Page 51

Ashes in Her wake

T he snow had thickened overnight, falling in slow, heavy flakes that turned the castle grounds into a pale dream.

My breath curled in front of me as I tugged my scarf higher, the wool scratchy against my cheek.

Every step from the dorms to the Drakestone Arena felt heavier in the biting cold, boots crunching over a layer of untouched snow.

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, just a pale smear behind clouds, casting everything in a soft, bluish glow.

A few students were ahead of me, bundled in cloaks and talking quietly, their voices muffled by the snowfall.

Most of them trudged toward the arena with the same sluggishness I felt—Magical Combat class wasn’t something you approached lightly, especially not in the middle of a brutal Mystralian winter.

The Drakestone Arena loomed ahead, its towering stone pillars frosted with snow and streaked with ice. Its open roof let the sky in, and with it, the cold.

I pulled my robe tighter around me as I stepped through the arched entryway, the faint hum of lingering enchantments vibrating faintly beneath my feet as I crossed into the training grounds.

Inside, the space was already coming alive.

Lines of runes glowed dimly around the outer ring of the stone platform, flickering with contained energy.

Students shuffled across the circular field, stretching limbs and shaking out nerves.

The faint smell of charred stone from past lessons still clung to the air.

I spotted Vivienne immediately, already rolling her shoulders in preparation, hair pulled back and her eyes locked on nothing in particular. She carried herself like she was already halfway in battle.

Edric stood nearby, arms crossed, quietly watching the others. I caught Samael leaning casually against one of the inner columns, looking as if he hadn’t noticed the temperature at all. His eyes slid toward me for a moment unreadable, before a hint of a smile curled at his lips.

I tried not to shiver. The cold was brutal today, seeping through every layer. My fingers ached. It was hard to imagine we'd be doing anything today that required dexterity, let alone channeling raw magic.

Professor Coldwell stepped onto the platform with the same crisp posture and meticulous precision he always carried. Snow had already begun to gather on the shoulders of his deep navy robes, but he made no move to brush it off.

"Good morning," he said, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "I hope you’ve come prepared."

He let that hang in the air for a moment, scanning us with that hawk-like gaze. No one responded.

"In the coming weeks, you’ll be tested in ways beyond traditional duels," he continued. "It is not enough to cast powerfully. You must learn to move—gracefully, efficiently. You must fight as though the ground beneath you is not always a given."

I frowned slightly. That didn’t sound like any of the standard drills we’d done before.

"A mage in motion is far more difficult to pin down.

Today, you will learn the foundation for one such maneuver: the aerial jump.

A suspended platform of air conjured beneath your feet—just long enough for you to leap again.

" A murmur rippled through the group. Aerial casting?

That was advanced. Difficult to stabilize, even under perfect conditions—let alone on a morning like this.

Coldwell raised a hand. With a sharp twist of his fingers drew a rune in the air, a platform of shimmering, translucent energy formed midair in front of him. He stepped up onto it in a single, effortless motion. It held. His boots didn’t so much as wobble.

"And once airborne," he said, "you will cast Ignis Vire . Fire, from the air. Control, momentum, and timing." He dropped back to the stone below. "Line up."

My stomach fluttered as I moved toward the queue forming on the left side of the arena.

Ignis Vire was one of the few offensive incantations I’d learned, but casting it from a midair position was a different challenge entirely.

That level of control—it was hard enough to stabilize the flame when your feet were on solid ground.

I watched Vivienne stretch out her fingers, already itching for her turn. Edric looked thoughtful, his brows slightly furrowed. Samael hadn’t moved from his position, but I could feel the quiet anticipation radiating from him like heat beneath ice.

I flexed my hands. Feeling the subtle hum of magic just beneath the skin, the familiar tingle that ran up my arms when I concentrated. I hadn’t expected a challenge like this today—but part of me welcomed it. The stillness of winter had seeped too far into me lately. I needed to move. To burn.

I didn’t want to be the first to try, but I found myself stepping forward before anyone else did.

The arena was silent. Snowflakes drifted through the open roof, catching in my hair, melting against my cheeks.

I closed my eyes and focused on the pressure in my core.

The gathering warmth of magic called up from within, shaped by will and instinct.

