Alyra broke into a run. She was late for her lesson with Claudine. She had lost track of time, too absorbed in her exercises, and she doubted that excuse would earn her any mercy.

  The corridor stretched ahead of her, dim crystals casting a weak yellow glow over the stone.

  She turned a corner and slammed into something solid. Fabric crushed against her face, hard muscle braced beneath it. Hands closed around her shoulders, firm enough to stop her cold. The scent of oiled leather and dry cloth filled her nose. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, but pain never followed. Her heart kept hammering, refusing to slow.

  Alyra staggered back, gasping.

  A tall, lean figure with short white hair loomed over her.

  Her mouth fell open. “Instructor Varom!” She straightened at once, scrambling for composure.

  His steel gray gaze showed no sympathy, but no anger either. “No running in the halls. The training grounds exist for that purpose.”

  A tight knot formed in her throat. Of all the people to collide with, why him? “Y-yes, sir. I will head there now.”

  She moved to slip past him, but his hand settled lightly on her shoulder, stopping her.

  “Wait.”

  Alyra froze and looked up.

  “I need to speak with the Cashnar,” Varom said. “Will he be returning here soon?”

  After how badly their last encounter had gone, she did not hesitate. Alyra shook her head hard. By Orbisar, let him be gone.

  “Hm.” The sound rumbled low in his chest. “I had hoped to speak with him.”

  Her stomach tightened. “M-may I ask… about what?”

  One brow arched.

  Heat rushed to her face and she dropped her gaze. “Forgive me, sir. I had no right to ask.”

  He exhaled, slow and heavy. “In this case, perhaps you did.”

  Her head jerked up. “Sir?”

  “I wished to speak with him about you, actually.”

  Her breath hitched. They were already on the subject, after that slip, holding back would only make her look worse. “M-may I ask what—”

  His frown cut her off. “Alyra Greaves. I believe you know the reason.”

  Her brow furrowed, hand drifting to her chin.

  His gaze bore down on her, heavy as iron.

  This was no casual question but a test, and the wrong answer would mark her a fool.

  “It’s… because of the aura test?” she ventured. She hadn’t thought enduring his aura that day would draw so much interest from him. Could it have anything to do with the Death energy coiled inside her?

  Varom’s ice-gray eyes held steady on her.

  Every instinct screamed at her to lower her gaze, to yield before that authority. But doing so would brand her as nothing more than a frightened child, and she refused to let that happen. Not with him.

  He inclined his head slightly. “I am certain the sacred Cashnar is aware of your condition. I had hoped he might grant me guidance on how best to… manage it.”

  Her throat tightened. The last thing she wanted was to deal with him again. Not now. And besides, Derek might know plenty, but nothing of it touched Orbisar’s magic. In that realm, he was no more than a child. She forced her voice steady. “I don’t believe he knows, sir. I only discovered it myself not long ago.”

  Varom’s brow furrowed. “Do you presume to know everything the Cashnar does or does not know?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks, and her eyes dropped at once. “No, sir. Of course not. That was careless of me. Forgive me.”

  “Hmm,” Varom muttered again. “In any case, it no longer matters. He has already departed, correct?”

  She nodded.

  “Alyra. Do not think I have failed to notice your agitation. I do not know the nature of your connection with the Cashnar, but one thing must be clear.”

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  Her gaze lifted to his steel-gray eyes, unyielding and unreadable.

  “In this school, no favoritism is granted and no distractions are tolerated. As long as you remain my student, you will receive the same treatment as your peers.” His tone softened by a fraction. “And if the Cashnar’s visits prove to be… distracting, I will see to it they do not occur again.”

  Her mouth fell open, yet no sound came. Varom was worrying about her—or at least about her training. She straightened, forcing her voice firm. “Yes, sir. That won’t be necessary.”

  Varom studied her for a long moment, as though weighing whether to believe her. Then he gave a single nod. “Very well. We shall meet at the lesson.” The instructor turned to head back the way he had come.

  Her pulse pounded, but the question clawed at her too fiercely to stay silent. “Sir!” Alyra called after him.

