Prologue
The Shadow of the Century
One hundred years ago.
The sky above Aethoria was split apart.
The heavens had torn open from horizon to horizon, as though invisible hands had ripped through the skin of the world. Beyond the wound there were no stars. Only Void.
A darkness too deep to be called night spilled from the rift, threaded with sickly magenta lightning. Each flash warped the mountains, ruins, and bodies for an instant, stretching their shadows in impossible directions.
The cold pierced flesh, stole the warmth from blood, smothered flames, and turned every breath white.
Beneath that wound, the armies of Aethoria stood united for the first time... perhaps for the last.
Humans of Valoria braced their shields against those of dwarven warriors. Elven archers fired over the heads of demi-human spearmen. Mages who, a decade earlier, would have refused to share a table now wove their spells together to sustain a barrier that unraveled with every heartbeat.
Behind them burned the ruins of a nameless kingdom.
Before them advanced the end.
The vanguard broke.
A thunderous crash shook the battlefield as a mass of shadows slammed into the front line. Humans, elves, and demi-humans were hurled through the air. Some never rose again.
“Close the breach!” a Valorian captain roared.
“We don’t have enough shields!”
“Then use the corpses if you have to! Close it!”
The order had barely carried down the line before the next assault struck.
At the center of the formation, Tara the Unbreakable met it head-on.
The Bulwark of the Unbroken collided with a claw of condensed darkness.
The sound was like a colossal bell shattering.
Tara slid back half a step.
Only half.
Her boots sank ankle-deep into mud churned with ash and blood. The muscles in her arms trembled. A red line ran from her brow to her jaw.
“The Bulwark won’t survive another hit!” she shouted.
A fresh crack spread across the legendary shield.
Tara stared at it.
“No. No, no, no... You do not break.”
Another fissure answered with a flash.
“Tara!” Elara’s voice cut through the chaos. “Fall back three steps!”
“If I fall back three, they advance four!”
Tara spat blood and planted the shield again.
“My arms are giving out, Elara!”
A creature of the Void vaulted over the Bulwark’s rim.
It had too many joints and no face.
Tara released one hand from the shield, drew a broken shortsword from her belt, and drove it beneath the beast’s nonexistent jaw.
“And I’m starting to take this personally!”
The creature dissolved into magenta smoke.
To her left, a storm of silver light-arrows streaked across the field.
Elandril Moonshadow fired so quickly that his fingers bled.
Whisperwind sang with every shot.
One.
Two.
Five.
Ten.
The arrows pierced the darkness.
And vanished.
No impact.
No echo.
Not even a spark.
Elandril slowly lowered the bow, bewildered.
“That cannot be...”
He nocked another arrow.
Whisperwind gave a high, pained whine.
Elandril fired.
The darkness swallowed it again.
“The shadows are devouring my arrows,” he murmured.
A creature lunged at him.
Elandril spun the bow, blocked one claw, ducked beneath another, and drove an arrow straight into the beast’s chest before loosing the string at point-blank range.
Silver light illuminated his face.
The creature fell.
Three more took its place.
“Naturally,” the elf said, recovering a trace of his usual dryness. “The universe has decided an undignified death is precisely what my evening lacked.”
“Elandril!” Tara shouted. “Less poetry, more arrows!”
“I am reconsidering both.”
He fired twice.
“Whisperwind weeps before this darkness! I cannot strike the heart of something that has no heart!”
“Then aim for something else!” a deep voice thundered.
Borak Ironfist emerged through a cloud of ash.
Ignis Anima fell like a meteor.
The runic hammer crushed a Void creature into the earth and unleashed a ring of golden fire. Dwarven runes flared around Borak, forming a lattice of ancient symbols.
A second later, the runes began to die one by one.
Borak stared at the extinguished sigils.
His expression hardened.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
He struck the ground again.
“Wake up!”
Nothing.
“I said wake up, damn you!”
A faint orange symbol flickered beneath his boot and went dark.
Borak looked toward Elara.
“My runes are dying, girl!”
“Then make them burn again!”
“Brilliant strategy! Shall I also order the sky to stop falling?”
