The halls of Arclight never let you forget where you were.

  Every step carried you past floating crystal lamps that pulsed in rhythm with the Academy’s wards. The air smelled faintly of ozone, charged by the leyline woven beneath the campus. Runes etched into the floor and walls shifted subtly as students passed—adjusting schedules, guiding the flow of traffic, humming like quiet machinery beneath the skin of the school.

  It was beautiful. It was intimidating. It was a constant reminder: this place wasn’t built for people like me.

  My shoes clicked against stone polished so bright I could see my reflection in the floor. Students streamed around me, uniforms sharp, voices bright. Nobles with crests embroidered into their jackets. Merchant heirs with rune-pens that cost more than Gran’s entire salary. Even the scholarship students—my peers in theory—seemed to walk with straighter backs, their confidence earned by brilliance I wasn’t sure I had.

  I tried to breathe steadily. Tried to blend in. Tried not to look like the provincial tagalong who’d slipped in through the cracks.

  By the time I reached the sparring pavilion, my stomach was already in knots.

  The pavilion was one of the oldest buildings on campus, a great open structure of stone and mana-hardened wood, its arched ceiling supported by carved pillars etched with layered protective wards. Enchanted glass panels let sunlight spill down in pale shafts, and training rings were set into the floor at regular intervals, each one faintly glowing with binding runes. This was where Arclight trained bodies as well as minds—where theory was supposed to become instinct.

  Today was combat fundamentals.

  Aura application.

  Along the edge of the pavilion, instructors had laid out the equipment for the session. Most of it was familiar—training weights, impact posts, resonance markers—but what caught my eye were the slim metal bands resting on velvet-lined trays.

  Articulated Aura Cores.

  They were small, almost understated. Bracelets, really—thin lattices of rune-etched alloy designed to sit against the wrist or forearm. Each one hummed faintly, not with power, but with potential, like something holding its breath.

  “Before we begin,” the instructor said, rapping his knuckles once against the railing, “and before a few of you decide you’re descendants of battlefield legends rather than students with soft bones and poor judgment, we are going to review safety.”

  A ripple of restrained laughter moved through the pavilion.

  He let it die on its own.

  “Now,” he continued, pacing slowly, “those of you without an Aura Core—why are you still capable of expressing Aura at all?”

  A hand shot up. Another voice answered before it could be called on.

  “Because Aura can be manifested without a Core,” the student said. “At least partially.”

  “Correct,” the instructor replied. “Aura is the only Expression the body can produce directly. It does not require full core conversion. It does not require shaping. It answers posture, breath, and intent.”

  He gestured toward the trays of articulated bands. “That does not make it safe or easy to use.”

  He picked one up, letting the runes catch the light.

  “You are practicing this because most of you do not yet possess a Core. And when you do, the majority of you will establish an Aura core, which will likely be your first—and possibly only—Expression. This is not a failing. Aura offers clear benefits to health and physical capability, from combat to labor. It is efficient. It is practical. It is forgiving—more forgiving than the other Expressions.”

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  His eyes sharpened.

  “It is also the fastest way to injure yourself if you treat it like bravado or entertainment instead of discipline.”

  He set the band back down. “Articulated Aura Cores are tools for learning. They do not create power. They do not increase your mana capacity. They do not accelerate Expression development, change rates, or growth potential.”

  A deliberate pause.

  “Articulated Aura Cores exist to impose limits.”

  He looked out over the class. “They match your Aura output to what your body can survive. They help regulate flow, stabilize conversion, and prevent your casting aids from amplifying mistakes.”

  His tone hardened. “If you attempt to overpower them, they will disengage. If you ignore their warnings, you will be removed from the pavilion—ideally conscious.”

  A few students shifted.

  “So,” he concluded, hands clasped behind his back, “use them for what they are meant for. Respect the limits. Learn from the sensation and the restraint. Aura is the most natural Expression we possess because it aligns with instinct—but instinct without discipline is how people get hurt. Remember: surviving today is a prerequisite for forming a Core tomorrow.”

  He stepped aside and nodded toward the rings.

  “Safety first. Then skill.”

  Class became an hour of trying to use something that was supposed to feel like part of me, but didn’t. When it ended, I unclasped the articulated core and placed it back on the tray, my fingers lingering longer than necessary. Without it, my mana felt dull and unsteady again, like a limb that had fallen asleep.

  I kept my head down as we filed out.

  I didn’t want anyone to see the frustration on my face.

  Clutching my satchel, I slipped away toward the washrooms tucked behind the pavilion. They were quieter there—less crowded than the ones near the main halls. I just wanted a minute to wash my face, breathe, and remind myself I could get through another day.

  The room was empty when I entered, sunlight filtering through high, rune-etched windows. Water trickled faintly in the basins. I set my satchel down, splashed cold water on my face, and exhaled.

  The door creaked open.

  Laughter followed.

  I froze.

  Leira Veylan’s reflection appeared in the mirror behind me—all sleek black hair, flawless uniform, and a smile sharpened to a knife. Two of her shadows trailed close: Alessa, who always giggled at the right moment, and Brin, who had the build of someone who enjoyed making people move out of her way.

  “Well,” Leira said, her voice sweet as honey. “If it isn’t our scholarship saint.”

  I straightened too fast, water dripping from my chin. “I was just leaving.”

  Leira moved first, stepping casually between me and the door. Her friends fanned out, hemming me in.

  “You’ve been walking with your head higher lately,” she mused, tilting her head as though I were a puzzle she meant to solve. “What did I tell you about that?”

  “I haven’t—”

  The slap came so fast I didn’t see it. My cheek flared hot, my head snapping sideways.

  Alessa’s laughter rang out.

  Leira leaned close, her perfume sharp and cloying. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve been louder than usual. I’m here to remind you where you belong.”

  “I don’t—”

  Brin’s shove sent me back against the basin. My shoulder hit stone hard.

  “Say it,” Leira hissed. “Say you don’t belong here.”

  Tears stung my eyes. My throat locked.

  “I—”

  The second slap cracked across my other cheek. My vision blurred.

  Leira straightened, adjusting her cuff as if she hadn’t just struck me.

  “Pathetic,” she murmured. “Remember this, Arcanus. You’re nothing.”

  Her shadows laughed as they followed her out, the door swinging shut behind them.

  For a long time, I didn’t move.

  Water dripped into the basin, steady and soft. My breath came ragged, too loud in the empty room.

  I pressed shaking fingers to my face, feeling the sting and swelling.

  Hating myself for letting it happen.

  Again.

  By the time I staggered back to the dorms, the halls had emptied. Selene and Mara were waiting, sprawled across my bed like they owned it.

  “Ell!” Selene chirped, sitting up. “You won’t believe how many people—”

  Her voice broke off. Her eyes widened. “Ellara… your face.”

  Mara was on her feet in a heartbeat. Her gaze swept my cheek, her fists curling. “Who.”

  I shook my head, dropping my satchel hard enough that the clasp popped open. “No one.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Mara snapped. “Who?”

  “I tripped,” I whispered, staring at the floor.

  Selene’s gasp was soft, horrified. “Ellara… it was Leira again, wasn’t it? That stupid bitch.”

  Mara swore under her breath, pacing. “They can’t keep getting away with this.”

  “They will,” I said flatly, sinking onto the bed. “They always do.”

  Silence fell heavy between us.

  Selene reached out, touching my hand gently. “We’ll figure something out.”

  But I could still hear Leira’s voice, echoing like a curse:

  You don’t belong here.