  He half-turned, one eyebrow lifting.

  “Do you think… I mean, is there something wrong with me?”

  He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “I would not say that. Your aura is… unusual.”

  Her throat tightened. Why couldn’t it be normal, like the other girls’? What flaw made hers different? “U-unusual?”

  Varom inclined his head. “Your aura determines the path you will walk, the powers you can, or cannot, command. Auras differ not only in strength, but in affinity.”

  Alyra knit her brows. “Affinity?”

  “These are matters you will cover later in your training. Yet every Orbisar Ascendant, as they grow, discovers they are more attuned to certain forms of magic than others. The wise follow that inclination.”

  She thought of Isabelle, always favoring lightning, and of Tunga, who fought almost entirely with fire and Life magic. Perhaps that was what he meant.

  “How do I learn my own?”

  “You see, Alyra, I can usually sense a student’s affinity even before they are aware of it themselves. It is a skill I have honed through years of experience. It allows me to guide them swiftly toward the techniques most suited to their growth.” His eyes narrowed. “In your case… I cannot.”

  Her eyes widened. “You… can’t?”

  He shook his head. “Your aura shows remarkable endurance. You’ve already demonstrated that. For a Sprout, I would call it… extraordinary. And I believe it is precisely that quality which makes your affinity difficult for me to discern.”

  Understanding flickered in her eyes. “That’s why you wanted to speak with the Cashnar. You hoped he could help uncover my affinity.”

  He gave a slight nod. “And it is also why I intend to have you examined by a Seer as soon as one is available. At present, they are all otherwise engaged.”

  Finally, a sliver of luck. If a Seer examined her, how likely was it they would see more than her affinity? What if they uncovered the Death energy still knotted in her chakras?

  She still hadn’t managed to reach Sierelith, to tell her what had happened and ask for help. Perhaps the heretic would know some hidden way to save her.

  Alyra bowed. “Thank you for your concern, sir. I am honored by such attention.” Even if that very attention might one day condemn her, the words remained true.

  Varom inclined his head in return and strode down the hall, his cropped white hair catching the yellow glow of the wall-crystals.

  Alyra hugged her arms to her chest. If even Varom could not make sense of her, what did that mean? Perhaps she did not belong here at all. Perhaps that unsettling man from the Death Cult had spoken the truth.

  Alyra shifted on the hard wooden chair at the back of the long rectangular classroom.

  Instructor Claudine’s gaze swept the room, sharp and thorough, as if ensuring she held every eye before uttering a word. No one so much as breathed too loudly when she was present.

  Four rows of worn desks lined the hall, the air tinged with the stubborn scent of chalk and wax. Blades of light cut through tall windows, glinting across a floor polished to a spotless sheen. Everything sat in perfect order, just like the woman behind the lectern.

  This morning’s lesson was theory. Having joined the class partway through the year, Alyra already had her hands full catching up on missed material. She couldn’t afford to miss a single word. She could not expect help from her classmates. If she failed to grasp something, her only choice would be to raise her hand and ask the terrifying Instructor Claudine to repeat herself.

  If only she could stop thinking about what had happened just moments ago with Derek and Varom, focusing would have been far easier.

  “I’ll say this for the benefit of the new students,” Claudine began. “In these lessons you will learn the principles behind the techniques you practice in the training halls.” She rose to her feet. “Position, breathing, and execution. These do not only maximize the physical impact of your strikes, but also allow you to channel and control the power locked inside your chakras.”

  She paused, scanning the rows. “That power is lent to us by Orbisar. It never truly belongs to us. It returns to Him when we die. Our duty is to master it and direct it according to His will, for as long as it is entrusted to us.”

  Claudine moved to the blackboard and drew a circle with steady precision. She tapped the chalk at its center. “This is a chakra. Its strength flows from the aura and grants us control over our powers. Before absorbing the power of one of Orbisar’s sacred spheres, you must be certain your aura can contain it. If you attempt to take in power beyond your limit…”

  She let the words hang. Then she wiped away part of the circle with the eraser and sketched jagged lines spilling outward. “…the sphere’s energy will break its banks, flooding your body and clouding your mind, until you are little different from the magical beasts that prowl the jungle.”

