Page 35

Before he could register my presence, I released a controlled burst of energy that brushed past his ear, close enough to make him flinch but careful not to cause harm.

"Impressive, Vale," he murmured, reluctant admiration in his voice as he whirled to face me.

I had no time to acknowledge the compliment.

Another surge of magic erupted from his palms, forcing me to blink rapidly in succession—once, twice, three times—each materialization closer to him than the last, until I was near enough to see the subtle flecks of gold in his silver eyes.

The arena fell silent save for our labored breathing and the soft crackle of magical energy. The hum of power between us created a tangible current, like the air before a lightning strike.

We had transcended mere practice; this was a demonstration of will, of control, of the pure exhilaration that came from pushing magical boundaries.

After a moment, I noticed the other groups had stopped to watch us. Professor Coldwell provided a slow, deliberate clap.

"Well done, Miss Vale, Mr. Ashford," he said, his voice carrying across the now-silent arena. There was something in his tone I couldn't quite place—a hint of satisfaction, perhaps, or something colder. "It seems you've both grasped the essence of the Blink spell rather... impressively."

I lowered my hands, feeling the magic recede like an ebbing tide, leaving behind a pleasant warmth in my fingertips. Edric inclined his head in acknowledgment, his expression composed once more, though a glimmer of that earlier excitement still lingered in his eyes.

Coldwell strode to the center of the arena, his dark robes sweeping across the snow like a shadow given form.

"Now, for the Mirror spell," he announced, commanding the attention of every student once more.

"The ability to create illusions that confound your enemies is not merely trickery—it is survival."

His gaze swept the room, lingering momentarily on Samael, whose expression remained impassive, though I caught the subtle tightening of his jaw.

"The incantation is Illusio . Focus on creating a duplicate of yourself—a phantom that moves as you do, thinks as you do."

A whisper of unease traveled through the gathered students. Mirror spells were notoriously difficult, requiring not just power but a profound self-awareness that many found unsettling. To create a convincing illusion, one must first know oneself completely—every movement, every habit, every tell.

"Mr. Norwood," Coldwell called, his voice carrying with effortless authority. "Step forward with Miss Lillendale."

Samael moved with his usual measured grace, his dark presence stark against the pale backdrop of the snow-dusted arena.

Beside him, Emma Lillendale strode forward—short but solidly built, her stance exuding confidence.

Her almond eyes, rimmed in heavy makeup, flicked toward Samael, her lip curling slightly—perhaps in amusement, perhaps in challenge.

"Miss Lillendale, you will cast first," Coldwell instructed. "Your task is to create a convincing illusion of yourself. Mr. Norwood, you will attempt to find and strike the true target."

His gaze flickered to Samael, unreadable. "Let us see if your instincts serve you as well as your magic."

Emma nodded, rolling her shoulders before extending her hands outward. " Illusio ," she intoned, her voice clear and unwavering.

A ripple of energy spilled from her fingertips, shimmering like heat on stone.

In a breath, the air around her distorted, and suddenly, there were three versions of Emma standing before Samael—each identical in every detail.

They shifted in tandem, stepping lightly in the snow, their movements precise echoes of one another.

A murmur ran through the gathered students. It was a well-crafted illusion—seamless, uncanny.

Samael's sharp gaze flicked between the figures, analyzing, assessing. For a long moment, he remained still, his muscles coiled in quiet deliberation. Then, with a quick and decisive flick of his wrist, he sent a concentrated burst of blue energy toward the figure on the right.

The illusion shattered into nothingness.

Emma smirked, her real form untouched among the remaining figures. "Aw, too bad, Norwood," she teased, her voice lilting with satisfaction.

A few students chuckled under their breath, though none too loudly—none would dare mock Samael outright.

A flicker of frustration passed through Samael’s eyes—barely there, quickly buried beneath a veil of practiced calm. He didn’t react to Emma’s jab. Instead, his focus sharpened, his gaze narrowing like a blade being honed.

He waited. Watched.

The illusions shifted again, moving in perfect synchronization, but this time, Samael's eyes darkened with certainty. Without hesitation, he raised his hand and launched a second strike—this time, at the center figure.

The force of the spell collided with Emma’s real form, sending her sprawling onto the snow-covered floor with a sharp gasp. The remaining illusions flickered and vanished, dispelled by the hit.

A stunned silence fell over the arena.

Emma pushed herself up, rubbing her shoulder with a wince, but to her credit, she offered no protest. Instead, she let out a breathy laugh. "Alright," she muttered, shaking her head. "Didn’t expect you to figure it out so fast."

Samael didn’t reply. He merely inclined his head slightly, a silent acknowledgment of his victory. Yet there was something unreadable in his eyes—a flicker of something deeper, something restrained.

Professor Coldwell, who had been watching closely, nodded once. "Better," he said simply. "However, next time, don’t waste your first shot."

His gaze lingered on Samael for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before turning back to the rest of the class.

