decaying wood thickened the stale air.

  During the fall, she sent a wave of pacifying energy to quell the dust storm her landing threatened to stir. Her boots touched down softly, and she moved in the door’s direction, leading any lingering particles to gravitate back toward her tracks. This technique masked the path she took perfectly—a clever trick to erase any sign of her intrusion.

  She peered through the keyhole, her vision reaching into the dim corridor beyond. Deeming it safe, she eased the door open and slipped away. Walking down the corridor, she straightened up, her posture growing confident. Her primary concern was to safeguard the secret of her entry method, so she cared little for concealment now that she was deep in the tavern’s belly.

  Farther ahead, a soft glow spilled from one room. Drawn to it, she paused at the threshold. Inside, a man—likely in his forties—sat ensconced behind a massive desk. The lightstone mounted on the ceiling shone on his short silver hair. His right hand seemed to have a mind of its own, scribbling notes while his eyes flitted across various papers.

  He was so immersed in his work that it took him a few heartbeats to register the hand that had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder. His chair let out an alarmed squeak as panic jolted him into motion, but the grip was unyielding.

  “Now, now. Don’t be a scaredy-cat,” Naymila teased.

  Recognition flashed in the man’s eyes, and his body relaxed, ever so slightly.

  “Can you stop that? Do you have to do that every damn time?” he snapped, clearly not amused.

  Naymila grinned, unrepentant. “Your security is lacking. Don’t blame me.”

  She released his shoulder and moved around his desk, dropping into a vacant chair with casual ease. The mischief in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a sharper, more serious glint.

  “Anyway, that’s enough fun, Hamil,” she said, her tone shifting. “Let’s do business now. You have something for me, I believe?”

  Hamil’s eyes narrowed, locking onto his nighttime guest. The woman sat composed, one leg crossed over the other, her gaze unflinching. He released a weary sigh, one filled with both respect and vexation. Dealing with Naymila, one of the Empire’s legendary Shadow Guard assassins, was as taxing as it was lucrative. Her demands flowed without cease, each one unique, complex and never simple—but the pay was unmatched.

  “Indeed, I have something for you.” The smile he forced as he reached for the drawer hung awkwardly on his face, like a poorly painted mask of pleasure.

  Naymila waited in patient silence, watching as he retrieved a small pouch tied with a string. She took it without hesitation, her fingers deftly undoing the knot to inspect its contents. “So, Melkar invaded Ail’s Forest after all,” she said in an indifferent tone.

  “Yes, and they’ve begun felling the trees, stripping it bare. Those seeds are from the sacred woods, or whatever they deem them. On my honor.”

  “You have honor?” Naymila’s brows arched in a mock surprise before her eyes softened, glinting with mirth. “Just kidding. Any response from the forest dwellers?”

  “None yet that I know of,” Hamil replied, struggling to keep his resentment hidden, a hint of bitterness seeping through. “But the Melkarian military is ready for them.”

  “Interesting.” Naymila tied the pouch closed and slipped it into her belt. “Thank you, Hamil. I’ll deliver these seeds to my master. Now, on to more pressing matters. I have another job for you.”

  “I’m listening.” He sighed again, more out of a weariness than exasperation. Naymila’s visits were always dual-edged; a promise of reward weighed against unforeseen challenges. As expected, she always had more work to be done.

  Reading his mood, she flashed a disarming smile. “Oh, don’t worry, this time it’s an official matter. Nothing shady. Ever heard of Mitra’s Academy?”

  “Um, not really?”

  “No surprise there,” she said with a shrug. “You see… it’s like the only interesting thing about Paltra. They’re proud of this academy of theirs, but all they do is dig up relics from the past. Like, from before the invasion. They’re hoping to discover something useful and to bring us the history of ancient times. Or something of the sort.”

  She paused, collecting her thoughts. “The thing is, they constantly beg for help with an expedition to the east. The Far East. Up to the Mirk in the residuals of Old Bumia.”

  Hamil paled. Whatever it was, it could be nothing good. Even as Naymila delved deeper into her explanations, his mind churned through potential excuses.

  “We’ve refused every time, and they don’t have the funds to organize it by themselves. Now, we’ve received an additional request for help. This time not for the Far East but Great Highlands instead. There’s this baffling professor who believes he may have located some interesting cave he wishes to explore. It seems to be a pretty minor request, so the emperor decided it would be appropriate to help them this time. You know,” she winked at him, “politics.”

  Leaning toward the desk, Naymila’s tone grew more insistent. “The emperor will allow them to carry on the research and roam freely, but it’s Bandawi land, so they require guidance and security. Your role is to find the right people to do the job. Nothing fancy. The expedition period is around half a year, and they want to leave as quickly as possible.”

  Relief washed over Hamil. It was not bad at all. It was manageable. No perilous Far East. No direct action, just serving as an intermediary.

  “And why involve me?” he asked. “Why not just assign some militia to the job?”

  “As I said, it’s Bandawi land. We’d like to get the cooperation of the natives. It should make things easier on several fronts. And you are of the Bandawi, right? Gather the team. Once that’s done, we’ll talk payment.”

  Without waiting for his reply, Naymila was up and out of the door. Pausing just before she vanished from view, she shot back. “I count on you, Hamil. And again, thanks for the seeds!”

  With her departure, Hamil deflated in his chair. Encounters with that woman drained the life out of him.

  “Baaaaaart!” he bellowed. “Get in here at once!”

  After a few seconds, the sound of heavy footsteps followed, and soon Bart’s burly frame filled the doorway.

  “Boss? Do you need anything?” the man asked.

  “She was here. Again. She sneaked past you—AGAIN!”

  Bart only shrugged, unfazed. “Not the first time, and won’t be the last. No one’s figured out how she does it, boss. Great Mage and all that.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” Hamil said with a sigh, motioning for Bart to come in and take a seat. “We’ve got another job. I need your opinion.”

  *

  Ari jolted awake, excitement coursing through her like a quicksilver rush. The morning sun spilled through the window, its golden light beckoning her to the day ahead. She threw off the covers and bolted down the stairs, her bare feet barely skimming the worn wood as the kitchen’s warmth and clatter greeted her.

  Her mother bustled about, setting the last of the breakfast spread on the table. Ari snatched a slice of tangy sourdough, ladled a generous heap of cheese pasta atop it, and took a ravenous bite. She washed it down with a swig of fresh milk. There was no time to waste.

  From across the room, her mother approached with the ceremonial gown draped over her arm. Ari’s fingers tingled as she took it. Changing into the garment felt like a mere blink of time. Though a touch worn, its contrasting yellow fabric, adorned with white undulating lines, seemed to dance in the morning light. She twirled, the dress spinning around her, radiating a quiet charm despite its age.

  All morning, Ari was a whirlwind of excitement, darting through the house back and forth. Even the usual jibes and teasing barbs of her three older brothers could not pierce her joy-filled armor, harmlessly bouncing off her cheerful bubble of anticipation.

  As the hour neared, the family stepped out together, strolling toward the Docks’ main plaza. The morning air carried a brisk chill that nipped at their cheeks, though the sun’s steady climb promised the warmth yet to come. Clusters of clouds drifted overhead, their shadows rippling across the cobbled streets below, as more and more families spilled into the procession. What began as a handful of scattered groups soon became a surging crowd.

  Assessment day was a spectacle, a communal heartbeat that throbbed in the chests of young and old alike. On the wooden stage erected in the plaza’s heart for this singular purpose, children turning fourteen stood before the chance for a better life. Hopes soared like birds on the wind, only to fall, for many, for most, into the quiet embrace of disappointment. But as certain as the sun’s descent, the day would end in celebrations. Whether from the joy of dreams coming true or tears of sorrow, the festivities would stretch until dawn. For the young ones, it was a rite of passage—a moment to dine and toast as equals. It was their initial step into adulthood.