  Alyra bent over her notes, scribbling furiously, determined not to miss a word. These were basics, yes, but she couldn’t afford to overlook anything. Around her, the class remained silent. Tanya sat with her chin propped on her hand, an expression of mild boredom on her face, as if she had heard all this before, and probably had.

  Claudine paced slowly in front of the rows. “Most of the exercises assigned during your first months here serve one purpose: to raise your auric level until you are ready to absorb the power of your first sphere. Of course, that is not all. You will also learn the fundamentals of every weapon and armor at your disposal. And naturally, you will be taught respect for the Church and its sacred principles.”

  Her gaze brushed over Alyra. Cold pricks ran along her skin. Why look at her just then? Did Claudine think she was being disrespectful? No… surely coincidence.

  “There is another matter,” Claudine continued. “Another goal you must achieve before absorbing your first sphere. Who can tell me what it is?”

  Mirelle’s hand shot up. Her back was rigid, her smile radiant with confidence.

  Tanya rolled her eyes.

  Alyra studied her devout classmate: posture flawless, expression bright, the very image of a model student. Alyra knew she would never match that.

  But maybe she should try. Maybe if she raised her hand— No. Better to keep her head down. One wrong answer and she’d only draw more eyes, more judgment. Silence in the back row was safer.

  Claudine cleared her throat. “Thank you, Mirelle. You may lower your hand.”

  The smile slipped from Mirelle’s face as she lowered her gaze.

  “Alyra,” Claudine said.

  Her heart lurched. She shot upright. “Yes, ma’am!”

  “Do you have an idea what the answer might be?”

  Alyra glanced at Mirelle, who stared back at her, lips pressed tight.

  No one would come to her rescue. She had to rely on scraps of what she knew. Maybe… maybe it was tied to what Instructor Varom had told her?

  She cleared her throat. “Um… is it discovering one’s affinity?” Heat rushed to her face. She braced for the laughter she felt sure would come, yet forced her features to remain steady.

  Claudine inclined her head.

  Mirelle folded her arms, sulking.

  A flicker of amusement curved Tanya’s lips.

  “Correct, Alyra,” Claudine said. “Absorbing a power for which you have a high affinity greatly increases your control over it.”

  “What happens if someone uses the wrong sphere?” The words slipped out before Alyra remembered to raise her hand.

  Claudine’s eyebrow lifted.

  Alyra half-raised her hand, then let it drop back to the desk, heat prickling her cheeks.

  A soft chuckle drifted through the room.

  The instructor exhaled slowly. “Absorbing power for which you lack affinity will not harm you. It will only make mastery far more difficult and time-consuming.”

  She turned to the window. Sunlight wrapped her slender frame, giving her an almost ethereal air. “It is like trying to learn an instrument when your true gift is painting. With enough perseverance, you might succeed. But how much easier would it be if you chose the art you were meant for?”

  Alyra released a silent breath of relief. Good. So failing to discover her affinity wasn’t the end of the world. At worst, it meant she would need to work harder than the others. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Claudine gave a single nod. “However, no student in this school is permitted to undergo the sacred Rite of absorbing their first sphere of Orbisar until their affinity is known.” Her gaze fixed on Alyra, one brow arched. “No matter how strong—or how peculiar—their aura may be. We are committed to training Ascendants of the highest caliber, without compromise.”

  Her piercing blue eyes bored into Alyra, sharp as blades.

  Alyra’s throat tightened. She sat frozen, unable to move.

  Claudine’s lips curved into a small, sharp smile. Her gaze never wavered. “But that is not a matter for you to concern yourselves with. We will uncover your affinity in time for your Rite of Ascension.”

  Alyra lowered her eyes to her hands. A tingling sensation crept along her wrists, and for an instant she thought something shifted beneath her skin.

  A shiver traced her spine. Her heart hammered as she clenched her fists and slid them under the desk.

  What if her affinity was Death magic? Was that why Varom hadn’t been able to read her?

  It was a question she could never allow herself to ask.