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“No…”

I rummage through my memory, desperately searching for some evidence that she is lying. But there’s nothing.

Darian, who was usually open about everything else, was always strangely silent about his family. The subtle dynamics between him and Faelas and Bahador—how they sometimes deferred to him, almost instinctively, as if recognizing a higher authority—start to make a sickening kind of sense.

“He hates the Dartheons,” I say weakly, in a last-ditch effort to cling to my convenient illusion.

“And with good reason. Dartheons are corrupt and unfit to rule. But Darian Dartheon seems different. He’s willing to risk everything to save his homeland, even if it comes with deception and betrayal.”

A sharp ache pierces my chest. I clench my fists, trying to control the tremor that threatens to consume me, but my hands betray me, shaking uncontrollably.

“It can’t be true,” I murmur, more to myself than to her.

Martyshbod Lirael’s smile is gone, replaced by a somber, almost pitying expression. “It is, Arien.” Her voice is heavy as if she is aware of the devastation she knows she’s inflicting.

“Then… why are they here? If not to join Martysh…”

“To learn how to wield the power of the Star’s fragments. ”

“But why?” I press, even though the answer, the horrifying, inevitable answer, is already forming in my mind.

Lirael sighs. “Because they possess one. The earth fragment.”

Silence descends on the room as the truth, with all its bitterness, finally sinks in. Betrayal, confusion, and hurt fill me in waves.

Darian, my closest friend, the man who has touched me in a way that no one ever has, the man I have feelings for, has been deceiving me all along. Memories flash through my mind: his smile, his laughter, his touch, his words. Each one was a lie. Each one was a piece of a cruel deception.

The warmth I’d felt, the connection I’d believed in… all of it was false. A cold, hollow emptiness spreads through me, starting in my chest and radiating outward, numbing me and freezing me from the inside out.

Darian. High Lord Demar Dartheon’s son? The heir to Izadeon? Why would he lie to me?

But the answer is already there. They needed my sorcery to break into Martyshyar’s wing. I’d foolishly let my guard down, thinking I was part of a group finally, but I was still that unwanted girl, the outcast, the orphan, the child waiting in the shadows for a father who never wanted her…

There is a hollow, aching void where my heart used to be. Martysh, the trials, the Star… none of it matters anymore. All I want is to be alone. To crawl back into the darkness of my childhood closet in Fire Temple, where I used to hide when I was afraid, where the outside world couldn’t reach me.

I’m drowning. Overwhelmed. The day’s relentless barrage of events is all too much. My spirit, battered and bruised, finally breaks.

“I need to rest,” I whisper weakly. “I shall take my leave.”

“You do need rest,” Lirael says. “But I brought you here to tell you the whole truth. The final trial will come soon, and I want you to make the best decision for yourself, Arien. For that, you need to know the truth more than you need to rest.”

I look up at her with a weary, distrustful gaze. Is she just weaving another web of lies, like Zanyar, Darian, Faelas, and Bahador?

“We have a theory,” Lirael says. “A speculation as to why I, alone, after all these years, have been able to wield the fragment’s power.”

She walks until she is directly in front of me, and I rise instinctively, my body reacting to the unspoken command in her posture. Her hand slowly raises, and my gaze is drawn to the movement as she places her palm against her chest, directly over her heart.

A soft, golden light begins to emanate from within her, seeming to pulse with a life of its own.

It bathes her features in an ethereal glow, making her appear almost divine.

As she lowers her hand, the light fades, but the air remains subtly warmer, charged with a lingering heat. Her palm opens, and I gasp.

There, resting on her skin, is a small piece of rock. It is as if she simply reached into her own heart and plucked it out. The shock of the past hour, the emotional devastation, it all fades momentarily, replaced by a stunned disbelief.

The object itself is underwhelming. A simple gray stone shaped like a perfect four-winged diamond.

This ordinary, unassuming piece of rock is the legendary fragment?

The object of centuries of searching and Martysh’s very existence?

It appears to be any ordinary rock, not one that supposedly holds the power to bend life itself.

My gaze flickers between the fragment and Lirael’s eyes, searching for some explanation. Instead, she offers her open palm as a silent invitation.

“Take it.” Her voice is a soft command.

I flinch back, my gaze shooting up to hers in surprise. “What? Why?”