A dark wave swept across the field.
Borak drove Ignis Anima into the earth and traced a defensive rune with the hammerhead.
The barrier rose just in time.
It cracked instantly.
“By my ancestors’ beards...!”
Tara rushed beside him and planted the Bulwark before the failing barrier.
Both defenses took the pressure.
“How long?” Tara asked through clenched teeth.
“How long what?”
“How long will your rune hold?”
Borak eyed the cracks.
“If I tell you the truth, you’ll be angry.”
“Borak.”
“Three seconds.”
“Three?!”
“Two.”
Tara swore.
“ELARA!”
The barrier exploded.
Borak and Tara were hurled backward.
Before the shadows could descend upon them, a wall of blue light dropped from the sky and split the battlefield between the two armies.
At the rear, Arcanist Thorne floated several yards above the ground.
Aethelwyrd hovered before him.
The legendary staff was encircled by overlapping arcane rings. Dozens of luminous formulas revolved around Thorne’s body while his hands moved with frantic precision.
A vein throbbed at his temple.
“You are all useless!” he bellowed.
Elandril put an arrow through a creature’s throat.
“Comforting as ever, Thorne.”
“I am not here to comfort you, long-ears!”
“Thank the gods.”
Thorne gestured, and three lances of energy tore across the field.
“I need time!”
“We all need time!” Tara shouted as she forced herself upright.
“I need it more!”
“What a surprise,” Borak growled.
Thorne ignored him.
The runes around Aethelwyrd spun faster.
“The banishment spell is incomplete! The rift is not an ordinary doorway. It is anchored to this plane from both sides.”
Borak wiped blood from his beard.
“Speak in the language of people who hit things.”
“I cannot close it while the Greater Demon is holding it open!”
“That I understood.”
“Excellent! Your education is finally useful!”
Borak raised Ignis Anima.
“When this is over, I’m going to educate you with this hammer.”
“If this is over, I will allow you to try.”
The ground trembled.
Everyone fell silent by instinct.
The lesser creatures stopped advancing.
Darkness began drawing inward toward a single point, like water draining into a bottomless well.
Elandril slowly raised Whisperwind.
“It’s coming.”
Tara recovered her shield.
“I know.”
Borak tightened both hands around Ignis Anima’s haft.
“Finally.”
Thorne stopped insulting them.
That was what worried Tara most.
At the center of the chaos stood Elara Dawnshield, First of Her Name.
Her silver armor was shattered at the shoulder and split open along one side. Dried blood covered part of her face. Her golden hair, blackened by smoke and ash, clung to her brow.
Exhausted, wounded, and far too human before that darkness, Elara did not retreat.
In her hand she held Dawnbreaker.
The longsword, forged from purified Aethite and blessed starlight, thrummed with white-gold radiance. Its glow held the darkness at bay within an ever-shrinking circle.
Elara looked upon the soldiers still standing.
Far too few.
“Listen to me!” she shouted.
Heads turned toward her.
“Hold the line!”
A human soldier, scarcely more than a boy, looked at the bodies around his feet.
“We can’t!”
Elara pointed Dawnbreaker at him.
“What is your name?”
The young man blinked.
“W-what?”
“Your name!”
“Cael, my lady!”
“Cael, look to your left.”
He obeyed.
A demi-human warrior held the same front.
“She is still here. Look to your right.”
A blood-covered dwarf raised his axe.
“He is still here. And you are still here.”
Elara lifted the sword.
“That means the line still exists!”
Something changed in their faces. It was not hope. Not yet. It was simply the refusal to abandon those who still fought beside them.
The shields rose again.
“No one falls back!” Elara ordered.
Tara smiled despite the blood on her teeth.
“That sounded aimed at me.”
“It was.”
“Good. I would have been offended otherwise.”
The darkness condensed before them.
The Greater Demon took shape.
Or something resembling shape.
It possessed no stable anatomy. It was a storm of dense shadow, limbs forming and vanishing, bones that seemed to exist only when observed, magenta lightning coursing through a body that should not have fit inside the world.
When it extended a claw, reality groaned.