  As Ari and her family reached the plaza, the hum of voices swelled. The assessments were already underway. Four austere desks, oppressive in their simplicity, were arranged on the stage, each manned by a duo: a stern examiner who evaluated the youths and a diligent scribe confirming the scrollwork was in order. Beneath, children shuffled nervously in queues, grouped by the streets they hailed from. Parents hovered near, ensuring their young joined the proper line, matching the meticulous records held by the scribes. No one escaped the Empire’s watchful eye, and every eligible adolescent was accounted for in the ledger.

  Despite its significance, the stage bore a humble appearance. The Docks remained one of the most destitute districts, and the bare platform, adorned only with simple wreaths and garlands handcrafted by local volunteers, was a reminder of the meager funds the city spared for the occasion.

  Reif ushered Ari into the appropriate line, and for the first time that day, he spoke. “I’ll get you after you leave the stage.” And just like that, without another word, he vanished into the crowd, returning to where the family waited to watch the proceedings.

  A chill of abandonment settled over Ari. She was left alone, surrounded by the sea of strangers. (They don’t care about me. They only want me to fail, to bend to their will.) The thought struck like a knife, reopening the wound festering deep within her heart. To them, her sole purpose was to adhere, to conform, to meld into their people’s ways. Wanting more, dreaming beyond the walls of their world—that was unthinkable, a blasphemy.

  The air erupted with a deafening cheer, pulling Ari back to the present and dispelling her dark thoughts. On the stage, a young boy stood trembling, his wide eyes fixed on the radiant sphere of pulsing light cupped in his hands. The orb shimmered and throbbed, its glow casting his awestruck face in a white hue. Though Ari could not make out the examiner’s words, the faint smile on the official’s lips spoke volumes. While light affinity was not the most desired, Ari envied the boy all the same. She would have welcomed any kind of the Power with open arms, no matter how feeble or obscure.

  The boy leaned forward to scribble his name on the parchments under the approving nod of the scribe. Moments later, a pristine white envelope was pressed into his hands—the symbol of acceptance into the official schooling program. The crowd erupted anew, cheers rolling across the plaza as the boy sprinted into the waiting arms of his parents. Seeing that scene, Ari hardened her resolve. She would face the stage, and whatever lay beyond, with courage.

  Until that moment, Ari had only ever been a spectator to the assessments, a distant observer yearning for her chance. Now, the realization that her turn was imminent sent a chill skittering down her spine. The line before her dwindled, and with each child that ascended the stage, her former determination wavered. Doubts she had tried to lock away thrashed about in her mind. She was of Bandawi people; she could not possess any Power. It was just not possible.

  The stage loomed larger with every heartbeat, and her breath grew shallow, her chest tightening as anxiety clawed at her. The wild, cherished dream she had nurtured for so long was about to be extinguished.

  A sharp poke to her arm pierced the spiral of her negative thoughts. She spun around, startled, to find her eldest brother—her fourth sibling—who trod his own path, and no longer lived with the family. A rebel against their father’s iron will, he had forged his own destiny. Gone was the scrawny boy; in his place stood a self-made merchant, a beacon of defiance and hope to Ari’s cause. Their parents had predicted his fall, yet that prediction had not aged well—instead of crawling back in shame, he was now thriving in his small enterprise, ensconced in his own place in the affluent West Gate district, far from the family’s reach. Ari alone maintained a connection with him; he alone understood her ambitions and dared to hope for her success.

  “Perry!” she exclaimed, tugging at her brother.

  “Look at you, all prepped and ready for the spotlight,” he said, ruffling her hair, the mischievous glint she remembered so well lighting up in his eyes.

  “Oy! My hair!” she protested, swatting his hand away.

  His chuckle was warm. “Sorry,” he said. “Just remember, I’ll be right here, cheering you on. You’ve got this, Ari. Go on! Show them!”

  But time was fleeting. The line moved inexorably forward, drawing her closer to her fate. With a heavy heart, she stepped away from her brother, the press of the crowd preventing him from following. “Of course I will. Watch me!” she called back, her hand raised in farewell. He returned her wave, then vanished, probably in search of a better vantage point.

  Yet, as the stage loomed closer, the specter of doubt resurfaced, now amplified by the fear of letting down her sole supporter. Her father’s smug “I told you so” she could endure, but how would she face Perry’s eyes if she failed? He had seen in her the strength to choose her own path, to shape her own destiny. And now, all those hopes teetered on the edge of collapse. Soon, all of it would crumble into ruin.

  Suddenly, she was the first in line. Her heart pounded in a relentless drumbeat, while her body quivered like jelly. The thin boy from her neighborhood, who had stood ahead of her in the queue, approached the examiner.

  Ari had often envisioned this moment—vivid daydreams of taking the stage, standing tall before the sea of spectators, and manifesting the Power so dazzling it would leave them awestruck. Yet, when the cold reality brushed against her like an icy wind, and the gaping maw of fate loomed to swallow her next, she could not compose a single coherent thought. A desperate urge to flee surged through her; she wanted to run and not look back. But the masses surrounded her. No way out, her only path leading forward—onto the stage.

  The boy’s hope died in the examiner’s silence. The assistant’s quill darted across the page, recording his failure to conjure any Power. A vice gripped Ari’s chest, each squeeze making it harder to breathe. That would be her fate as well, would it not? Everything would follow step by step, as in the boy’s case. Her stomach turned to stone.

  The examiner’s raised hand summoned her, a silent herald of her reckoning.

  (It’s happening.) She swallowed.

  Just as she gathered the courage to step forward, an unexpected figure strode onto the stage and approached her examiner. Their conversation was lost to her, becoming a mere backdrop to her mounting dread, but the outcome was clear: her examiner departed, replaced by the newcomer. The man’s eyes met hers, a polished smile playing on his face as he motioned for her to join him on the stage.

  Each step was a battle, but one after another, she was getting closer to this inevitable point in her life. Her mind spun in a whirlwind of emotion, her vision narrowed to a single point: the examiner’s outstretched hand. The world seemed to fall away, the sounds of the crowd fading to an unnatural silence. All she could hear were the creaking stairs beneath her feet and her own uneven breaths. Should she hear them? It should be impossible in the plaza’s clamor.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  (It’s not right, something’s wrong.)

  She struggled to calm herself, biting the inside of her cheek. Part of her yearned to steal a glance at the crowd, but she had no courage to do so, fearing she might collapse under the weight of so many watchful eyes that she swore were drilling into her back. No, she could not afford to falter now. She forced her focus forward: the desk and the examiner became her only goal.

  Once she was close enough, the examiner’s commanding voice cut the oppressive silence. “Grab my hands and close your eyes,” he said.

  His words lingered as she processed them, their crystal clarity uncanny. A fleeting thought brushed her mind—was it his Power? Some sort of silence field, perhaps? But that musing was lost as she reached for his hands and shut her eyes.

  In that instant, the world shifted.

  A current surged through her—a jolt so sharp, so primal, that it left no room for thought. It was nothing like the feeble attempts of Aunt Kormelia. Before her mind could recover, an abyss opened beneath her feet, and she plummeted into its endless void. Her body tensed, bracing for the impact, but it never came. Down and down she spiraled, lost in the eternal free fall.

  Reif stood among the crowd, his weathered face set in a scowl as he watched the spectacle with a simmering contempt, each cheer erupting from the audience at a child’s feeble display of talent drawing an audible sneer from his lips. The Power, as they called it, was nothing but a blight. Generations of Bandawi had thrived without it, their inherent resistance proof that it was a force of ruin. Those who willingly invited such poison, tainting themselves with its touch, deserved the harshest fate.

  He could not fathom the world’s infatuation with the Power. A few select mages held dominion over the continent, their influence overshadowing the wisdom and strength of ordinary folk. Had this menace never been allowed to fester, his people might have retained their honor and dignity, leading their nations as their forefathers had in bygone ages. But now, the Empire’s shadow stained every land and every soul.