“I told you. We have a theory,” she repeats. “And I need to test it.”

“What theory?” I demand, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to control it.

“Touch the fragment, Arien. And we will both know the answer.” Her voice is patient but firm.

Uncertainty wars with an overwhelming curiosity. How many people in the history of the world have been offered the opportunity to touch an object that can command the life element? The thought is irresistible.

I extend my hand until it is hovering slightly above the fragment. Even from this distance, I can feel the gentle heat radiating upward. It feels strangely alive. Lirael’s encouraging gaze urges me forward, and I close the gap.

As soon as my fingers close around the rough surface of the rock, a wave of heat explodes through me, racing from my hand, up my arm, flooding my chest, and engulfing my entire being. It’s like touching the sun itself.

Power, raw and untamed, sings through my veins. A gasp escapes me, a sound of pure, stunned wonder, and I stumble back a step as Lirael’s face breaks into a look of absolute triumph.

The warmth intensifies with an almost searing fervor, sinking deep beyond my flesh and settling into my bones. It’s an intoxicating heat, a molten core igniting within me, spreading like wildfire through every vein, every nerve ending.

Instinctively, my hand clenches around the stone, drawing it tighter against my chest. There’s a strange yielding, a subtle give, and with a gentle, almost surreal pressure, it doesn’t just rest against me; it sinks , phasing painlessly, beneath my skin as if merging with my own essence, becoming a part of me I never knew was missing.

Instantly, I feel… complete .

It’s as if all the fractured pieces of my past, all the gnawing emptiness, and silent aches, are not just mended but remade, forged anew into something powerful and unbreakable.

A wave of pure power, utterly unlike anything conceivable in mortal experience, crashes over and through me. It’s erupting in my core, an intoxicating force beyond any earthly measure, exhilarating and terrifying in its boundless scope.

I feel invincible, as though the very concept of weakness is a distant, irrelevant memory. I can feel the subtle pulse of the earth beneath me, the whisper of distant soldiers, the silent thoughts of lesser creatures.

I know , with a certainty that resonates in the newly forged core of my being, that I can bend the world to my will.

If I desire the stars to fall, they will listen.

If I wish mountains to crumble, the earth will obey.

The possibilities stretch before me, limitless and dazzling, an endless horizon of untamed potential .

A primal and utterly consuming hunger to wield this newfound power grips me, coiling in my gut like a serpent awakened.

It’s more than a desire; it’s a need, an exhilarating craving to unleash it, to feel its raw current flow through me and reshape the world in my image, just to witness the spectacle of what I can become.

Images flash through my mind like lightning strikes: I see myself standing before legions, their wills entirely my own, their eyes reflecting only my glory. I feel the very fabric of life, pliant and yielding, ready to be rewoven to my grand design, new forms emerging at my command.

A sneer twists my lips. No one will ever underestimate me again.

No one will dare to deceive or betray me again.

I can return to Myrielfort and confront the man who had so cruelly abandoned me.

With this power, I can storm his castle, defeat his guards, and revel in the chaos as he and his pathetic, simpering family watch their world, their legacy, their everything, turn to ash and ruin at my feet…

“Arien.”

Lirael’s voice cuts through the intoxicating haze like a jarring intrusion. I blink, forcing myself to focus and return to the present. She’s watching me with an intense gaze. Her hand is outstretched toward me, and a silent demand is dancing in her eyes.

SHE WANTS ME TO RETURN IT?

Does this wench truly think I would surrender this newfound power?! The mere thought sparks a fierce, visceral hatred that I have never felt before. Does this lowly woman, this worthless dimwit, actually believe I’d willingly surrender this power? The audacity of it is breathtaking.

But her gaze doesn’t waver. She’s deadly serious. A wave of hot and potent fury washes over me. With this power, I can crush her. Shatter her bones, one by one, and erase that smugness off of her face. My fingers twitch with an all-consuming yearning to do just that and worse.

“You’re still in the competition,” Lirael says calmly. “With that band on your wrist, you can’t harm me or any Martysh member. And if you rip it off, you’d black out instantly. And I would simply retrieve the fragment.”

Her calmness, her certainty, fuels the fire of my rage, but it also forces a cold, calculating clarity.

She’s right.

A faint echo of self-preservation cuts through my rage.

