She wasn’t ready to stand. She wasn’t even certain if she’d be able to. Turning her attention to anything or anyone who wasn’t her friend felt like a betrayal. Like she was abandoning her. She brushed a loose, stray lock away from Arria’s face, cupping her cheek, feeling the stiffness of rigor mortis already taking hold. Whispering so quietly that no one else could hear. “I’m sorry, Arria.” She plucked astrand of Arria’s chestnut curls and finally stood.
Her fingers trembled as she held the single strand of hair. Her next steps were clear to her. She just prayed it wouldn’t cost her everything. Uncorking her vial, she let the strand drop into the mixture. Her soul blazed with a fiery newfound resolve.I will not allow you to be forgotten.
Stepping to the brazier, she held the vial over the flame, watching the liquid inside bubble and a thin trail of steam curl into the air. The students and masters watched her, their expressions puzzled, their whispers incredibly loud in the silence. She knew the judges might consider altering a potion during the trial a breach of the rules, but she had to believe that they would see this minor act for what it was. Not defiance. Honor. Finding a way, anyway, to keep Arria from being another casualty of the Empire’s cruel tests.
She forced a steadying breath, then slowly tipped the vial and poured half of its shimmering contents into the flames. For a moment, the flames wavered and shrank to almost nothing.Did I fail her again?The embers replied, sparking to life, glowing brighter, and the fire began to twist and turn. Reforming. Reshaping.
The blaze surged upwards, stretching into the form of a girl. Arria. The elemental took shape, its fiery tendrils mimicking the curves of Arria’s braids and her round cheeks. It twisted and flicked with every movement like strands of molten gold. The flames cascaded down her shoulders in a waterfall of red and orange. Arria’s face was distinct amidst the fire, the accuracy undeniable. The only difference was her eyes. Instead of deep chestnut brown, the face in the flames had glowing eyes the color of melted amber. There was a warmth to them that seemed to glimmer between life and something otherworldly. Her figure shimmered with an almost translucent quality, as if made from the purest and most delicate fire. She was vibrant, alive, and yet only a memory.
The image made Elora’s heart sink into her gut, but she had to focus. She had to prove that she had complete control over the elemental. She closed her eyes, feeling the connection between her and the fiery figure strengthen.One last act, she thought.Something meaningful. Impactful.She pictured Arria’s arms moving in the salute that only MAHO officials exchanged as a gesture of recognition.Of respect.
The fire elemental raised its arms, its movements fluid like water, perfectly mimicking the gesture. Tears glistened Elora’s eyes, knowing it was the closest Arria would ever come to delivering the salute herself, even if it was through a hollow imitation of her.There you go, Arria. You deserve this.
The lab was mute. The tension in the surrounding forest silenced even the birds’ songs. Everyone watched the fiery figure perform the official salute with an almost unreal grace and dignity. A thousand emotions swirled inside Elora’s mind. Anger. Sadness. Defiance. She fought to keep control of the elemental, to let it linger just a little longer in that form. Long enough for her to feel that perhaps, in some small way, she had given Arria a victory in the face of her failure.
Alfie shifted uncomfortably, his eyes wide, glancing nervously at the masters for any sign of reaction. He seemed torn between staying silent and stepping forward.
Marcus stood rigid, his arms crossed against his chest. “They won’t stand for this,” he muttered.
Rowan seemed helpless, but also in awe of the display before him. He inched forward, wanting to get a closer look, but stopped. A small step of support would mean trouble for him if the masters didn’t approve of Elora’s act.
The masters themselves stood like sculptures. Their eyes glazed over, revealing nothing. Master Egorim watched the flickering form in the brazier, his lips pressed into a thin line. For a fleeting moment, he almost seemed curious, but he quickly resumed his mask of indifference. Master Fern’s brows furrowed, her expression caught between interest and disapproval. Her eyes darted between the flames and Elora as her fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against her crossed arms.
After a long, heavy silence, the masters concluded the trials with no indication of their verdict. Their ending statement was brief and completely devoid of ceremony.
“Send for a clergyman,” Master Egorim commanded, his tone not alluding to any discomfort about what he was saying. “Let them attend to the body.” And with that, the masters turned as one and left.
That’s it?They just left, no comment, no sign of their thoughts. Elora’s arms prickled with goosebumps. Their silence hadn’t been a rebuke; it suggested something. Maybe, just maybe, they saw her potion alteration not as defiance but as a tribute. As it was. A desperate attempt to honor her friend.
But as the masters’ figures faded into the distance, the fragile hope warred with a darker fear.What if they saw it differently?
Chapter 4
Elora
The crowded dining hall held a silence deeper than when it was empty. People filled every chair but one. Elora’s gaze kept drifting to that empty seat across from her. Arria’s seat. Her laughter used to drown out the hum of conversation. Now the silence suffocated the entire room. Every clink of a spoon against a bowl sounded unnaturally loud.
Elora stared down at her portion, the dark broth swirling with pieces of chopped beef. The sight made her stomach clench. The blood-red chunks bobbed in the bisque, drifting in slow circles. They turned and twisted into a shape Elora couldn’t get out of her head: a body. Still and broken.
Her hands tightened around the table’s rim, her fingers digging into the wood. She tore her eyes away, but the image wouldn’t leave her. It clung to her vision, a ghostly imprint behind her eyelids. The sight of Arria’s pale, lifeless face flashed in her mind again. She could still feel the coldness of Arria’s hand in hers and the way it grew heavier with each passing second.
Elora’s throat tightened, making it impossible to breathe. She gasped for air, demanding her lungs to listen, to let her calm down. But it was impossible. The walls loomed closer. The din of mutedconversations pressing in on her ears became a distant, almost distorted hum. She pushed her spoon through the stew, but her trembling hands caused the broth to slosh over the edges.I should have done more.
She needed a distraction, but everywhere she looked, she saw only grief. The students sat hunched over their meals, their faces pale and drawn. Some stared blankly at their food. Others whispered in hushed tones. But no one dared to look at the empty chair. No one dared to speak Arria’s name.
Elora pushed the bowl away, unable to look at it without her gut twisting. Her nails dug into her knees beneath the table. It was a desperate attempt to anchor herself, to keep the grief from swallowing her whole. She blinked frantically, trying to focus, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw it all again: the way Arria had convulsed, her lips turning blue, her breath trapped, her life fading.
Across the crowded dining hall was the long table where the professors usually sat. But tonight, it was empty. Her heart raced, willing Tehvan to appear. She needed him. He had always been there for her. He would always hold her when she cried, be there for her, comfort her, be a steady constant in the darkness, and chase away all her fears.
He had to tell her that Arria’s death meant something, that it wasn’t just another cruelty in a world that thrived on them. Tell her it wasn’t her fault, that she had done everything she could. If he wasn’t coming to find her, then she’d have to find him.
Elora stood, her legs shaky as she left the dining hall. Her footsteps echoed through the darkened corridors as she hurried toward the professors’ quarters. When she reached the entrance, a tall, overweight guard with a burly beard blocked her path.
“Nostudents allowed.”
Elora opened her mouth to protest, but his unwavering stance told her it was pointless. She turned away, frowning. Tehvan wouldn’t be there to comfort her tonight.
Instead, she made her way out of the Institute and headed toward the woods that bordered the grounds. Pine and moss hung heavy in the air along the familiar path. The trees seemed to bend over her; leaves rustling in the summer breeze. It was as if they knew her sorrow and sought to shield her from the world.
