Nora spent her two months excused from Ms. Wellform's class in solitary training. The brutal sparring match against Gerral had hardened her resolve—a peasant standing as her equal? What a joke.
Every Wednesday and Thursday morning before sunrise, she marched to the marketplace. The bakery along her route tempted her senses—pastries glistening with butter, sugar crystals catching the light. Her tongue darted across dry lips, but she forced herself to turn away.
She stopped at a potion shop with a cracked window. Dusty elixirs filled mismatched vials on the shelves. Minutes later, she emerged with ten thumb-sized mana potions clinking in her hand. Each one cost gold coins and is enough to refill her mana pool twice. She added five healing potions at double the price, their viscous ruby liquid swirling sluggishly when tilted.
The potions disappeared into her wrist-bound magic bag. After grabbing a greasy lunch from a street vendor, she headed into the forest. Shadows deepened as she walked, leading her to her training ground—a bowl-shaped valley surrounded by slate-gray cliffs. An algae-covered pond reflected the jagged peaks above.
To the east lay her proving ground: the earth gouged by overlapping blast craters, with topsoil transformed into glassy slag in radiating patterns. At the edge stood a granite monolith, its surface marked by repeated impacts and fracture lines that spread across the stone like a spider's web.
For weeks, she had worked to strengthen her light blast through beam compression, but progress eluded her. The rare potions drained her purse, yet failure wasn't an option—not with Gerral's taunt still ringing in her ears.
She pressed her palms together at her chest. A familiar buzz of energy surfaced. Two beams of light spiraled from her hands, twisting like corkscrews. She gritted her teeth, willing the streams to merge. They held for three heartbeats, then exploded, hurling her backward into the cold pond.
She emerged dripping, her cheeks stinging from the impact. The ground where she had stood was now a shallow crater. Her fingers twitched, raw and bleeding. Dark streaks of blood rippled across the pond's surface.
Nora reached for a vial. The brackish liquid sealed her torn skin as she drank. She returned to her position, feeling the energy build again. Photons danced between her palms.
This time, the whirling beams lasted longer. Their glow cast sharp shadows on the valley walls. But at the critical moment, the energy surged and bucked like a wild horse. The blast threw her sideways. Her boots carved furrows in the dirt before she slammed into an outcrop.
Nora staggered upright. Sensing movement out of the corner of her eye, she spun around, but only empty air greeted her gaze. Dismissing it as paranoia, she returned to her position.
The sun climbed higher, thickening the humid air. Sweat drenched her clothes, clinging to her skin and exposing the contours of her form under the harsh light. Scratches and bruises covered her pale flesh, but her determination only burned brighter. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she didn't stop.
Finally, the beams fused. Nora released the blast. KA-THOOOOOM! The explosion shook the valley, hurling stones outward. She reeled backward, ears throbbing from the concussive roar.
When the roar died, she stared at the wreckage in dissatisfaction. The damage wasn't enough. Her brow furrowed deeply. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Her teeth ground together until her jaw ached. Rage and frustration flared in her eyes. She gulped another potion, the tingling liquid flooding her veins. She tried again.
BOOM! The explosion came too soon. The blast hit her face, throwing her against the pool's stone base.
"REEEAAARGH!" A raw scream tore from her throat.
Her flawed Dawn attribute refused to focus the light. Without dark magic to bind it, the energy ruptured before reaching critical mass. Her half-baked inheritance mocked her. Her peasant mother's diluted blood. The mocking sneers from her noble siblings. The weakness of her bastard lineage. But, above all, losing to Gerral stung the most.
When the last vial emptied, twilight had long faded. Nora pulled out a miniature lantern from her magic bag. Its faint glow lit her path through the forest. The flickering light guided her steps, carving a fragile path through the shadows.
Two figures studied the wavering light from their mountain perch. When its glow faded into a faint pulse, they moved. Their fingers gripped cliff protrusions, and their boots touched stone briefly before vanishing into the canopy. Where they crouched moments before, a deep depression scarred the stone.
—
Nora returned to the villa, her body battered and in pain. A maid peeled away her sweat-stiffened dress, revealing bruises that painted soft gold against her pale skin. Her shoulders hunched instinctively as she tested the bathwater with her toe. It was cold as ice. She clenched her jaw, inhaled sharply, and then plunged in. The cold stabbed her like glass shards before settling into a numbing chill.
She clenched her eyelids while the cold seeped into overworked muscles—not soothing, but suffocating. The bruises throbbed beneath her skin, their golden glow fading as the chill spread through her bones.
Outside the bathhouse, two shadows lingered. The first spoke with a gravel voice. "She's submerged. Show some decency."
"Decency?" The second sneered, his eyes glowing blue. "The madam ordered full surveillance. What decency matters for a mere child?"
A muscle twitched beneath the first's eye. "Stare all you want. But don't beg for my mercy when she skins you for it."
The second's cracked a laugh, brittle as thin ice. "Empty threats. The madam's seal protects our necks."
The first's jaw clenched, silent warning etched in the glare he leveled at his companion, who had already snapped back to the bathhouse. His gaze pierced through solid walls with predatory fixation—not mere duty, but something ravenous beneath the observation.
Inside, Nora's exhale rippled the black water. The perpetual itch between her shoulder blades persisted despite the numbing cold. She felt unseen eyes on her, drilling through the stone walls. She blinked at the flickering candlelight, shadows dancing on the surface. Nothing moved.
Foolish, she thought, sinking deeper. Frost crept across her collarbone as she shut her eyes, willing the water to take more than just her physical exhaustion.
—
The kitchen at Joe's house hummed with energy as the three children assisted him in making dinner. Emma focused on blending flour and eggs. Milla rinsed vegetables at the sink, handing them to Alan, who sliced through them with ease. Laughter and overlapping voices swirled through the room.
Milla dominated the conversation, recounting their day and boasting about herself. Alan snorted at every word, provoking her. She snatched vegetable scraps and flung them at him.
"Hey!" Alan ducked. "Cut it out, Milla!"
Joe grinned, waving a spatula. "Save the fighting for the plate, not my kitchen."
Emma wobbled her mixing bowl with a giggle. "You're impossible, Milla!"
Milla responded by blowing a raspberry at Alan, who narrowed his eyes in mock anger. Despite the racket, the kitchen felt alive, a sharp contrast to Alan's silent and regimented house, where Lix's demands loomed and Ferris's absence lingered.