  Fury churned within Reif. Not only had they been stripped of their homeland, but many of his own had forsaken their Bandawi heritage. Assimilation was a fact. The allure of the Empire’s cities seduced the feeble, promising ease and luxury. His own son, his firstborn, was the epitome of this rot. He had traded his kin and duty to peddle trinkets to the very enemy, becoming a measly seller of worthless goods to those imperial leeches.

  He braced himself to launch his usual round of swearing when he noticed a boy leaving Ari’s line. His daughter was next. Like her elder brother, she too was problematic, infected with that deluded aspiration to wield the Power, a desire whose origins he could not trace. If he ever uncovered the source of her misguided dreams, he would ensure they met a fitting end. Yet, hope for her still burned in his heart. The path for Ari to embrace the model Bandawi ways, like her other brothers, was still open, and today marked a significant stepping stone toward that goal.

  A faint inward smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Yes, today was the end of her childish pursuits. In a matter of minutes, they would head home, and after a few days, once the disappointment subsided, they would have a serious conversation about her future. He had been patient with her excesses, but it was time to put an end to her youthful rebellion.

  His thoughts broke abruptly as the examiners swapped positions. The initial examiner retreated, replaced by another figure. A figure that silenced the crowd and stilled the air. Here and there, hushed murmurs flitted among the onlookers, but Reif barely registered them. His attention was fixed on the stage. Despite the distance, he could have sworn he heard the floorboards groan beneath Ari’s hesitant steps.

  “By Homini’s grace, why is he here?”

  He must have spoken aloud as a few heads turned his way, their bewildered gazes mirroring his own. For there, on the stage, stood a figure whose presence was as confounding as it was terrifying. The creator of the Shadow Guards, the mastermind behind the Empire’s espionage, intelligence, and covert operations. Some argued that his very visibility meant he was only a figurehead, a decoy, but as far as Reif knew, those unfortunate enough to cross his path testified to his authenticity. A man who operated in shadows yet shunned none of the spotlight.

  The hush of the audience was not just reverence but raw disbelief. Why would such a man come to preside over the assessment ceremony in one of the most destitute districts? And why now, at the very moment his daughter stood poised to face the examination?

  A dark premonition settled into Reif’s thoughts, his heart pounding heavily. He could not escape the feeling that something dreadful was about to unfold.

  “Ari?”

  The voice floated toward her, distant and faint, like a whisper carried on the wind. Was it real, or just a figment of her unraveling mind?

  “Ariella?”

  This time, it thundered in her ears, echoing through the emptiness. Her eyes snapped open, but the world remained shrouded in impenetrable blackness. She blinked once, twice, desperate to pierce the darkness that enveloped her. But she was still trapped in the void, plummeting through the endless night.

  A wild thought ignited her panic: was she collapsing onto the stage? Was her unconscious body dropping in slow motion, exposed to the gawking crowd, about to crash with the weight of humiliation? Time must have stretched, holding her hostage in this eternal free fall—but eventually, there would be an impact. Terror constricted her breath. The air grew thin. She was suffocating.

  “Hey, are you all right?”

  Out of the abyss, the examiner emerged, his form materializing at the periphery of her vision. Broad shoulders and defined musculature suggested strength beneath his unassuming clothing. His chiseled face, accented by a neatly trimmed boxed beard, carried a trace of genuine concern as he looked at her.

  (Handsome,) a rogue thought escaped her.

  His patient, dark eyes captivated her—the warmth spreading across her cheeks from their momentary connection. With a shy dart of her eyes, she looked away; her gaze dropping downwards. And then it struck her: he was standing. Simply standing. The revelation dampened the sensation of falling, and within moments, it ceased altogether.

  The surrounding darkness remained absolute, yet it was not a mere absence of light. She could make out her own figure as well as the examiner’s. Their details were precise and vivid, yet beyond them, only a vast expanse of void stretched endlessly.

  “You seem steadier now.” The examiner’s cordial smile returned, his eyes darting as he scanned their surroundings. “Do you feel anything? There should be some sort of beckoning, something calling out to you.”

  She strained, searching for a hint, for any trace of the Power. Yet, all she found was an all-encompassing emptiness. She hesitated before confessing. “I… I don’t feel anything.” The innate Power she had dared to hope for, the elusive spark of magic, was absent. A truth she had long feared, but never wanted to face, was now laid bare—she was devoid of the Power she so yearned for.

  Unfazed by the revelation, the examiner’s gaze roved, intent, as if searching for a hidden secret. Ari could only watch, perplexed.

  “Have there been peculiar incidents in your life? Events you couldn’t make sense of or felt out of place?” he asked.

  She furrowed her brow, sifting through memories for anything relevant.

  “Um, not really. The only thing that comes to mind is that I often find myself lost in a recurrent dream, where I wander amidst a dense fog. It feels more real than any dream should, as if I’m truly awake, just… elsewhere.”

  The examiner’s focus snapped back to her, his gaze piercing deeply into hers. “Can you take me there?”

  “There…?” she stammered, taken aback by his unexpected interest. “But it’s only a dream. How could I possibly—”

  “Take my hands. Close your eyes,” he interrupted, reaching out.

  Ari licked her lips, unsure, but obediently followed the order. As she did, a sensation of déjà vu washed over her. Had he not asked her to do this very thing on the stage just moments ago?

  “Relax, and visualize yourself in this world of fog,” he instructed. “Embrace the sensations, the memories, and allow them to fill your mind.”

  She had traversed her foggy dream so many times that summoning its images and the connected emotions came easily. She almost felt the mist’s cool touch on her face. But nothing changed. There was no jolt of power, no sensation of descent. She opened her eyes, disappointed, expecting to see the same black abyss. But the void was gone; a vast stretch of fog surrounded them now—the very one from her dreams.

  The examiner moved his hands through the mist as if trying to grasp it. “Curious,” he said, his palms caressing the swirling haze. “I feel nothing on my skin. I can see it, but it doesn’t seem real. Like an optical illusion.”

  Panic seized Ari. She had fallen asleep! That had to be the only explanation. She was dreaming. Could it get any worse? The moment she thought about it, a terrible notion struck her: she had been asleep the whole time. The falling sensation must have been real, and she was now napping at the examiner’s feet while the whole plaza laughed.

  Tears welled in her eyes as the truth crashed over her, and she sank to her knees. It caught the examiner’s attention—he stared at her with an unspoken question.

  “It’s all just a dream, isn’t it? None of this is real,” she whispered.

  He chuckled, a rich, warm sound. “Why would you say that? Regardless, try again. Can you sense the calling now?”

  And as if a switch had been flipped, Ari felt a pull—a gentle tug in a specific direction. “Yes,” she stammered, rising to her feet. “There’s something… there.” She pointed.

  “Excellent! Let’s seek it out,” he said, filling her with encouragement. “The source may take the form of a simple shape, like a ball, or something with a more complex structure if it’s tainted.”

  With that, Ari set off, the glimmer of hope rekindling in her eyes. Her inner turmoil was not quite gone as she plunged into the fog, but she pushed aside her fears and concentrated on the beckoning from the depths of this world.

  The examiner stayed in place as regret sank into his bones. Sending the girl into the fog had surely been a terrible idea. She vanished before he could react, leaving him surrounded by an impenetrable mist, unable to see beyond his outstretched arm. He tried to call after her, but the dense air swallowed his voice.

  A sense of vulnerability crept in as he stood alone, blinded by the white vapor. He explored the floor with his foot, cautiously testing the ground in every direction. It felt solid beneath his weight and completely level.

  He crouched and extended his hand to feel the texture of the unseen surface. But even as he reached out as far as he could, there was nothing to touch. Frowning, he dropped to one knee and reached for the sole of his shoe. His hand passed through the expected surface as if he were standing on air itself.

