Page 63

Cyrus

The trial arenasmelled of cold stone and scorched magic, the September air thick with tension. Protective wards shimmered overhead, pulsing with magic older than any of us. This was the Heirs’ Challenge—the moment where we proved, beyond any doubt, why bloodlines mattered.

I rolled my shoulders, eyeing the others. Elio stood with his usual air of detached amusement, illusions curling like wisps of smoke at his fingertips. Keane’s stance was unreadable, but his gaze drifted toward Marigold too often. And then there was her—standing at the edge of the circle, shadows shifting around her feet, the weight of every Council member’s scrutiny pressing down on her.

And yet, she stood tall. Defiant.

I clenched my fists, heat coiling beneath my skin. My flames had already reacted to her presence, surging to that impossible shade of blue I had only seen twice before—the night of the Welcome Ceremony, and again in Combat Class.

That was the second time our magic had merged.

Now we were being forced into a third.

“All heirs, step forward,” Professor Rivera commanded. “Today, you will demonstrate why the Council seats pass through bloodlines. Why power requires control.”

We moved into position—fire, illusion, portals, and death magic forming a circle of raw potential. I caught the flicker of a smirk on Marigold’s lips, like she already knew what was coming. Like she could feel it too.

The Council watched with sharp, assessing gazes. They had hated what happened at the Wellspring. And if our magic blended again, if it resonated the way it had before—

That would mean it wasn’t a fluke. It was something inevitable.

“The task is simple,” Rivera continued, his Shroud Guard tattoo pulsing faintly. “Four elemental constructs, each designed to counter your individual magics. Only by working together can you overcome them.”

The arena shifted, stones groaning as the constructs materialized—beasts of pure elemental force. Fire, shadow, lightning, and raw magic, each built to push us beyond our limits.

“Begin.”

The fire beast struck first, a swirling inferno that should have responded to me alone. I met it with my own flames, willing them to burn hotter, brighter—

And then it happened.

The moment Marigold moved, my fire reacted. Not just to the threat—but to her.

The flames surged forward, not red, not gold, but that same unnatural blue. The same color that had flickered through them at the Wellspring. The same color I’d told myself was a fluke. A trick of the light.

It wasn’t a trick. It was happening again.

My magic didn’t just burn—it reached. Not for destruction, but for something else. Like it knew where it belonged.

Elio’s illusions wrapped around her shadows, turning something intangible into something deadly. I saw the moment he felt it too—his usual arrogance slipping into something dangerously close to awe.

Keane’s portals should have wavered—but they didn’t. Not this time. The silver edges gleamed sharp and perfect, fluid as breathing.

For a perfect moment, we moved as one—

Fire and death and illusion and space bending together into something that shouldn’t be possible. Something the Council had tried to prevent.

The constructs never stood a chance.

Elio’s illusions splintered the shadow beast, breaking it apart before it could reform. My flames consumed the fire creature completely, but instead of vanishing into the heat, Marigold’s magic shaped it, twisting the inferno into something controlled, something wielded. Keane’s portals worked in seamless synchrony, directing the lightning beast’s attacks against itself.

It was effortless. Terrifyingly effortless.

And then something shifted.

I felt it before I saw it. Something off. Something unstable.

Keane’s portals, once fluid and clean, twisted. Not just a flicker. Not just hesitation.