Against the right wall of the hall was a neat line of seats stretched out for the professors. They all sat there, backs stiff, clad in formal attire. They, unlike the masters, were glued to the scene. They were actually invested, at least to some extent. The professors raised them, after all, despite Thorn being likely to take all the credit. Though none were allowed to form as close a connection as she and Tehvan had.
She scanned the crowd, her gaze skimming through the sea of faces until she found Tehvan. He had a carefully constructed mask of calm, as he always wore, but the way his fingers twitched with the gray hairs on his jawline was a tell. He could try to mask his anxiety all he wanted, but she saw right through it. He was afraid for her.
Master Thorn stepped to the center of the stage. The flames of the four braziers cast a cobalt flickering glow across the sharp edgesthat defined him. He was illuminated and swallowed by the darkness at the same time, with a chaotic halo of power that wasn’t merely visible, it was palpable, creeping under the skin, awakening the instincts to fight or run.
“Today, we conclude your trials,” Thorn’s voice bounced off every wall and ceiling beam. “You’ve confronted obstacles that were testing your skills, your determination, and whether you’re worthy to stand with The Gilded Empire. But it is more than that. This is just as much about who you are. The Masters have assessed you, scrutinized your actions, your discipline, and your ability to encompass the values our nation holds.
“When I call your name, you will approach the brazier of your division. I will prick your finger with the thorn of a thistle, an ancient symbol of trial and truth. The blood you offer will fall into the fire, and its response will reveal your fate.”
Elora had witnessed the ceremony plenty of times. It was simple, if the flames glowed white, then they were accepted. Congratulations. But if the flame turned black… It was always a heart-wrenching display to watch. The color always drained from the student’s face as they realized that they would be stuck here as a ward. Watching as others learned and grew around them, continuing on to their own bright futures while the wards remained, scrubbing stones and catering meals for the rest of their life.
Thorn’s smile widened slightly, his eyes tracing over them like he had already placed bets on who would succeed and who would fail. “Now, let us begin.”
The Engineering Division was first. A lanky boy approached the first brazier, the blue flame flickering between him and Thorn. The hall fell silent, all focused on the boy extending his hand over the flames. Thorn leaned in, and murmured something Elora didn’tcatch. Whatever he said made the boy’s face pale further. Then, Thorn took his hand, pricked it swiftly with the thorn and let a single drop of blood fall into the flame.
The fire hissed, colors lightening, before settling into a pure white glow. “Accepted,” Thorn declared. The boy exhaled in relief and returned to his seat as the next student rose to take his place.
The ceremony continued, each student stepping forward, extending their hand above the blaze. One by one, the braziers flared with the pure white light of acceptance.
Then it was Symond's turn. He attempted to project confidence, straight posture, eyes forward, but she caught the slight tremor in his legs and the tightness of his clenched fists. Anxiety radiated from him, though whether it stemmed from the weight of the ceremony or Thorn remained a mystery to her.
Symond reluctantly extended his hand. Thorn leaned in closer, saying something to him, as he did all the others. Though, this time was more drawn out. Symond’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek, but he said nothing. Thorn sliced his palm instead of simply pricking his finger. A few drops of blood fell into the flame, and the fire flared white.
Thorn’s cold declaration of “Accepted” rang out, but Symond barely waited for it. He pulled his hand away and spun around rapidly as if he was unable to stand being near Thorn for another moment. He glanced her way, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. Elora had expected him to look relieved, but his face twisted in a grimace, leaving her to choke on his lingering resentment.
Now, it was time for the alchemist division.This is it...She sat rigid as the sound of her peers’ footsteps echoed in her head like a ticking clock. Lily approached first, her shoulders squared, her hand steady as Thorn pricked her finger. The flame flared white, and shereturned to her seat. Marcus followed, then Rowan and Alfie, each receiving the same pure white flame of acceptance.
Finally, Elora’s name was called, and for a moment, the world seemed to be frozen in anticipation. The silence was unnaturally heavy. All eyes were on her, like there was a spotlight above her head. Her legs trembled as she rose. She forced herself to take a step forward, then another, until she was standing in front of the man who held all the power and yet none of it over her.
The blue flame flickered, casting its light across her face, but her focus was on Thorn. The fire’s glow illuminated the harsh lines of his stern jaw, the silver strands streaking through his dark hair, giving him an almost vulturine look. He was smiling, as if he’d been waiting all day for this moment, maybe even for years; she didn’t know. But there was something unspoken behind his smile, something that gave the impression he knew he was about to watch her world burn and he’d relish in the flames.
He leaned in slightly, his smile widening as his eyes flicked towards Tehvan in the professor section. “We both know it wasn’t the Institute that molded you into who you are. No, it was his gentle touch and lofty notions of compassion that wrapped you in comfort. You were spared the harsh lesson necessary in this world. Those lessons would have truly forged your strength.”
She followed his gaze to Tehvan. His fidgeting had become more pronounced as she stood across from Thorn. The light in him seemed muted. Where was the reassurance? Was he doubting her?
Thorn continued, “You’ve been living in his shadow, tucked away from the steely grip of true discipline. While the rest were tempered in the fiery crucible of this place, they were broken and remade into something of worth. But you? You linger there, untouched.”
She turned back to Thorn, shoulders straight, chin tilted defiantly. “I’m as worthy of this as any one of them,” she said, thrusting her hand over the brazier, experiencing the intense heat on her skin.
Thorn’s smile didn’t waver, like he knew something she didn’t. He grasped her with a possessive, almost bone-breaking grip. “That’s for the flame to decide,” he said. Without another word, he drew the thorn of thistle across her palm, deeper than necessary, his eyes locked on hers as he did.
She hissed through her teeth at the sharp pain but didn’t pull away. Thorn curled her fingers into a fist, squeezing until several droplets of blood fell into the blue flames. Embers sputtered, hissing like a living thing.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the flames darkened, a deep, inky black spreading through the fire, swallowing the blue entirely, its color the unmistakable mark of rejection. A gasp rippled through the room, and Elora felt the floor tilt beneath her. The cool black flame danced higher, coating her hand and casting long, twisted shadows across the hall. She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.Why?
Thorn’s smile widened, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes as he released her hand. “It seems the flame has spoken.”
Chapter 8
Elora
Elora sat in the half-light of the corridor outside Thorn’s office. She chewed on her fingernails, biting just enough to sting.
The feeling of Thorn’s grip still lingered on her hand. He looked so incredibly satisfied when he let her go. She barely remembered leaving the stage or the heavy silence that followed her as she made her way back to her seat. The pitying looks from some, the shocked whispers from others, the cruel smirk on Symond’s face as she crumbled inside. It was a nightmare.
She’d been pulled from the crowd as soon as the ceremony was concluded. She wanted to find Tehvan, to have him reassure her that everything would be all right, that he was still able to protect her. But Thorn found her first.
She shifted on the hard wooden bench, trying to steady the restless bounce of her knee. She caught snippets of the conversation going on in Thorn’s office, fragments of sentences that only heightened her dread.