  Ari, unaware of her examiner’s predicament, raced through the fog. Unlike him, she could see far ahead, and every object within her immediate vicinity revealed its aura to her. Shapes, sizes, and intricate details manifested in her mind whenever she focused on any item floating nearby.

  The call was now stronger than ever. The fog thickened, restricting her visibility to just a few meters. She slowed as a vague shape took form at the distance—a sphere looming twice her height. As she approached, what had first appeared to be a seamless surface resolved into a dense, interlocking weave of human bodies.

  Naked limbs jutted outwards at haphazard angles, elbows bent, fingers splayed, some clasped together as if mid-grasp. Faces pressed outwards from the mass, mouths parted in silence, eyelids closed or half-open, their expression blank and unreadable. There was no blood, no sign of decay or injury. The bodies were pale and untouched, almost too perfect in their stillness, as though they had been cast in soft wax and pressed together before hardening in place.

  Ari halted, staring at the ball of corpses. She knew her goal must be close.

  With a thoughtful frown, she sprinted along the ball’s surface, circling it, and pausing on the other side. Her unease grew; something was not right. With no clear sense of up or down in this realm, she tilted her body and shifted her anchor point. Following her new orientation, she continued circling the ball as if she was orbiting a tiny planet.

  After a few rounds, Ari concluded her inspection and stepped back. A smile of realization spread across her face. The beckoning sensation weakened whenever she moved away from the sphere but remained constant as she orbited it. There could be no doubt—her Power source was inside.

  (That makes sense,) she mused, torn between her choices.

  The Power was so close, yet so far away. She could not reveal it to the examiner; that was out of the question. But what else could she do? She did not want to share the existence of Wolfie, either. There had to be another way.

  (I’m so close. If my source is in there, I have to display its strength without letting him see it. How can I do that?)

  A headache was the only answer she got. The small consolation was that for some reason the examiner had not followed her, still standing in the same place where she had left him. Her shoulders sagged, and she trudged back to him, her mind racing for a solution.

  The examiner stood still, only a short distance from where they had parted. He hoped the girl could find him despite the oppressive fog, as he could see nothing himself. The atmosphere thickened, its malevolence pressing down on him with each passing second. What lurked in this strange world, preying on the blind and defenseless?

  (When was the last time I felt fear like this?) He chuckled at the thought. Despite his best efforts, his detection skills yielded nothing, an absolute lack of information. Was he alone in this place, or did his Power simply not function here? He tugged at his source to make sure he could defend himself should the need arise.

  Then, out of the suffocating whiteness before him, Ari’s familiar figure emerged. The girl was tilted oddly, as though she stood on the slope of an invisible hill. From her perspective, it must have been the examiner who appeared skewed, but she shifted her stance to match his orientation.

  “Did you find it?” the examiner asked.

  “Um… No… I mean, I was running and running, but it seemed like no matter how far I ran, I was always getting closer. All the time. Even when I was coming back. It feels like it’s everywhere.”

  The examiner peered intently into her eyes.

  (She’s lying. Curious. Why would she try to conceal her Power source?)

  “Does it beckon to you from all directions?” he asked.

  “Yes… Yes! At first, I knew exactly where it was, but the more I ran, the more confusing it became. Then I realized I was wrong, and it’s coming from everywhere.”

  (How amusing, let’s see where this goes.)

  “That’s a good sign,” he assured her. “Sometimes the source can spread over vast distances of the inner mind’s representation, and it often indicates substantial Power.”

  Ari’s eyes sparkled at the examiner’s words.

  (Baited! Ha! I got him. He bought it.) Her mind went blank for a moment, elation washing over her, until his next words stifled the surge of joy from her recent accomplishment.

  “However, I can’t evaluate your strength without seeing the source.”

  “Oh…” She deflated.

  “Worry not,” the examiner said resolutely. “We just need to demonstrate your Power.”

  “Demonstrate? What exactly do you mean?” she blurted out, her heart skipping a beat at her own impertinence realized the moment later. But the examiner seemed unbothered, and she let out a sigh of relief.

  “The Power you have is quite rare. From what you’ve said, I assume you haven’t used it before. Are there any objects or items nearby?”

  Ari was burning with curiosity about what the examiner meant by ‘rare’, but she answered his question. “A few.”

  “Could you fetch the nearest one and bring it here?”

  Nodding, she hurried off and soon returned with a wooden staff longer than she was tall. Intricate carvings spiraled along its dark brown shaft, but she knew nothing about what they represented. At the base, a blue jewel-like orb gleamed with dull light. The examiner touched it a few times to make sure it was real but did not take it, even though she tried to hand it over.

  “Now, grab it with both hands, keep it straight in front of you, and concentrate. You need to link with the essence of this staff. Once you do, try to wake up from the trance and bring it with you. I know it’s a little vague, but that’s the best I can offer to guide you. Good luck; I’ll wait outside.”

  Ari blinked, and he was gone. He had dematerialized before she could process his last words. Her heart pounded like a drum. The trial she had waited for so long finally entered the critical phase. Her last stand. Do or die. Yet she still did not understand what kind of the Power she had. It was ‘rare,’ the examiner had said, but what did that mean?

  She snapped back to the present, realizing she was stalling the inevitable. She drew a deep breath, swallowed hard, and tightened her grip on the wooden staff, focusing her thoughts. The immaterial object she held was hers to command, and she would not falter; she would take it with her. (Let’s do this!)

  (Please, please don’t let it be a dream.)

  Reif’s boots scraped the cobblestone as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his impatience growing with each passing moment. All eyes in the plaza were on his daughter. Even other examiners had paused their assessments, waiting to see the outcome of the prolonged evaluation. Over fifteen minutes had passed since Ari had taken the stage, and still, nothing had happened. She stood facing her examiner, both of them with their eyes closed, enveloped in silence.

  As Reif’s concern for his daughter reached the point where he contemplated intervening, a murmur rippled through the crowd. The examiner’s eyes snapped open. He looked at Ari’s pale face and stepped back. The wooden stage groaned under the shift in weight, the hollow sound echoing across the hushed plaza. He then turned to face the spectators, clasping his hands behind him.

  Everyone knew what it meant when the examiner gave space while the examined remained in focus: a demonstration was imminent. The crowd held its collective breath, waiting for the result—the result of the assessment administered by the second, albeit unofficially, most powerful person in the Empire.

  Ari’s hands moved. She stretched her arms to their full extent, one hand over the other, fists clenched as if she gripped an invisible handle. Her eyelids parted, revealing a sliver of her intense gaze. She swayed; her muscles trembled, fighting an unseen force. Just as she seemed on the verge of collapse, she took a staggered step to the side and regained her balance.

  As she stabilized herself, a thin haze of vapor encircled her arms. The mist thickened, spiraling upwards and downwards from her closed fists, turning into a column of dense, white steam. The effect dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving in her grasp a carved wooden staff—the same one she had held in the fog world.

  Ari blinked. Her eyes, wide with astonishment, shifted from the staff to the crowd. The crowd stared back, and she felt her limbs turn to stone. She struggled to even move her neck. With immense effort, bit by bit, she turned her stiff head toward the examiner.

  “Good job,” he said, nodding his approval. “Now use it.”

  “What?” She looked at him, her face etched with confusion.

  “You should have a grasp on your Power now. Channel it into the staff,” he said, his cordial smile never leaving his face.

  It was true—she sensed it. The elusive Power she had only known in her dreams now pulsed within her. She funneled her newly discovered energy into the staff, and the blue gem at its apex ignited with a luminous glow. Cold spread across her body as the flow between her and the staff continued; she felt like an emptying bottle.