Stones floated.
Light bent.
Several soldiers dropped to their knees without being touched.
The Demon’s voice came from everywhere.
“You are finite.”
It did not travel through the air. It imposed itself directly upon the marrow.
“Your bones will break. Your names will vanish. Your children will forget your faces.”
Tara trembled behind the Bulwark.
Borak lowered his head.
Elandril closed his eyes.
Even Thorne’s arcane circles faltered.
“Your light is a candle in a hurricane,” the entity continued. “Surrender to the night.”
Elara stepped forward.
Dawnbreaker answered.
Its light intensified until every blade, every piece of armor, and every tear on the battlefield reflected white.
“Candles burn brightest in the deepest darkness.”
The Demon tilted something like a head.
“You will die.”
“Yes,” Elara replied.
The answer was so simple that even her companions looked at her.
Elara drew a breath.
“But you are going to lose something tonight too.”
Thorne opened his eyes.
“Elara.”
She did not look away from the Demon.
“Tell me you’re ready.”
The mage looked at Aethelwyrd.
A thin crack ran through the staff’s central crystal.
“I can close the rift.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Thorne clenched his jaw.
“I can close it if you separate that thing from its anchor for seven seconds.”
Borak gave a dry laugh.
“Seven? A moment ago you were begging for a minute.”
“I improved the spell.”
“You removed the safeguards,” Elandril said.
Thorne looked at him.
“That too.”
“What happens to Aethelwyrd?” Tara asked.
Thorne said nothing.
Borak understood first.
“No.”
“We have no other source capable of containing the discharge.”
“That staff survived three ages of incompetent mages!”
“And it will have the honor of dying in the hands of the greatest.”
“You arrogant son of—”
“Borak!” Elara cut in.
The dwarf breathed hard through his nose.
“Seven seconds, then.”
Elandril looked toward the rift.
“I can give you the first two.”
Tara stared at him.
“How?”
The elf ran his fingers over Whisperwind.
“The rift touches the Feywild. Barely. My bow can find that edge.”
“Elandril, if you shoot through a planar fracture...”
“Yes, Thorne. I know what will happen.”
For once, the mage had no cutting reply.
“You may not come back.”
Elandril smiled wearily.
“Then try to miss me for at least a week.”
Borak snorted.
“Show-off.”
“Dwarf.”
“Elf.”
Tara struck the rim of her shield with her fist.
“I’ll take the next two.”
Elara looked at the cracks across the Bulwark.
“Tara...”
“No.”
“That shield won’t hold.”
“I know.”
“Tara.”
The shield-bearer met her gaze.
“Elara. I have spent twelve years following you into impossible wars. Do not ruin my moment by telling me to be sensible.”
A tiny smile crossed Elara’s face.
“You were never sensible.”
“That’s why we’re still friends.”
Borak raised Ignis Anima.
“The next two are mine.”
Thorne frowned.
“Your runes are dead.”
“The earth-runes are.”
The dwarf struck his own chest.
“These aren’t.”
Elandril looked at him.
“Borak...”
“Don’t you start.”
Elara counted in her head.
Two.
Two.
Two.
“That makes six.”
Everyone looked at Thorne.
The mage blinked.
“What?”
“We need seven,” Tara said.
“Ah.”
Borak bared his teeth.
“The great genius can count.”
Thorne descended until his boots touched the ground.
He took Aethelwyrd in both hands.
“The last second is mine.”
Elara shook her head.
“You need to cast the spell.”
“I can do two things at once.”
“Thorne.”
“I can.”
Elara held his gaze.
Behind the arrogance, she saw fear.
A great deal of fear.
Thorne swallowed.
“I can do it.”
Elara nodded.
“Then we do it together.”
The Greater Demon roared.
Darkness fell upon them.
“NOW!” Elara shouted.
Elandril fired.
Whisperwind did not loose an arrow.
It loosed a line of moonlight.
The projectile tore through the Demon’s chest and continued into the rift. For an instant, a second opening appeared behind the creature, green and silver.
The Feywild.
Impossible roots coiled around the shadows.
