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“Even the Sage assigned to me, one who is supposed to be a father figure, essentially wanted to launch me into the nearest volcano.” I chuckle bitterly.

“He was noble-born and an eight-ringed, legendary Ahira. The first time we met, I was so nervous that I was vibrating out of my skin. Couldn’t even string two words together.

He took one look at me, decided I was a hopeless case, and promptly forgot I existed.

I managed to scrape through my first year by some miracle.

My studies improved over the years, but the social scene…

not so much. I tried to make friends, but everyone had already decided I was the gray girl who smelled like old clothes.

It didn’t help that they were… " My voice trails off.

“Nobles.” Darian finishes my sentence.

I nod, meeting his gaze. “They wouldn’t be caught dead associating with a common-born orphan.

To them, I was beneath their attention. Firelands may preach meritocracy, but bloodlines still hold sway among the privileged.

The older girls were kind but too senior to be friends with me, and for three years after I arrived, no other girls joined the Academy. ”

The familiar sting of rejection makes me stop. I hadn’t meant to expose my sad history to him like this, but Darian, of course, presses on relentlessly as if my lonely life is the most fascinating topic in the entire world. “How about after the Academy?”

I shrug, trying to feign indifference. “Firelands dictates our path, based on our perceived talents and the whims of our Sages. For a sorceress, the opportunities are limited. Marriage to influential families is one option. But most affluent families only want noble bloodlines. Or common-borns who come from respectable families. An orphan? Unthinkable.”

“And for others, what opportunities are available?” he asks, his brow furrowed with genuine curiosity .

I let my back rest against the cool stone of the wall. He pivots toward me, one shoulder still casually propped against the same surface, as he crosses one leg over the other. The space between us narrows, and his nearness is a palpable thing, but surprisingly, I feel no unease.

“Limited options, depending on perceived skills. The most gifted become experimenters, alchemists, bookkeepers, or assistants. The rest perform mundane administrative tasks.” A bitter laugh escapes me.

“My Sage claimed I had a knack for bookkeeping, of all things, and would be well-suited for the alchemy group to manage the records.” I roll my eyes.

“Naturally, I was the sole sorceress among the alchemists.”

Darian snorts. “What a numbskull. I’m guessing you weren’t thrilled with that prospect?”

I shake my head. “By then, becoming a Martyshyar was my only focus. The key was earning my fourth ring faster than anyone my age, which granted a wish before the council, so I didn’t dispute. In Fire Temple, I had access to everything—books, experiments, a wealth of knowledge.”

“A cunning plan. No wonder you were eager to escape. Ahiras aren’t exactly renowned for their warmth and camaraderie, and isolation… it can be a soul-crushing burden.”

I nod, but my eyes search his curiously. He actually seems to understand. Like, truly understand. It isn’t just polite nodding, and that’s sad, dear sympathy. Darian is talking with a depth that makes me want to ask about his past… and also spill all my deepest secrets.

Suddenly, I am dying to know his story, to understand how those soulful eyes and charming face could possibly have learned to recognize the shadows of isolation. But he has the I’m-not-ready-to-unpack-my-emotional-history look that I know all too well.

Instead, I pivot toward him, too, with my shoulder against the wall, and continue my unexpected confession sprint.

“But it wasn’t just about escaping the four walls of my room.

I wanted to see the world beyond those old books and gossiping sorcerers.

I wanted to be more than just a forgotten alchemist .

I wanted to be strong, to prove myself, to make a difference, to find a place where I truly belonged. ”

I want to finish by saying, “ And maybe, just maybe, to find a group of friends who don’t think I am weak and worthless,” but I stop myself as a wave of self-consciousness consumes me so suddenly.

Arien. What are you doing?

I’m spilling my deepest desires and frustrations to a stranger I met a mere ten days ago.

Heat creeps into my cheeks as I stare at my empty tankard.

It is a silent accomplice to my uncharacteristic openness.

Had I really drained the entire thing? No wonder I’m feeling lightheaded and overly talkative.

A wave of dizziness hits me, and I can’t help but cringe inwardly.

Did I just make a complete fool of myself?

But Darian seems unfazed by my sudden apprehension.

He considers my words with a thoughtful nod and a steady gaze.

“It’s a primal yearning. This desire for adventure and recognition, for a place to escape.

Firelands has failed to see the fire that burns inside you.

They’ve ignored your talents, discarding you against all good sense.

But loyalty is a two-way road. And you owe nothing to those who refuse to see your worth.

And, despite all that, you were brave enough, wise enough, strong enough to walk away from it all.

You may not acknowledge it even to yourself, but you must know your own value deep inside.

That’s why you dared to choose a different path.

Defy expectations. To live the life that you wanted.

That , Arien, is a rare and remarkable feat.

” His gaze holds mine, filled with a sincerity that fills my heart in a gentle wave.

“And for that, I respect you more than most people I know. More than… myself.”

I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump forming in my throat. Damn this potent ale and the unexpected personality it has unleashed in me.

And Darian… Gods, he is beautiful. Not just in his features but in the way he talks to me, the way he understands the hidden emotions I’d kept buried for so long.

Darian holds my gaze and an unfamiliar ache blooms in my chest. I search his face, tracing the lines etched by laughter and hardship with my eyes.

I am surprised by a fierce urge to connect with this wild, captivating man I barely even know, but before I can think more about it, Bahador and Faelas walk toward us .

“And friends,” Darian says, his gaze warm as he looks at them, “are a treasure beyond measure. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself, with my shame, without these two rogues by my side.”

There is no time for me to ask what he means by his shame . Bahador, holding two tankards, thrusts one into my hand. “By the Nine, your cup looks as lonely as a widow in winter.”

I eye the tankard warily. “I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”

Bahador scoffs. “Nonsense! The night is young, and as a newfound Izadeonian ally, you’re obligated to drink with us.”

“Bahador, don’t pressure her,” Faelas says with a sigh.

“Just making sure she meets the Izadeonian measures, old friend. We’re still evaluating our little Firelands recruit.”

Faelas rolls his eyes, but Darian laughs heartily and empties his tankard in one swift gulp.

As the night deepens, conversation flows with surprising ease.

True to his word, Bahador keeps my tankard full, and despite my initial reluctance, I find myself sipping the ale, its warmth chasing away my usual solitude.

Hours slip by like moments as I listen, captivated by their tales of childhood adventures, the grim realities of battling Daevas, their altered monsters, and exhilarating past adventures.

While Faelas and Bahador occasionally mingle with Martyshgards to collect information, Darian remains a steady presence by my side.

His presence is a silent promise of protection that allows me to unwind for once and let myself enjoy the moment.

I have a strange but deep trust that if I become too lightheaded, he will see me safe to my quarters.

It’s an unusual trust to have about someone I met just recently, especially for someone as cautious as I am. But I do, nevertheless.

As the night goes on, a young Martyshgard picks up a lute and fills the room with melodies spanning from joyful jigs to longing ballads. The warmth of the ale spreads through me like a comforting blanket, chasing away the old chills.

But it’s not just the bliss of the ale or the fire in the hearth that brings me warmth; a different kind of warmth blossoms in my chest as I listen to the soulful melodies and enjoy the company of my newfound allies.

In this moment, surrounded by laughter, music, and a sense of peace, I realize that this might be the best night of my life.