  The first change Ari noticed was the air. In day-to-day life, she had grown accustomed to the foul stench of the streets, only realizing its extent when strong spring winds would carry it away. But now, the crisp air had replaced the pungent smell of the docks. People swayed around, inhaling deeply—their faces betraying their surprise. Then she saw how her vision changed. The plaza was now awash with color, each hue more vibrant than she remembered. Even the tired yellow of her dress dazzled like the sun.

  Next, the fatigue lifted from her body. Her heartbeat slowed, and a sense of calm descended upon her. People in the crowd turned to their peers, whispering amongst themselves, sharing their experiences. Off to the side, a young boy who had been crying since his assessment revealed his lack of talent raised his head to look at the sky. Tears no longer flowed down his cheeks, replaced by a clouded yet serene expression.

  Exhaustion struck Ari like a thunderclap. One moment she had been brimming with energy; next, her limbs felt like lead. The staff in her hands evaporated, vanishing as though it had never been. With no remaining strength, and without the support of the staff, she sank to her knees. Her weary eyes met the examiner’s, searching for a hint of what was to come. The performance was over, and now it was time for the judgment. Her mind whirled with anticipation as she looked into his solemn face.

  “Ariella Lorage,” the examiner’s voice rang out, silencing the plaza once more. “It is my honor to declare that you have passed the assessment.”

  Ari remained rooted to the spot, her knees pressed to the stage, lacking the energy or will to stand. Every eye in the plaza followed her examiner’s movements as he reached into his coat’s inner pocket. With bated breath, she waited.

  From the folds of his attire, he produced a shimmering golden envelope and extended it toward her. As she took it, time seemed to elongate, stretching the moment out. A part of her mind sensed that something was amiss and tried to sound the alarm, but whether it was because of exhaustion or the speed of events, she could not tell what was wrong. Still kneeling, she accepted the envelope, holding it above her head.

  The plaza erupted.

  Whistles, shouts, and cheers filled the air, echoing off the buildings that lined the square. Windows brimmed with onlookers wanting to see what the ruckus was about. After looking at the stage, they opened their casements and joined the others in making noise. And they had a good reason—it had been a decade since a golden envelope had last graced the Docks.

  “Wh—What is this?! What trickery is this?!” Reif shouted in frustration, but not even his wife could hear his furious outburst in the plaza’s clamor. He clutched his head in his hands. His thoughts whirled in disbelief. This could not be real; it could not be happening. A bad dream. A horror. His youngest and only daughter was cursed.

  Ari lowered her hands, her grip tight on the assessment result. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet and looked at the back of the departing examiner. He had already signaled for his predecessor to take over and resume the evaluations, not sparing her a second glance.

  She turned to face the cheering crowd. Their applause thundered through her, vibrating every fiber of her being. She carefully descended the stage, praying she would not stumble on the steps. As she entered the throng, a path parted before her—a personal aisle for her exit. Countless hands reached out to pat her head, shoulders, and back as the crowd’s jubilation washed over her. These strangers celebrated her success as if it were their own. She was not sure how to feel about that, but she was too exhausted to contemplate it now. The sea of people closed behind her like a river returning to its course, propelling her forward.

  Disbelief mingled with the festive atmosphere. They saw her silver hair. They knew what it meant, but today it was just a strange quirk. What mattered was that they, the Docks’ community, were sending one of their own to the top. The golden envelope signified an invitation to the Grand Academy of Tramiria. This was no mere weekend magic crash course but a prestigious six-year program that trained the most powerful individuals on the continent: The Great Mages.

  When she reached the outskirts of the cheering crowd, she spotted her family waiting for her. Her eldest brother was absent, but she had expected that.

  “We’re going home. Now!” Her father’s voice was a cold snap as he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the exit. She cast a final glance back at the stage, where people still chanted and laughed, the examiners attempting to calm the boisterous audience. Clutching the envelope tightly to her chest with the little strength she had left, she joined her family as they made their way out of the square.

  Ari had no recollection of their journey back home. It all blurred together, as if she had been whisked straight from the plaza to their kitchen. Dizzy and on the verge of fainting, she leaned against the wall for support while her father launched into a tirade, his rant beginning the moment they crossed their home’s threshold.

  “It’s a scam! They’re plotting something!” he raved. “They’re conspiring against us, against Bandawi. This is the next step in their schemes, I’m sure of it.” He pressed on and on, hardly pausing for breath.

  Her mother and brothers sat at the dinner table, their faces etched with resignation or perhaps just boredom. They seemed uninterested in Reif’s ramblings, which only further agitated him.

  “Oh… Yes!” Reif’s eyes flashed with sudden inspiration. “The envelope! Have you opened it already? Show it to me!”

  Reluctant to part with her precious treasure, Ari hesitated. However, her father’s demanding posture made her surrender the envelope. He tore it open with little care, nearly damaging the letter inside, and began reading.

  “Ha! I knew it! Look!” His face twisted in triumph as he thrust the paper back at her. “Do you see it?”

  She scanned the document, confused, seeing nothing out of place. It could be an important thing to her, but it contained only an ordinary invitation. There was no supplementary information, besides the fact that the academy would contact her soon to provide all the details. She looked up at her father with raised brows.

  “Your name is there! Are you blind?” Saliva flecked his lips as he yelled.

  Indeed, there was her name, handwritten, but not by the letter’s primary author. It was standard practice for the invitations to be prepared ahead of time, allowing the examiner to simply add the candidate’s name once their talent was confirmed. She met her father’s eyes again, still not understanding his agitation.

  “You are exceptionally dumb, my child,” Reif growled. “Did you see him write your name? No! He just handed the envelope to you. The name was pre-written. It’s all coming together now—his sudden appearance, his decision to evaluate you. He knew the outcome in advance! He came with that letter prepared! The whole thing was nothing more than a charade. It’s a setup!”

  Reif’s face reddened from all the shouting. Everyone gaped at him with stunned expressions while his conspiracy feelings were validated. It had been so obvious from the very beginning. Such an important figure coming to assess his no-name daughter? No way that was a coincidence. The remaining question was what they were up to, but he would not play into their hands.

  “Tomorrow, early in the morning, we’re going to the Academy to put an end to this farce. You’ll be a normal Bandawi girl, not some monster dancing for the emperor’s pleasure!” he said.

  Tears welled up in Ari’s eyes, the weight of the day and her father’s tirade becoming too much. Even after the ceremony, even after she had proved herself, it was not over. And on top of that, her father was acting like a lunatic. She snatched the envelope from his grasp and sprinted up the stairs. Reif yelled after her, taking a step to follow, but a hand on his arm held him back.

  “Let her be. It’s been exhausting for all of us,” his wife said, leaning into him.

  “Fine,” Reif conceded, still fuming. “But we’ll deal with this tomorrow. This is ridiculous. Kormelia said Ari didn’t have even an iota of the Power. How can this be?”

  *

  Meanwhile, Ari threw herself onto the bed. Though it was only early afternoon, the day’s events had sapped her of all energy. She tucked the letter and envelope under her pillow, pulled the quilt over herself, and welcomed the solace of her room.

  What her father had said weighed on her mind, acting as a counterbalance to her growing concerns. If he was right, it would mean they had known about her talent from the beginning, that her deceit about her source’s origin had not influenced the outcome. She desired the Power and the chance to wield it, but she had never entertained the thought of becoming a Great Mage. Such an idea was beyond her league, beyond her wildest dreams, and the boiling worry of being unmasked as an impostor agonized her to no avail. But if the assessment had been orchestrated in advance, could it be real? Did she truly have a chance? It would not be merely a dream come true; it would be an entirely new reality unfolding before her.

  Lost in a spiral of thoughts, where hope blended with trepidation, a crucial reminder resurfaced. There was one thing she needed to confirm, one thread upon which her entire future depended.