The Demon convulsed.
“One!” Thorne shouted.
Elandril drew again.
Silver blood began to run from his fingers.
“Come on, old friend,” he whispered to the bow. “One last song.”
Whisperwind creaked.
“Two!”
The bow broke.
The explosion hurled Elandril toward the secondary rift.
Tara watched the elf vanish into green light.
“ELANDRIL!”
No answer came.
The Feywild rift snapped shut.
The Greater Demon unleashed a wave of force.
Tara ran.
“MY TURN!”
She planted the Bulwark of the Unbroken in front of Elara.
The claw descended.
The impact drove Tara to her knees.
“Three!” Thorne roared.
Cracks covered the Bulwark.
Tara screamed.
Not in fear.
In effort.
“Come on!” she shouted at the shield. “Your whole legend was for this! Don’t you dare break before I do!”
Another claw.
Another collision.
“Four!”
The Bulwark of the Unbroken shattered.
Fragments of light flew through the air.
Tara fell onto her back.
Elara started toward her.
“No!” Tara shouted from the ground. “Eyes forward!”
Borak was already there.
Ignis Anima struck the earth.
But this time the dwarf did not call upon the runes of the ground.
He called upon those carved into his own armor.
Ancient symbols ignited across his chest, arms, and back.
“My ancestors forged mountains,” he said.
The Demon advanced.
“I only need to forge you a grave.”
Borak brought the hammer down.
A pillar of white fire erupted from the earth.
“Five!”
The Greater Demon roared and crushed the column between both claws.
The runes across Borak’s armor began to burn into his flesh.
“Borak, sever the bond!” Thorne shouted.
“Mind your fancy stick!”
“You’re cooking yourself alive!”
“I’ve had worse hangovers!”
Ignis Anima glowed white-hot.
Borak swung one final time.
“SIX!”
The hammer exploded.
Borak vanished into fire and smoke.
The Demon came through the flames.
One second remained.
Thorne released Aethelwyrd.
The staff remained suspended in the air as the mage stretched one hand toward the Demon and the other toward the banishment circle.
“This,” he panted, “is an extraordinarily stupid idea.”
Tara laughed from the ground.
“Finally, something intelligent!”
The Demon unleashed its power.
Thorne answered.
An arcane barrier appeared.
It bowed inward.
His bones cracked.
Aethelwyrd began to fracture.
“Thorne!” Elara shouted.
“DO NOT INTERRUPT ME WHILE I’M BEING BRILLIANT!”
The circle completed.
“SEVEN!”
Aethelwyrd shattered.
The discharge hurled Thorne through the air.
Elara stood alone before the Greater Demon.
Seven seconds purchased with relics, blood, and perhaps lives. Elara wasted none of them.
Dawnbreaker blazed.
Elara poured everything she had left into the sword: pain, fear, love, rage, memory; the faces of those who had fallen, the names of those still breathing, and the stubborn certainty that the world deserved to see another dawn.
“FOR AETHORIA!”
She charged.
The Greater Demon opened its claws.
“Mortal.”
“Yes.”
Elara smiled.
“That’s the point.”
Dawnbreaker pierced the darkness.
The collision of light and Void erased all sound and turned the world white. When the thunder returned, it carried the Demon’s scream with it.
Holy light coursed through its unstable form and tore the shadows from reality.
Thorne’s spell closed around the entity like invisible chains.
The rift began to contract.
Dawnbreaker cracked.
Elara clenched her teeth.
“Not yet!”
Another fracture raced along the blade.
“ELARA!” Tara screamed.
The Heroine forced herself one step farther.
“NOT YET!”
The divine sword shattered.
Light erupted.
The Void imploded.
The wound in the sky slammed shut.
And for the first second of a new age, Aethoria knew silence.
Then dawn came.
And in that collision of light, blood, and darkness, the fate of the continent was sealed.
✦ ✦ ✦
The present.
The main sitting room of Master Seamo’s Manor was almost entirely dark.
Only the embers in the fireplace remained alight.