"The Mirror spell is a lesson in perception as much as it is in magic," he announced. "Your illusions are only as effective as your ability to deceive, and your counterattacks… only as successful as your ability to see through deception."

His sharp eyes swept across the students, settling finally on me.

Emma stood, brushing snow from her robes with a begrudging nod of acknowledgment. Her pride seemed momentarily wounded, but there was a glimmer of respect in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Samael merely offered a faint smile, accepting her silent concession without comment or gloating. His victory seemed hollow somehow, as though he had expected more of himself than merely succeeding on a second attempt.

The arena filled with murmurs as the students processed what they had witnessed—Samael Norwood, faltering before ultimately prevailing.

I found myself studying him, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed at his sides as though still channeling residual magic.

When his gaze suddenly locked with mine across the arena, I didn't look away.

"Impressed, little raven?" he called, his voice carrying just enough for me to hear without drawing attention. There was a challenge in his tone, a hint of something darker beneath the surface.

I lifted my chin slightly. "I've seen better," I replied, the words emerging with more bite than I intended. "Your first instinct was wrong."

"And yours is always correct?"

A sardonic smile played at the corners of his mouth, never quite reaching his eyes. "How convenient for you."

Instead of turning away, he began to move toward me.

My breath stilled.

Each step he took was deliberate, quiet on the snow-dusted floor, but somehow louder than anything else in the arena.

The world shrank to the sound of his approach—the muffled thud of his boots, the faint brush of his cloak against his legs, the way his eyes never left mine.

There was a heat in them now, restrained but unmistakable, like embers buried beneath ash.

He stopped just short of me—close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him again, his presence eclipsing the cold.

A tremor coiled low in my stomach, unwelcome and undeniable.

"You favored your right side," Samael said suddenly, his voice low, just above a whisper.

He didn’t look at me right away; his eyes tracked the ongoing duels like a predator feigning disinterest.

“Careful, little flame,” the Raven’s Echo breathed, curling through my thoughts like smoke. “This one cuts with a smile.”

"When you were blinking against Edric. It creates predictability."

His tone was clipped but laced with meaning—like the observation was more than just about spellwork.

I bristled at his critique, though a part of me recognized its accuracy. "You hesitated before each decision," I countered, keeping my voice neutral. "Hesitation creates vulnerability."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"Perhaps we're both works in progress."

I shifted my attention to the corner of the arena, where Vivienne worked with Zane Wolfe, her frustration evident in every rigid line of her body.

Her illusions were technically perfect but lacked conviction, splitting into four identical copies that moved with mechanical precision.

Zane, tall and lanky with a perpetual look of boredom, dispatched them easily. Each time he succeeded, Vivienne’s expression grew darker, her movements more forceful.

"Your girlfriend seems... displeased with the pairing arrangements," I observed, nodding toward Vivienne.

Samael followed my gaze, his expression unreadable.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Could've fooled me," I replied, keeping my tone carefully indifferent.

The exchange was brief, dismissive, yet charged with an undercurrent of unspoken desire.

Before I could respond, Professor Coldwell's voice cut through the tension.

"Pair up and begin practicing," he commanded. "I want to see every one of you master both Blink and Mirror before this session ends."

The arena erupted into controlled chaos as students scattered into their assigned pairs. Magical energy crackled through the air, turning the gentle snowfall into a glittering spectacle as flakes passed through beams of arcane light.

Blinks and illusions multiplied across the space—some impressive, others faltering with comical results.

A student from Emerald House materialized halfway inside a pillar, requiring Professor Coldwell's intervention to extract him with a long-suffering sigh.

I turned back to Edric, but my attention kept drifting to where Samael stood with Emma.

His movements were fluid, precise—a stark contrast to the fumbling attempts of many others.

When he cast his Mirror incantation, five perfect duplicates emerged, each bearing his unmistakable intensity, the illusion so convincing that even I found myself uncertain which was real.

Something raw and restless rose in me, straining toward him across the fractured air.

"Your attention seems divided," Edric observed quietly as he prepared to cast his own illusion. "Something about Norwood that fascinates you?"

"Nothing fascinating about arrogance," I muttered, forcing my focus back to our practice.

The words tasted sour, a lie meant more for myself than for Edric.

Edric chuckled under his breath, but there was a knowing glint in his eye.

"If you say so," he murmured, before lifting his hands. " Illusio. "

The air around him shimmered, bending light and shadow until three identical versions of Edric stood before me, each mirroring his easy confidence.

Unlike Samael’s sharp precision, Edric’s illusions moved with a subtle unpredictability, making it harder to distinguish the real from the false.

I steadied my breath, narrowing my focus.

This time, I refused to let distractions pull me away.

Raising my hand, I summoned a pulse of energy and let it fly—straight toward the figure on the left.

He shielded it instantly.

"Not bad," Edric conceded, shifting his weight as his figures moved in unison. "But can you do it twice?"

I smirked, already reaching for my next spell. "Without a doubt."