  While still buried beneath the quilt, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and concentrated. The newfound ability to sense the Power felt strangely akin to falling asleep—rolling deeper and deeper until there was but nothingness. Within moments, fog billowed into the darkness of her inner mind. It worked—she had tapped into the fog world while remaining awake.

  Fully immersed in the ethereal realm, she no longer felt her physical body resting on the bed. The fatigue of the day dissipated, replaced by a keen sense of alertness and a surge of excitement.

  Like every other time, she stood surrounded by swirling wisps of dense vapor. She propelled herself into the endless gray fog, gliding deeper into its depths. Almost immediately, she sensed the auras of several objects suspended in the nearby space. Every so often, she would encounter moving objects, locked in eternal travel across the fog world. They were always inanimate—except for Wolfie, the only entity who could speak.

  Soon, she realized that this time was different. Hundreds of signals hammered at her senses every second. She tried to discern them as she always had, but only vague, indistinct silhouettes formed in her mind. The objects were too distant. Her detection skills must have improved, but the lack of detail in the farthest items frustrated her.

  When a familiar shape emerged before her, she shoved those thoughts aside. Before long, she arrived at her objective: the ball of corpses.

  She closed the remaining distance without hesitation. As she came within arm’s reach, the nearest corpses stirred. Their entangled bodies left only scant space for movement, but their fists clenched and unclenched, limbs flailed, and their faces were stuck in eternal expressions of anguish, suffering, and abject terror. Like a chain reaction, one cadaver after another twitched to life. Soon, the entire surface of the ball pulsed with subtle movements. Yet, despite all the writhing limbs, no sound escaped into the fog world—a silent theater of dead people.

  Ari reached out and sank her hands into the mass. The bodies were warm to the touch. She pushed forward, burying her head into the pile, and the upper half of her torso followed, slipping inside. With her arms outstretched, her fingers breached the wall on the other side and found nothing. It was not a ball crammed to the brim with bodies; it was empty inside—a hollow sphere.

  The corpses squirmed and wriggled as if unwilling to touch her. It made it easier for Ari to worm her way through. Soon, her face emerged on the inner side, and she used her arms as leverage to pull the rest of her body through. The gap she had created in the structure closed right after she hauled her legs inside.

  At the heart of the sphere floated a small, radiant ball of white light, about the size of what Ari could cradle in both hands. As she sought to reach out to it, a gentle repelling force met her advance. At first, it felt like moving through water; as she drew closer, it became like trudging through mud. The closer she approached, the stronger the resistance. When she was almost touching the light, the invigorating chill turned into a numbing blizzard on her fingers. Reluctantly, she retracted her hand.

  It was the source—her source—the embodiment of her Power. She gazed upon it, utterly mesmerized. The beckoning was strongest here, yet it no longer felt like a calling. Being so close, it had transformed into the sound of a mountain stream flowing in endless circles. Waves of sensations, oscillating between intensity and gentleness, reverberated through her mind. It was marvelous—an indescribable sense of wonder.

  She was unsure how long she spent peering at the orb before finally tearing her eyes away. She had time to spare; there was no need to return yet. Settling against the inner surface of the sphere, she let the soft repelling force press her against the wall of corpses. Writhing limbs caressed her body. The pleasant warmth of the cadavers combined with the chilling waves from her source and the addition of the constant massage. Perfection. Lulled into an odd state of contentment, Ari slowly drifted into the realm of dreams. It would be the best sleep of her life.

  *

  Reif shook Ari awake at the first light of dawn. She hastily ate a meager breakfast before setting off with her father, who constantly urged her to keep pace. Clutching the golden envelope in her arms, she guarded it against sporadic gusts of wind that threatened to snatch it away. The paper shimmered in the frosty morning light, catching the sun’s first rays like a flicker of flame.

  The city had yet to awaken. Its streets were empty, devoid of the usual bustle. The aftermath of yesterday’s festivities lingered in the haphazard litter cluttering the alleys. Ari’s nimble feet darted around the debris as she tried to match her father’s longer stride, their path clearing as they moved further from the grime of the Docks district.

  The scenery transformed as they moved deeper into the heart of the city. Ari gaped at the brightly painted houses of the wealthier districts, captivated by the unfamiliar sights. She had rarely ventured beyond the Docks before—her trips to visit her eldest brother in the West Gate district could be counted on one hand. Each new sight filled her with the wonder of discovery, and she drank it all, the colors and details imprinting themselves on her memory.

  Upon reaching one of the Academy’s gates, they were met by a towering ten-meter wall that enclosed the continent’s most prestigious institution. The Academy was a world unto itself, restricted to all but the privileged few. Myths about its concealed wonders had proliferated far and wide, spreading as swiftly as wildfire.

  The gate stood open, but that did not mean one could enter the premises. Ari squinted, noticing subtle distortions at the entrance, akin to a mirage-like haze above a sun-scorched road. It was a barrier. Anyone foolish enough to touch it would receive an electrical surge strong enough to send them hurtling backward.

  Ari and Reif stopped just short of the threshold. To their surprise, the gate appeared unguarded.

  “Hello?” Reif’s voice echoed off the towering walls. “Is anyone there?”

  No response came back. Growing impatient, he called out several more times into the opening before a distant rattle reached their ears. A man clad in brown leather armor soon followed the sound.

  “Eh… Could you be a little quieter, please?” the man grumbled. “What’s your business?”

  “We’re here to see Cassem Toaro. Take us to him. Now,” Reif demanded in a sharp tone.

  The guard raised an eyebrow. “Do you have an appointment? No one’s scheduled for this hour.” He scratched his cheek, more out of habit than actual itchiness.

  Reif’s frustration simmered beneath the surface, but he kept his composure. “No appointment,” he admitted. “But he’s expecting us! This is Ariella Lorage.” He gestured to Ari. “The recipient of yesterday’s golden envelope handed by Cassem Toaro himself. And I’m her father.”

  The guard studied them both, deep in thought, his eyes lingering on the shimmering paper in Ari’s arms. “Wait here,” he muttered. “I’ll confirm.”

  Ari cast a nervous glance at her father. (That was definitely a lie; Master Toaro can’t possibly be expecting us. What if we’re turned away? Will we just go home?) Her mind churned with doubt and faint hope alike. Perhaps her father would not be able to interfere with her dreams after all.

  Anticipation hung heavily as the minutes crawled by. Despite the rising sun, the morning chill stayed, biting into Ari’s skin. She cupped her hands and breathed into them for warmth, so focused on the act that she failed to notice the familiar rattle and the guard’s return until he loomed before her.

  Startled, she stepped back as he crossed the barrier. He held two wristbands in his hands.

  “Wear these,” the guard instructed in a flat tone. “Once you enter, the bands will tighten and guide you to Master Toaro. Stay on the marked path, avoid disruptions, and show respect to the Academy’s inhabitants. When your business is finished, leave immediately.” His gaze hardened. “The bands will alert us if you deviate. Understood? Go now.”

  Reif seized Ari’s arm and pulled her forward. As they passed through the barrier, the only noticeable change was the sudden constriction of their wristbands. Ari tried to loosen hers right away—even just a little—but it clung stubbornly to her skin, as if fused.

  Her next thought was about the direction they should take. She looked around for the guard to ask him, but he was gone. Just then, Reif tugged her again, this time away from the entrance, and a moment later she saw it: the faint trail of glittering motes forming at eye level, marking a path forward. Was this the wristband guidance the guard had mentioned? She was unsure, but her father took the lead, pulling her after him.

  The road led them between towering structures, but to Ari’s dismay, the buildings fell short of her expectations. She had imagined grandeur and elegance; instead, she was greeted by somber gray stone framing modest windows. Everything looked so normal, so boring—utterly mundane. But as they moved on, her initial disappointment faded. Ahead stretched a park, vast and enchanting, pulling all her focus. Her eyes widened, brimming with wonder.