If I ran, she would certainly try to stop me, forcing me to use my sorcery on her.

And gods, how I yearn to unleash it. I can feel the power thrumming through my veins, my fingers tingling with the urge to wield this strength. It is a waste to keep it dormant.

But escape is impossible. She must have anticipated my reaction. The doors are undoubtedly guarded. Any attempt to use force against her would be self-destructive. I’d lose the trial. And my senses with it.

I will lose access to this power. The best thing that has ever happened to me.

And that is unacceptable. This feeling of finally, finally, having the power to shape my own destiny, to rule over those who underestimated me, after a lifetime of powerlessness—I won’t give it up. Not now. Not ever.

A cold and ruthless plan forms in my mind.

Play the long game .

I will bide my time. Learn. Become stronger. And then… then Lirael will pay. I will make her pay. I can secretly kill her and steal the fragment from her useless body. But for that, I need to stay in Jahanwatch. I can’t bring myself to fall unconscious and get kicked out of this place.

I meet Lirael’s gaze, letting her see the hatred burning in my eyes.

This isn’t over. This is just the beginning.

With a deep, shuddering breath, I place my hand on my chest, drawing the warmth back to the surface, feeling it pool in my palm. Lirael snatches the fragment back immediately, and the instant it leaves my hand, the world lurches.

A bone-deep chill, the complete opposite of the power I just held, seeps into me, and my knees buckle.

The room shrinks, closing in and suffocating me.

Dark fingers tighten around my lungs, squeezing the breath from me.

My vision blurs and black spots dance at the edges, and I throw up the little food that I ate not long ago.

My whole body is shaking, urging me to heave more, but there’s no food or water in my body. So I remain on all fours, gasping and shaking—utterly humiliated.

It takes a long time for my body to stop trembling. Slowly, I push myself up with a groan, wiping my mouth and sweat clinging to my skin.

Lirael helps me back to the chair with a surprisingly gentle touch and offers me a glass of water. My mind swirls in a chaotic mess of dark thoughts as I sip, recalling the power I once held, the rage that consumed me.

Those feelings weren’t just the fragment’s influence. They were my own—my suppressed anger, my resentment, my hatred. I had all of that inside me, and it was all unleashed. The realization is terrifying. I lower my gaze, unable to meet her eyes, as shame burns in my throat.

Lirael’s voice, surprisingly kind and reassuring, breaks the heavy silence.

“The ninth element. Some say it’s the soul.

Ahiras believe it’s sorcery. But perhaps those two are two sides of the same coin.

Everyone possesses both. In most, sorcery lies dormant while the soul takes over.

In a few, it’s strong enough to be wielded.

There’s a relationship between sorcerous power and emotional capacity.

The stronger the sorcerer, the less emotional they tend to be.

Logic and reason prevail over kindness. You see it in Firelands, and even more starkly among the sorcerous Daevas.

By some unknown sorcery, they have amplified their powers through alteration, sacrificing compassion and empathy, becoming ruthless, driven solely by power.

” She pauses. “Don’t be ashamed of what you felt. It was just a glimpse, a warning.”

She is consoling me after I wanted to hurt her just moments before. I look up at her. “How… how do you control it?”

A sad smile touches her lips. “It’s a constant battle.

It took me six years to level my head and get used to its effect.

It’s about self-preservation, ultimately.

And we have… certain ways to ensure that.

That’s why, Arien, only Martysh can be trusted with the remaining fragments.

Imagine that power in the hands of an Ahira, someone far stronger than you and far more ruthless… "

Shivers crawl down my body. She doesn’t need to elaborate. The destruction and chaos a Firelander could wreak with that kind of power would be unimaginable—worse than the Daevas .

“Your purpose, if you choose to accept it, will be to find those fragments and prevent them from falling into the wrong hands. It was a choice I wanted to offer you to choose willingly.”

She smiles, a genuine and almost hopeful smile this time. “You’re not asking why you can wield the power when so many others have failed.”

I don’t need to. The answer is clear. The reason she tracked Zanyar and me, why Emmengar wanted me out of Martysh’s grasp, the reason three who could wield the fragment’s power were Jiva, Lirael, and me—it’s the one thing that connects us, the one thing that sets us apart.

We’re sorceresses.