I flared it outward, drawing the rune with precision—there.

A breath. A pulse.

A platform of air took form, pale and barely visible, like frost over glass.

I jumped. The first leap was low, just enough to test the hold. The platform caught my foot—wobbled—but held. From there I pushed upward, harder, higher, the frigid air tearing at my robes as I launched toward the open sky. For a fleeting moment, I hovered, suspended in the brittle blue of winter.

I brought my hands forward, fingers crackling with concentrated energy. Focused.

" Ignis Vire! "

The fire burst from my palms in a brilliant, searing arc, cutting through the snowfall like a comet. It collided with the far wall in a hiss of steam and light, leaving a blackened scorch mark against the stone.

I dropped back down, landing hard but steady, my boots skidding slightly across the icy surface. My heart thundered in my chest, a wild drumbeat of exhilaration and pride.

From across the ring, Professor Coldwell gave a single nod. "Good," he said, voice even. "Next."

One by one, my classmates attempted the exercise. Vivienne moved with the lethal grace I'd come to expect from her; her platform materializing beneath her boots with a whisper of magic.

She launched higher than I had, her flame arcing perfectly, leaving the wall smoking in a near-perfect line. As she landed, she tossed her hair back with a satisfied flick, her smirk cutting sharper than any spell.

Edric was methodical, his movements crisp and controlled. His platform was steady, solid, as if he had been practicing this technique for years. When he cast, the flame that burst forth was measured, his control so exact it drew an approving murmur even from the usually aloof Coldwell.

Then came Samael.

The arena seemed to hold its breath as he stepped forward.

Snowflakes drifted lazily around him, but none dared land on his shoulders.

He didn't test the platform first—he simply sketched the rune midair with a flick of his wrist and leapt.

His body cut through the air like an arrow loosed from a bow.

The platform beneath his boots wasn't the faint shimmer we conjured—it blazed silver-blue, solid and searing, humming with energy that seemed barely contained.

" Ignis Vire, " he intoned, so softly I barely heard it.

The flame that erupted from his hands wasn't the familiar orange-red—it burned white-hot at the center, edged in deep cobalt, so bright it seared against the falling snow. When it struck the wall, a sound like shattering stone rang out, and a web of fractures splintered across the ancient rock.

A collective gasp rippled through the students.

Professor Coldwell’s eyebrows lifted—only a fraction, but in a man like him, it was as good as a full gasp of shock.

"Control, Mr. Norwood," Coldwell said, his tone tight. "Power without control is merely a liability."

Samael landed with the poise of a predator, his cloak snapping behind him. He gave a curt nod, acknowledging the rebuke without apology.

The class continued, students taking their turns with varying degrees of success.

Zane nearly lost his footing, his fire sputtering in a pitiful arc that didn’t even reach the target wall.

Marcel's platform collapsed under him before he could even cast, dropping him into an ungraceful sprawl that sent a wave of muffled laughter through the ranks.

By the time we’d all cycled through, the arena wall was a patchwork of blackened scorch marks, and the air was thick with the scent of smoke and singed stone.

The last of the students stumbled back into line, breath misting in ragged puffs.

Professor Coldwell surveyed us all with a gaze as cold and cutting as the wind. "Enough drills," he said, voice slicing through the gathered students. "It’s time you demonstrate what you’ve retained. Offensive and defensive spells. Movement. Timing. Composure."

A low murmur passed through the class.

"I want two volunteers," Coldwell continued. "A live duel—no weapons, no fatal intent. Just control."

Before the hush could deepen, a familiar voice rang out, sharp and eager.

"I volunteer," Vivienne said, stepping forward with the liquid confidence of a serpent. Her silver-streaked braid shifted with her movement, gleaming in the half-light. Her mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile as she turned her gaze on me.

"And Elvana will join me," she added sweetly. "Isn’t that right, Elvana?"

My name cracked through the arena like a whip. Heads swiveled. Even the drifting snow seemed to pause mid air.

I hesitated—only for a heartbeat—but it was enough.

Vivienne's grin sharpened.

Across the ring, Samael tensed. His posture changed subtly, a predator scenting danger. His dark eyes locked onto mine, unreadable but burning with intensity.