The estate stood near the borders of the Kingdom of Valoria, far enough from the city for the nights to be quiet and close enough to the eastern mountains that the towers of Arcanum Bellator Academy could be seen from the highest windows.
Phantsin Dawnfire was not looking at the towers.
He was looking at his hand.
He sat in a leather armchair that was too large, too elegant, and far too comfortable for his taste. He wore sturdy trousers and a dark training tunic. He had deliberately ignored the fine clothes Ellie had laid out for the following morning.
It was his final night before entering the Academy.
And in the center of his right palm, a flame burned.
Phantsin watched it without blinking.
It was not the orange fire of the hearth.
Nor was it the clean, violent red of the pyromancy he had managed to manifest during training—the same fire he intended to master within the Ignis faction.
This was magenta.
Beautiful.
Hypnotic.
Wrong.
The flame gave off no heat.
It stole it.
A thin layer of frost spread across the calluses of his palm. The air around his fingers turned visible. The shadows of the furniture stretched across the walls, though the flame was far too small to cast such shapes.
Phantsin curled his fingers slightly.
The flame reacted.
It leaned toward him.
As though it were alive.
“Again,” he murmured.
It was not the first time, and that was the worst part.
It had appeared during training sessions pushed too far. In nightmares. In moments of anger. Sometimes simply when he was alone.
Phantsin opened his hand wider.
“Magenta fire.”
The word fire was inaccurate, but he had no better one.
He had read the chronicles.
He had seen illustrations of the Great Demonic War.
Magenta was the color of the Void, of the enemy that had killed his parents.
His jaw tightened.
“Demons.”
The flame flickered.
Part of him wanted to crush it. Another part wanted to feed it. He ignored both impulses.
Analyze first. Act second.
Temperature: falling.
Pain: none.
Maximum observed duration: forty-three seconds.
Emotional response: variable.
Control...
His frown deepened.
Insufficient.
Tomorrow he would walk through the gates of Arcanum Bellator Academy, founded upon the legacy of Elara Dawnshield. He would learn beside future mage-knights.
He would train to destroy what had destroyed his family.
And he would carry the mark of those same creatures beneath his skin.
“It doesn’t matter,” he told himself, forcing himself to believe it.
The magenta flame rose higher.
“I can control you.”
The cold reached his wrist.
“And if I can’t...”
His fingers began to close.
“Phantsin?”
The voice was barely a whisper.
To him, it sounded like an alarm.
He clenched his fist.
The flame died against his callused skin.
The cold vanished almost at once, but a thin dusting of frost remained across his knuckles.
Phantsin hid his hand behind the chair as he stood.
His heart struck once, too hard.
Fear.
He identified it.
Rejected it.
Then turned.
Flower stood in the doorway.
His little sister looked even smaller framed by the enormous door. She wore a pale yellow nightgown and hugged a stuffed rabbit to her chest. Its left ear had been sewn back on so many times that it no longer matched the right.
Her hair fell loose down her back, shifting between soft orange and fiery red in the hearthlight.
The white flower was still tucked behind her ear.
It always was.
Her large emerald eyes shone with tears.
Phantsin forgot about his hand.
“Flower?”
He crossed the room immediately.
“It’s late. You should be asleep.”
Flower lowered her gaze.
“I tried. I can’t.”
Phantsin searched for a less useless answer.
“Ellie will have us up at dawn.”
“That doesn’t help very much either.”
Phantsin went still.
Flower squeezed the rabbit against her chest.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“You look upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You’re frowning.”
“I’m always frowning.”
Flower studied him.
“That’s true.”
Phantsin almost replied.
Almost.
Instead, he knelt in front of her.
“What happened?”
Flower glanced toward the empty corridor.
“The silence was... oppressive.”
“The house is quiet because everyone is sleeping. It isn’t dangerous.”
“I know,” Flower said. “It still feels oppressive.”
Phantsin waited.
Flower drew a deep breath.
“I had an extremely vivid nightmare.”
Phantsin’s stomach tightened.
“Explain the nightmare.”
She blinked.
“Now? Here?”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head.
“Ellie says that when someone is frightened, you should first offer them somewhere comfortable to sit.”