  It was the largest park she had ever seen, dwarfing the Docks’ plaza—the only other open space in the city she knew well. And it was green. Everywhere. Gargantuan trees, spread in irregular patterns across the area, grew isolated from each other like scattered islands. Their puffed-up crowns with long horizontal branches brought to mind the image of mushrooms. Between them, winding pathways snaked through arrangements of colorful shrubs and hedges, forming labyrinth-like patterns. Benches lined the trails, inviting passersby to rest and relish the beauty beneath nature’s embrace.

  But it was fountains that mesmerized her most. Water shot upward in elaborate patterns that changed over time. But not all the water fell back to the basins; some droplets remained swirling in the air. They formed complex liquid structures and flew between other fountains in a show of a never-ending chase.

  The park was almost deserted, with only two girls sitting under a tree, engrossed in their books. Ari judged they could not be much older than she was. Were they students? The possibility thrilled her. Soon, she might be the one sitting there. Then, she noticed both girls wore sleeveless dresses, and the realization dawned on her: she no longer felt cold. The temperature within the walls provided a pleasant warmth.

  Busy admiring the surroundings, Ari nearly forgot the purpose of their visit. By the time the reality tugged her back, they had already crossed the park. The glittering motes led them to the massive double doors of the building ahead. Uncertainty gnawed at her as she pondered the looming conversation with the examiner. What would her father say to him? Would she dare to say anything? Her grip tightened on the golden envelope, the paper wrinkling under her fingers.

  Reif approached and knocked on the door. When no answer came, he grabbed the handle and pushed. One side creaked open into a dim interior. He entered without hesitation, dragging Ari along.

  They crossed a long, straight corridor flanked with sealed rooms. At its end, the path split to the left and to the right. Motes, glittering brighter in the darker space, directed them to the right. Turning the corner, they saw the trail of particles leading them to a plain wooden door, one of many lining the corridor.

  Ari’s heart thudded as her father raised a hand to knock. But the door swung open before his knuckles touched the frame, halting him mid-motion. He froze with his arm in the air.

  “Enter,” a familiar deep voice rumbled from within. They followed the invitation.

  Cassem Toaro’s spartan office comprised little more than a huge wooden desk, scattered papers atop it, and a lone, austere chair that lacked upholstery. No decorations, no luxury—only functional simplicity. Ari found it hard to believe someone of the man’s stature worked in such conditions.

  “Ah, an unexpected visit,” Cassem Toaro said, his sharp eyes locking on Reif with a faint smile. “How fortunate, really. Today happens to be the one day of the month I entertain petitioners.” He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “So, tell me—what can I do for you?”

  Reif stood silent for a moment, taken aback by the casual arrogance radiating from his opponent. The anger he had built through the night boiled in his veins. This man was the reason he had to be here today, in this vile sanctuary ruled by the cursed people he so loathed. The people who sought to take his daughter and twist her into something monstrous.

  His restraints broke. His fists came crashing down on the desk. “You!” he shouted with pent-up fury. “I know what you’re doing! And I’ll be damned if I let you! You think you can just steal my daughter? Turn her into some dark creature? She’s Bandawi, untouched by the Power. Leave her alone!”

  Ari flinched at the violent outburst, but her father was not done yet.

  “You’ll regret this—you’ll regret crossing us, crossing our people! Stop this madness!”

  Cassem Toaro’s composure remained unshaken, his expression as immovable as stone even as Reif’s face burned with rage. With the calm precision of a man in complete control, he rose from his seat.

  “I believe you’ve misunderstood something, Reif,” he said.

  Ari shuddered at the abrupt change in ambience. All traces of cordial warmth in Cassem Toaro’s voice had vanished.

  “Y-You know my name,” Reif stuttered, taking a shaky step away from the desk.

  “Of course I do.” Cassem’s lips curled into a dark grin. “That’s my job.”

  He moved around his desk and approached Reif with predatory grace. Reif retreated step by step, the fire in his eyes dimming as the distance between them shrank. Ari pressed herself to the nearest wall.

  “Let me explain how things are.” Cassem’s voice was cold as steel. “Your people glorify that petty resistance to the Power, celebrating it as some sort of blessing. Or a gift. But how did it ever help you? The Empire’s campaign on your lands could hardly be called a struggle. You couldn’t defend yourselves. Not in the slightest. And it’s not because we are cursed. It’s because what you cherish so dearly is a disability. Your entire nation is like someone who lacks a sense of smell and insists it’s an advantage because they’re unfazed by farts.”

  Despite Cassem’s words, Reif’s pride and belief were unwavering. His breath came in sharp bursts, but his eyes lit ablaze with newly found defiance.

  (Lies. Empty taunts from a cursed being. This heinous monster batters our people and tries to belittle them. None of what he says is true. We’re pure, unmarred by the evil Power, and it doesn’t matter what those abominations say. Their words are nothing more than the screeches of putrid creatures.) His nose flared with disgust. Finding renewed resolve, his body tensed, every muscle coiling for the confrontation.

  Yet as he prepared to lunge, Cassem’s voice turned glacial. “What do you hope to achieve? Do you truly think your innate resistance has any merit?”

  Reif’s body buckled without warning. He collapsed to the floor like a marionette whose strings were cut. Helpless, he lay there, paralyzed. He could not move. He could not breathe. His wide, panicked eyes darted around the room in a desperate search for something to fight off the invisible force that pinned him down.

  Cassem stepped closer to the choking Reif. “See? Your feeble resistance is as insignificant as an ant beneath my boot. You believe you know the Power because you stand against us? I alone could slaughter all your tribes one by one.” He paused, taking in Reif’s helpless form. “But the crucial point lies elsewhere. The Empire doesn’t concern itself with your people’s archaic grudges or na?ve hopes. It sees the broader horizon, the encroaching storm that threatens to swallow all in its path. We need Great Mages; we require them to be our bulwark against that storm. Who else will protect us? And by ‘us’, I also mean your people.”

  He paused again to let his words sink in. Then he continued, his voice growing soft, but the menace lingered beneath the surface. “Your delusions make you see shadows where there are none. Your daughter, whether you accept it or not, is blessed with a gift, and unlike yours, it’s a real one. That means it’s the Empire’s business now. Your disobedience won’t be tolerated. Your stubbornness, this foolish bravery, will not change your daughter’s destiny. Understand this, if nothing else: The Empire’s will is absolute.”

  The crushing force eased, and his lungs filled with air. He gasped once, twice—violent breaths shook his chest. Color flooded back to his ashen face, but his limbs trembled as he pushed himself upright. Though his eyes burned with resentment, his lips stayed sealed.

  “As for you, Miss Ariella,”—Cassem’s attention shifted to Ari, his voice softening further—“your journey now promises not only prosperity but a higher calling. The path you are on will bring you not only a good, rich life but also a duty to the entire continent. Embrace it, for with unparalleled might come boundless responsibility. Don’t let your past hold you back. You are starting a new life.” He smiled, and for the first time, it seemed genuine. “Welcome to the Grand Academy of Tramiria.”

  He returned to his seat, dismissing them with a wave. “You may leave.”

  Reif recovered from the assault and moved to usher Ari out, eager to escape this suffocating room.

  “Ah, I almost forgot.” Cassem’s voice halted them. “Bandawi traditions regarding those with the Power are rather… severe, are they not? You have a reputation of exiling, even executing, those among you who can wield the Power, correct?”

  Reif hesitated, hand outstretched to open the door, his mind racing to discern the motive behind Cassem’s words.

  Cassem did not wait for Reif’s response. “Captain! Please come in!” he called. A stern-faced man clad in an imperial uniform entered a moment later.

  “Master Toaro.” He gave a curt nod.

  “This young lady over here,”—Cassem gestured to Ari—“is our newest student. Gather some men and escort her home. Keep your eyes on her at all times, and once she has her belongings, bring her back. She’s already been allocated a room in the dorms.”

