Tehvan was gone. She still detected the aroma of incense and aged parchment on him. It was comforting. It often made her feel safe and at peace, but it wasn’t easing her anxiety this time. Nothing could ease the knot in her stomach. Today was too significant, too agonizing, to be swept away with a comforting scent. It was the day of the ceremony. The day the fate of her future would be decided.
She rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. The soft chime of a bell in the distance called the students to gather. To face what came next. Today was the day they would be separated, divided into their new roles or left behind as wards.
How could she? How could she move on while her best friend was being scattered in the ash pit? She fought the urge to curl in on herself and hide under the covers forever.
Arria should be here, sitting up on the bed across from her. She should be teasing Elora about her messy hair or how she’d better not trip in front of the masters. But the other bed was empty. The blankets, neatly folded at the end, seemed like someone had already tried to erase her from this space. It was as if the Institute had already moved on.
With a heavy sigh, Elora forced herself to sit up and swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet met the cold floor, sending a shiver through her. She stared at her trembling hands in her lap. Every part of her felt fragile. Like the tiniest gust of wind could shatter her completely.
She had to get up. Get dressed. Face the day. Face the ceremony, no matter what it brought.
She stood slowly, aware of the dull ache in her muscles as she moved to the small washbasin by the window. She splashed water on her face, hoping the chill would drive away the remnants of sleep.
She struggled to meet her own eyes in the mirror, the sorrow in them, the red puffiness from a night of crying, she couldn’t present herself to the Masters like this. She hardly recognized herself. Her brunette hair was a tangled mess on top of her head, her face paler than usual. She looked like a corpse, and that thought only made her want to start crying all over again, her mind flashing with images of Arria.
“You have to keep it together,” she whispered, imagining it was Arria or Tehvan trying to hold her together rather than her own fragile self.
She brushed the knots from her hair, then turned from the mirror to grab the ugly dark ceremonial robe they had to wear. Her frame and curves were completely drowned out by the shapeless box-like gown. She wanted to hide; to become small and invisible, but shecould certainly achieve that without having to wear something so dreadful.
The bell rang again.I’m going to be late,she thought as she hurried toward the hallway. Her hand rested on the handle, holding the door open for Arria, who was always one pace behind. But there was no one.
With a deep sigh that threatened a breakdown she walked to the waiting room connected to the ceremony hall. The room was cramped. Everyone huddled in small groups, whispering in hushed tones, their feet shuffling in nervous patterns. Rian stood near the window, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve as her eyes darted between the other students. Her face didn’t even light up when she spotted Elora enter. This was supposed to be an exciting moment for all of them but everyone looked utterly drained.
Symond stood alone in the corner, his gaze fixed on the floor, arms crossed over his chest. It was odd seeing him so still and relatively calm—as calm as Symond was able to be—after the outburst he had last night.
His eyes flicked up briefly, meeting Elora’s for a split second before darting away.Perhaps he genuinely regrets last night… She scoffed at the thought.She doubted his ability to feel sorry for anything. The man had never uttered an apology to her. She wasn’t even sure if he knew the meaning of accountability. Someone else was always to blame.
She hadn’t realized she was still staring at him until he made eye contact with her again, this time holding it. He parted his lips to speak, probably some pathetic insult, but a sudden creaking of a door silenced him.
Master Thorn entered, the very air around him commanding instant attention. He moved with a steady stride, handsfinishing the buttons on his dark pristine suit coat. She didn’t want to admit it but it was a very nice suit. Lined with intricate golden designs that resembled the branches of a tree. And of course, no lint, a crisp collar, everything that spoke to the man’s need for control and perfection. He would almost be handsome, if only he weren’t the merciless headmaster everyone had come to fear. Besides her.
Thorn eyed each one of them, from their red-rimmed eyes to their restless feet. She knew he sensed their grief.
“Arria,” he started, his tone flat yet somehow echoing off the walls, “wasn’t short on obedience or grit. She was a hard worker, was relentless, even commendable in certain aspects. But she made a crucial error.”
He paused, letting his words sink in. “She let her feelings mess with her head, thinking friendship and some flimsy emotional bonds mattered in a world where precision is everything. That misplaced trust cost her. Emotions are a liability, and she paid the price for her weakness.”
Is he… blaming me? Our friendship?She looked him dead in the eyes as he spoke, daring him to say it. To accuse Arria’s friendship with her being the reason she failed. The reason she died. Elora was priming to take his words and spit them right back into his face. But he didn’t. He noticed her challenge, his expression half sneer, half scowl, and all animosity, but he said nothing.
Thorn stepped closer, making everyone shrink. “You need to understand, excellence isn’t just a goal. It’s a way of life. Arria’s death wasn’t about her lack of effort; it was her inability to prioritize her training over everything else: relationship, distractions, feelings. All just vulnerabilities waiting to be exploited. They don’t belong here. Not in this Empire. Not if you want to survive.”
He paced slowly in front of them, hands clasped behind his back. “Do you really think the Empire was built by people who let themselves get lost in sentimentality? Do you honestly believe those who dedicated everything they had to sit around crying for those who fell?” He scoffed, a sound that ground in Elora’s ears. “No. They understood what it meant to have a purpose. They knew their worth came from being able to push aside their own feelings and fight for something much bigger than themselves.”
Elora’s nails dug into her palms until the pain became a comfortable constant. Anger bubbled under her sorrow, a tea kettle a second away from boiling. She wanted to scream at him, ask him how he could just brush Arria’s death aside like it meant nothing.
A whimper came from somewhere to her right, quiet, but Thorn’s attention snapped toward it. Thorn stepped closer, letting the group surround him.
“Listen closely. Your tears mean nothing. Your pain doesn’t matter. You were brought here to serve, to earn the chances the Empire grants. If you fail in that, if you let your feelings cloud your judgment… you’ll end up cast aside just like the scraps you always were.”
With a final, pointed look, he turned toward the door, commanding them to follow.
The ceremony hall, used for only special occasions like this, was breathtaking. Towering above them, the soaring vaulted ceiling with its dark wooden beams looked like the ribs of a giant beast. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting the advancements in uses of MahoKi Sap. Spots of different colors bounced on the ground from the tall, narrow stained-glass windows on either side of the hall. Elora had always loved this space, its beauty, its grandeur. She oftensaw it as a sneak peek to when she would go to the capitol and begin her journey as an Empire Alchemist.
She and her peers sat on the large, slightly elevated stage at the hall’s far end. Four braziers burned with a blue flame at the stage’s center, each representing a distinct division.
To the left of the stage were rows of ornately carved chairs reserved for the masters. Wearing flashy robes that distinguished their expertise, they barely glanced at the students, at their future apprentices, as they shuffled in.
Elora wasn’t sure why she was still surprised by their indifference. This was just another inconvenience for them. Just like Arria’s death. Elora fought to keep her face neutral, though every fiber of her being wanted to scowl. One of these masters would soon be her mentor. She needed to figure them out, the motivations, but she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to look at them with the same admiration she once did. There was a fire burning in her chest, smothering all thoughts of obedience.
