Inside the High Hall of Currents, deep within the marble heart of the Elementalist Council's seat in Theros, the air was thick with tension.
Twelve elders sat in a ring of elevated stone seats, each one positioned around the circular practice arena where Seren now stood, surrounded by soft, shimmering glyphs and whispering fountains. Light filtered through stained glass high above, casting blue ripples across her skin.
She held her stance, mimicking the posture her tutor had shown her. The water spirit—still jellyfish-like, delicate, and luminous—hovered just behind her shoulder, pulsing softly in time with her breath.
"So it is confirmed," one of the elders muttered. "Her spirit is bound. Fully. Not just a projection."
"The Burst verified it," said another, older man with sharp brows and ink-stained fingertips. "She didn't summon the spirit through ritual or circle. It formed in response to her resonance."
"Because she was under duress," snapped Elder Halien from the opposite bench. He folded his arms. "Emotionally unstable. That is what we're breeding if we begin to place value in these bursts."
"Emotion is not instability," countered Elder Veneska, a woman draped in turquoise robes. Her tone was icy. "It is power. The more entwined one is with their element, the deeper the bond. Seren did not conjure power through training. She is the power."
"Compatibility does not require trauma," Halien said. "Her affinity was already high. She may have awakened naturally."
Another elder leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "But she did not."
A silence fell.
On the arena floor, Seren shifted slightly. She was still breathing evenly, but her fingers twitched.
They're not talking to me, she thought. They're talking around me.
"Elemental spirits," said Veneska, rising slowly, "form not only through affinity. They respond to emotional catalysts. The ocean did not come to her because she was strong. It came because she needed it."
"Then what of the others who have never had a spirit?" Halien replied. "Are they to be considered inferior? We have trained entire generations of leaders without needing such volatility."
"And yet this girl," Veneska gestured toward Seren, "shook the coast with a single wave."
Seren felt her spirit nudge gently against her shoulder. Comforting.
She wanted to go home.
Or anywhere that wasn't this hall of eyes and equations.
"This council is at a crossroads," said one of the more neutral elders. "Do we embrace the spirit-born? The emotionally attuned? Or do we maintain tradition? Structure? We must decide before we elevate her further."
Seren blinked.
Elevate?
They want to use me. Already.
And as the council split quietly into two factions—those who revered the elemental spirits and those who trusted only discipline and training—Seren stood alone in the center.
Adored. Feared. And increasingly unsure of where she belonged.
_____________
The sun was past its zenith as Cale stepped off the coach road, taking a detour through a sparsely wooded glade while the driver watered the horses at a nearby stream. The wind was cool, brushing leaves in slow, whispering sways. Every sound felt sharper now. His senses, trained since the Divine Flow, never quite dulled.
He crouched by a rock and pressed his fingers against the inside of his wrist. The mark glowed faintly under his touch.
"Ready for a peek?" Emis purred from a low branch above.
"Yeah," Cale said. "Let's see what's waiting for us."
He let his breath slow. Centered his focus. Pulled the Flow up from his core, through his chest, behind his eyes.
The world shifted.
*
A clearing. Dust churning under foot. Half a dozen men crouched behind stones and under foliage beside the road. They carried rusted blades, bows, and wore scraps of mismatched armor.
Bandits.
Waiting.
One of them marked the lead wagon with a scar across the wheel. "Take the first, let the others run," he murmured.
Cale snapped back into himself.
He stood.
And started planning.
*
By the time the carriage crested the next hill, Cale had already spoken to the driver. A worn man with a sharp nose and sharper instincts, he trusted Cale with a nod and no questions.
Cale positioned himself near the rear axle, a small pouch of dust he'd prepared in hand. When the first bandit lunged from the underbrush, Cale flung the dust toward the wheel.
The coach jerked, feigning a breakdown.
"Wheel's cracked!" the driver called out.
As expected, the bandits surged forward.
But Cale was already there.
He didn't need to fight like Aleric.
He needed only to move where they weren't, think where they wouldn't, and strike where they least expected.
It was over quickly. One bandit caught a rock to the knee, another a glancing blow to the temple. The others scattered the moment their element of surprise dissolved.
The coach driver blinked. "You said they'd be six."
Cale dusted off his palms. "There were. Not anymore."
Emis yawned from a wagon beam. "Not bad for a pretty boy with a prophecy complex."
Cale allowed himself a grin.
He might not be strong. Not like Rosanna. Not yet.
But he was an Oculen.
And Oculens didn't fight fair.
They didn't have to.
______________
The marble corridors of the Elementalist Council were never truly silent. The hum of fountains behind stone walls, the distant cadence of elemental flows shifting in deep channels—there was always something alive in the air.
Seren moved quietly, her steps softened by the intricate blue rugs that lined the halls. She had just left a lengthy lecture on branch specializations. Her water spirit hovered silently at her shoulder, pulsing in rhythm with her breath.
She wasn't sure if she was learning.
Or simply being watched.
As she turned a corner, a man brushed past her.
Older, clean-shaven, dressed in the understated elegance of minor nobility. He had a slight limp, and he didn't meet her eyes.
But as he passed, he murmured under his breath—
"Elder Veneska is not someone to be trusted."
Seren stopped.
Whirled.
But the man was already gone.
She looked around. There was no one else in the hallway. The words stuck in her mind like a sliver.
Why say that to me?
She continued to her quarters, her steps quicker than before. The spirit at her side dimmed slightly in response to her pulse.
The next day, another letter arrived.
Embroidered parchment. Gold wax seal.
She didn't even bother opening it. The seal itself already said enough: she was once again the honored guest at yet another noble gathering.
Last time, she thought it was the Carlet family. Or maybe the Vanrhodes? It had blurred. All of it.
The endless smiling. The polished questions. The over-sweetened wine. The way they whispered when they thought she couldn't hear.
"She's the one."
"Water-born, spirit-bound."
"She could lead the Council one day."
Master Elementalist.
The words rang in her ears like a curse.
And behind those words...
She could feel something deeper. Hungrier.
The nobility did not see her as a girl.
They saw a symbol.
A throne.
And now that the Council was beginning to crack, they were slithering in. Offering her silk. And poison.
All she had done was survive.
And now she was their prize.