Schemel Sorel was no stranger to failure. More than anyone, she had grown tired of it. From her earliest years, she was the last to be picked for team matches on the training ground, the lowest scorer on every test. Her peers mocked her incessantly, constantly comparing her to someone far superior. The sting was sharper because of who her teachers invoked in every reprimand—the Great Leveller, her grandfather, Thorel Sorel.

  “You are more than a disgrace to your grandfather’s legacy,” her teachers would say. Thorel himself called her an embarrassment, a waste of the education he had provided. While her sisters travelled abroad, she remained behind, hours lost in efforts to catch up, to prove herself.

  Love offered no reprieve. She spent years pining after a boy who barely noticed her. Notes went unread, gifts unkept, invitations ignored. She confessed her feelings, and for a fleeting moment, something more bloomed in secret. That was when she first understood the ache of a broken heart.

  Regis had noticed his son’s interest in Schemel but preferred a more talented match. The final choice, of course, was Regilon’s. Would he choose Schemel, the woman he had known intimately in secret, or Genevie, the choice everyone else approved of? When the decision was made, Regilon privately instructed Schemel to keep their past hidden. She still loved him, but she would not be a fool.

  When Genevie killed Regis and betrayed Regilon, Schemel felt a grim satisfaction, though it brought her no victory.

  Years later, university brought new prospects, someone different from all she knew—Pariston. He showed her off to his community, but they rejected her as well. She ended things, protecting herself from further pain, only to discover she was pregnant.

  Pillard removed the child, severing Schemel’s last connection, sending her back alone, unloved, and defeated. She had lost dignity, respect, authority, and her magic. She had lost countless battles—but she would not lose the war.

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  “Renna.” A boot stomped the ground in salute. “You have a call from Ms. Erisa Zeal.”

  The officer had come from the House of Sentry. Staff and natives alike kept their distance as Schemel remained in the grass. One wrong step could crack the astaphite, unleashing a violent explosion. She warned him against approaching. Her war had begun.

  “Put her on,” Schemel said.

  “Schemel,” Erisa called. Agony and sobs rang out from multiple people. “I have your daughter with me. I know what you’re trying to do, and if you don’t stop, I’ll shoot her. This is not a test. My pistol is pressed against her head.”

  “Mommy,” Ashey’s voice trembled. “Please come for me. Grandma’s hurt, and… please, do what she wants.”

  “Isn’t Jenne with you?” Schemel asked. “I told you not to let him out of your sight.”

  “I let him go,” Ashey admitted.

  Schemel snorted, bowing her head but unable to stop herself from smiling. “Ashey,” she said softly, “I can’t save you.”

  “Mommy—”

  “Schemel!” Erisa yelled.

  “Hang up,” Schemel ordered, and the officer complied. She steadied herself, turning to the officer behind her. “Let Jay find Jenne.”

  “Renna,” the officer said. “Jay is unavailable.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He’s been offline since your return from the Midder-Lands. No one knows where he is.”

  The stones scattered across the grass trembled, glowing brighter with each passing second. They cracked, fizzled, and scattered into the air. She could not number them precisely, but estimated about six hundred pieces in total. Each stone pulsed open, condensing and taking shape. Three rings hovered over her hands, spinning at ferocious speeds as ascension particles in the air coalesced into glowing amber rings around Schemel.

  Centuries to come, many would believe this part of history to be false. Night faded to dusk; dusk brightened into afternoon; afternoon became noon. This was no illusion, no time-travel trick. Schemel had walked the sun backward, from nighttime to midday.

  A bright blue sky stretched above, dotted with silvery-white clouds. The nation below froze in terror. Schemel felt her grandfather’s fingers grasp her hair, forcing her gaze upward to the blazing sun. She released the spell.

  The yellow beam expanded to the size of a small islands, it tore through the clouds and slammed down on the Midder-Lands. Mountains fractured, rivers boiled, astaphite deposits detonated. Pariston, Calimer, Xenerisis—at the end of the day, they were no more than men beneath the sun.

  Schemel collapsed to the ground, losing control of the sun. Slowly, it travelled back across the sky, restoring order. As quickly as day had come, night returned.