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Despite the strange softness in his voice, his words send a sliver of icy fear through me, which is instantly replaced by a sharp, sudden bitterness. Here he is, using my name, acting as if we share some deep connection. It feels like a cruel mockery of the distance he’s kept all this time.

“And what about Firelands? What grand opportunities wait for me there?” I spit.

Zanyar meets my gaze head-on with a steely resolve. “More than you think. If you have the courage to ask for it.”

Rage flares in my chest so suddenly that it is beyond my comprehension. Does he truly believe my circumstances were self-inflicted? A mark of my own cowardice and weakness?

Bitterness drips from my words as I spit, “Easy for you to say. You walked those halls adorned with reverence. A descendant of those who gifted Firelands to the Ahiras. Everyone worshiped you. Our experiences could not have been more different. You can’t possibly understand what it feels like to be…

You don’t know… " My voice falters, choked by memories of the past.

How can I reveal the depths of my isolation, the crushing loneliness that haunted me for so long, to this man who has barely acknowledged my existence until now? Whose circumstances have been the exact opposite of mine?

To my surprise, Zanyar’s voice is calm and devoid of judgment when he speaks. “Perhaps I don’t fully understand, but I’m not entirely ignorant, Arien. I’ve watched you for years.”

Again, he renders me speechless. I blink, then open my mouth to say something, anything , but before I can regain my voice, Zanyar continues, “It is different for you now than before. Your four rings at such a young age command respect. It gives you power. Control. Brutus holds no sway over your fate now that you can appeal directly to Ahira Emmengar. You have options.”

He hesitates, and a flicker of nervousness crosses his face, an emotion I never imagined he could feel.

Then, with what seems like a newfound resolve, he continues, “You can come to Aramis. We are pioneering new forging techniques and strengthening our metals with Elify. It was your idea, remember? In the alchemy hall. I have smiths ready to test it. You can oversee the entire operation if you join Aramis as a special envoy from Firelands.”

I’m too shocked to remind him that Firelands never sends sorceresses as envoys.

As if reading my mind, he says, “They will send you if Aramis requests someone with direct experience of mixing iron and Elify. I can vouch that you’re the one with the most experience in this matter.

Aravan is a large city, offering access to numerous amenities.

Madrisa is there with their own wealth of knowledge beyond sorcery.

Your life will be vastly different there. ”

I shake my head, still trying to catch up on what he’s offering me. “And yet, I can always be called back to Firelands at any time.”

“Not if you have power. The more power you have, the more control you will have over your destiny. We can… We can work together to get our next rings in the next three years. If you get your fifth ring before twenty-five, you will be the youngest since me and Ahira Emmengar. No one will doubt your talent. I will help you, and I want to get my sixth too. We can rule our destiny only by showing our worth, so no one can dare control our fate for us.”

I frown at his words. He says WE as if he and I are in this together. What is this? Why is he offering this to me? Why is he pretending that he and I are a team? What did he mean by saying he’s been watching me?

My thoughts are racing, but I can not focus on any single thing. I’m stunned and confused. I don’t understand what he means. Going to Aravan, the capital of Aramis, one of the most fascinating towns on the continent, and getting my fifth ring all seems like a dream. A life of safety and security…

NO! I’ve fought too hard, come too far, to let go of my dream now.

Shaking my head, I ask, “What do you want from me? Why are you offering me this?”

Zanyar stares at me, his shining green eyes radiating a softness that makes it hard to breathe. What is it that I see in their depths? Is that… affection? But how? Why? Where has this feeling, this expression, been this whole ti me?

Instead of answering, he gently takes my hand, his touch sending another wave of heat through me.

He cradles it, his thumb tracing the delicate lines of my palm as he murmurs a healing spell.

Immediately, the numerous small cuts from my frantic search over the rough arena floor begin to knit together, the sting fading into a dull throb, then vanishing entirely.

My cheeks flush, a warmth I’ve always associated with him blooming across my skin. But this time, it is deeper, more profound than just a physical reaction I’ve always had in his vicinity.

It is a response to this quiet moment, to the unexpected tenderness of his touch, to the unspoken emotion in his gaze. And me… I find myself completely adrift.

I don’t know how to react to this unsettling new current between us. I am not even sure if I like it or if I even want to acknowledge it, much less accept it. It is a frightening, bizarre, but alluring unfamiliarity, and all I can do is sit still, watching my hand sitting gently in his.

He holds the back of my hand in his palm for a long moment after his healing. Then, he releases my hand and rises, his movements fluid and graceful. “I will remain in the trials long enough for you to make your decision.”

And with that, he turns his back on me and strides away.