  The captain nodded in understanding, this time with more vigor. The three of them turned to leave, but as they were about to exit, Cassem’s voice pierced the air once more.

  “Captain, I mean it literally. Keep your eyes on her all the time. It is your sole responsibility until she is on the Academy’s grounds again.”

  *

  A sofa. Soft to the touch. Soft to sit on. Ari caressed the plush material, sinking into the cushions’ warm embrace. She leaned to the side and plunged her fingers into the softness she had never experienced before—as if she were caressing clouds. But in that momentary bliss, her palm slid over the fabric too fast, and she tipped forward. Her nose smacked into the armrest with an unceremonious thud. She winced, rubbing the sore spot. The absurdity of it all bubbled in her chest; she burst into laughter.

  Wiping away the joyful tears, she turned her attention to the pair of crimson armchairs positioned across from it. They lacked the indulgent depth of the sofa but still offered a comfort unimaginable back home. The hard, splintery stools of her old life felt like a world away now.

  (This is my home now.) The thought flickered in her mind, still too wild, too surreal to accept.

  She took a lingering look at her new living quarters. Beyond the essential furnishings—the bookshelves, the cabinets—something else drew her eye. A carmine carpet stretched across the stone floor, its golden embroidery shimmering in the fading sunlight. She approached the window, letting her bare feet revel in the carpet’s dense weave.

  Outside, she was greeted by the sprawling greenery of yet another idyllic parkland. She paused, resting her hand on the cool wood of the frame, and inhaled deeply. The air felt different here—cleaner, crisper, more alive. It reminded her of the strange atmosphere she experienced during her demonstration the day before, as though the very air buzzed with energy. The breeze filled her lungs, invigorating her senses, until she let it out in a slow, steady exhale. A quiet peace settled over her, soft and unfamiliar, but welcome.

  She stayed still for a moment, soaking in the view, before pushing the casements shut to ward off the creeping chill. Resuming her exploration, she focused on the corner near the entrance, where two enigmatic metal rods jutted from the wall, fused together at their base. As they rose upward, they diverged from one another, curving outward, until their ends twisted sharply back to the wall. To Ari, they looked like a pair of horns. Curious, she grabbed them both, her fingers wrapping around nothing more than cold, indifferent steel.

  (What was I expecting, anyway?)

  She let go with a shrug, her interest dimming as quickly as it had sparked. Turning away, she strode into the second chamber of the suite—the bedroom.

  It could accommodate five people: two dual bunks flanked the walls while one solitary bed rested beneath the window. Beside the beds, the bedroom had a lone but impressively capacious wardrobe. Ari’s clothes already occupied a slice of its space.

  As for the bunks, she claimed one of the bottom spots for herself. Sleeping under the window seemed unsettling for no good reason. That, combined with the thought of tumbling from the top bunk in the dead of night, left her with the only reasonable choice.

  She had paced these rooms multiple times since her arrival at the dormitory. A restless excitement churning within made her incapable of sitting still, but no one had clarified whether she was allowed to leave, so she contended herself with laps, committing every detail of her new environment to memory.

  The surreality of her situation still clung to her. What she would not have dared to dream of yesterday had become today’s reality. She thought of her father, his silent countenance as they had left Master Toaro’s office, escorted by the city guards. The scene had drawn stares and whispers, especially at the Docks, where their procession became the spectacle of the day. The entire neighborhood had watched them pass.

  Ultimately, she had gathered her scant belongings, emptying the shelves and drawers of what little she owned, and left. Her family stood nearby in heavy silence as she packed. They offered no farewells, no parting words. A hollow expectation nested in the pit of her stomach; she had yearned for her father to acknowledge her newfound abilities—to be proud. But as she looked around her new home, that flickering wisp of hope was snuffed out. Now she knew for sure the praise would never come.

  Lost in thought, Ari was oblivious to the approaching footsteps until they echoed in close proximity. She spun around just in time to see another girl bursting into the room. A pair of exaggerated, upright pigtails bounced atop the newcomer’s head as she skidded to a halt, her eyes widening at the sight of Ari.

  “Whoa! A roommate already!” The girl launched herself at Ari without warning, enveloping her in an enthusiastic hug.

  Ari stood frozen by the unexpected contact. The girl was shorter by a head; her face pressed against Ari’s chest while her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Unsure how to navigate the sudden intimacy, Ari awkwardly patted the girl’s shoulders.

  The gesture prompted the girl to tilt her head up and offer a dazzling smile. “I’m Ria—greatest Death Mage of our time,” she said. “We’re going to be best friends, I can already tell.” As she clung to Ari, her grin stretched impossibly wide, her eyes gleaming like twin stars.

  Before Ari could process the whirlwind of energy in front of her, the sound of more footsteps filled the doorway. A group of men entered, led by an elderly butler in a tailored black uniform.

  “Little lady, decorum, if you please,” the butler said. “You promised your father to refrain from causing a ruckus right away.” His eyes wandered over the place before they locked onto Ari.

  She felt scrutinized under his gaze, weighed and judged. She noted the impeccable attire of the men, and her eyes fell upon Ria’s outfit—a sumptuous, knee-length gown of deep green, accented with frills, short sleeves, and a black sash cinching the waist. The fabric was delicate to the touch, surely worth a small fortune.

  Under the butler’s unrelenting gaze, Ari pulled back her hands and unconsciously shrank into herself, trying to disappear behind Ria, despite their height difference. She became painfully aware of her own attire—a simple yellow dress she had worn on the assessment day. It was her best and only option for occasions that demanded formality, yet compared to what she saw before her, it was nothing but a worthless rag. She braced for the inevitable chastisement from the butler, expecting him to sternly order her away from his lady at any moment.

  Instead, the butler’s first disapproving glance landed squarely on Ria. “I deeply apologize for our little lady,” he began. “She is not a Death Mage, of course. In truth, her gifts lie with the Power of Life. I beg your forgiveness for her bringing up the forbidden.” His gaze sharpened as he addressed Ria. “Little lady, we’ve discussed this. You must stop joking like that. Such jests are unbecoming.”

  While Ari stood confused by the turn in conversation, Ria’s playful demeanor shifted to one of defiance as she faced the butler. Her voice snapped like a whip. “For the hundredth time, don’t call me ‘little lady.’ I’m not little, you old, senile bastard!”

  “My deepest apologies. Memory does elude me these days,” he replied with an exaggerated bow and a glint of mischief in his eyes. “As you’ve reminded me countless times, you are anything but little, little lady.” The corners of his mouth curled into a wry smile.

  His gentle barb drew an even tighter coil of annoyance from Ria, who released Ari to face him, her fists clenching in fury. “Why are you even still here? Place my belongings in the other room and be gone! I’m so happy I’m finally freed from you. Father should have dismissed you ages ago. No idea why he keeps you around. Probably out of sheer pity for how utterly useless you are.”

  The butler feigned a sorrowful sigh. “Such words wound me deeply, little lady. I am profoundly sad. It must indeed be the day’s excitement speaking. Rest assured, little lady, this will not diminish our affection for you in the slightest.”

  He nodded to the group behind him. At his subtle gesture, the group moved to the living room. Muffled sounds trailed behind them as they carefully deposited packages onto the floor. Before his own withdrawal, the old servant focused on Ari one more time.

  “Young lady,” he said. “Please take care of our fiery little lady. She’s a handful, but her heart is pure.”

  Ria’s face turned crimson, her voice rising like a kettle nearing its boiling point. With impeccable timing, the butler made his escape, leaving only the echo of a closing door behind.

  A heavy, unexpected silence settled over the room after the servants’ departure. Ari hesitated, taking a step back as Ria turned to her. The mercurial girl flashed a beaming smile, radiant twinkles dancing in her eyes as she locked her gaze on Ari.

  “Now then, where were we?”

  <<<>>>