Phantsin looked at the enormous armchair.
Then at Flower.
“Sit.”
“Thank you.”
Flower crossed to the chair and climbed up with some difficulty. Phantsin helped her by the elbow, using only his left hand.
She noticed.
She said nothing.
Not yet.
Phantsin sat on the edge of a low table opposite her.
“Now explain.”
Flower settled the rabbit in her lap.
“The sky was breaking.”
Phantsin did not move.
“How?”
“Like a mirror. First there was one line. Then another. Then... everything opened.”
Her fingers tightened around the toy.
“There were no stars behind it.”
Phantsin felt a cold that did not come from his hand.
“Continue.”
“There was a color.”
Flower hesitated.
“What color?”
“I don’t know exactly. It was red, but not red. Purple, but not purple either.”
Phantsin kept his face still.
“Magenta.”
Flower looked at him.
“Yes.”
Silence.
The embers cracked in the fireplace.
“How did you know?”
“The stories of the Demonic War describe the Void that way.”
It was not a lie.
It simply was not the whole truth.
Flower accepted the explanation.
“Then it was the Void.”
“It was a dream.”
“I know, Brother.”
“Dreams are not prophecies.”
“Ellie says some of them can be.”
Phantsin frowned harder.
“Ellie also says I’m not allowed to jump from the stable roof.”
Flower blinked.
“That doesn’t seem related.”
“It means Ellie says many things.”
“The second one sounds quite sensible.”
“I survived.”
“That does not prove it was sensible.”
Phantsin stared at her.
Flower held his gaze for two seconds.
A very small smile appeared on her lips.
Phantsin exhaled through his nose.
“Continue.”
The smile faded.
“There was cold. So much cold. The plants withered. The trees turned gray. And there were monsters hiding inside the darkness.”
Her voice lowered.
“I was trying to find you.”
Phantsin leaned forward.
“Where was I?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you alone?”
Flower nodded.
There it was.
Not the monsters.
Not the Void.
The loneliness.
Phantsin reached out with his left hand and placed it on his sister’s shoulder.
“Look at me.”
Flower obeyed.
“This house is safe. Master Seamo installed arcane barriers around the perimeter, the walls, and the entrances. Ellie checks the seals every week.”
“Every third day.”
“Better.”
“But barriers can fail.”
“Yes.”
Flower seemed startled by the answer.
Phantsin continued before she could become more frightened.
“Everything can fail.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“I’m not finished.”
She closed her mouth.
“If the barriers fail, I’ll be here.”
Flower looked down at his left hand resting on her shoulder.
“Not tomorrow.”
The words struck him more precisely than any sword.
Phantsin did not answer at once.
Flower played with the rabbit’s ear.
“Tomorrow you’ll be at the Academy.”
“It isn’t far.”
“You won’t be here.”
“I can come back.”
“Not every night.”
“Flower...”
“I know you have to go.”
Her voice remained soft and polite.
That made it worse.
“I know it’s important. I know you want to become a Dawnblade like Mom and Dad. I know you want to become strong.”
Phantsin’s jaw hardened.
“Then you understand.”
“Understanding something doesn’t make it stop hurting.”
He fell silent.
Flower looked up.
“I don’t want to ask you to stay. That would be selfish.”
“You can ask.”
“Would you stay?”
Phantsin opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Flower smiled sadly.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I have to go. Learn. Become stronger.”
“I know,” Flower said.
Phantsin looked toward the fireplace.
“Then...”
“I only wanted you to say you’re going to miss me too.”
Phantsin froze.
Flower waited.
He could face a sword.
He could train until his hands bled.
He could run until he vomited, then get back up and keep going.
This was harder.
“I’ll think about you.”
Flower tilted her head.
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It’s equivalent.”
“Not exactly.”
“For me, it is.”
Flower watched him for a long moment.
Then her expression softened.
“All right.”
Phantsin looked at her again.
“I’ll protect you.”
“From the Academy? That sounds logistically complicated.”
“I’ll find a way.”
Flower gave a weak little laugh.
“You sound as if you’re going to declare war on distance.”
“If necessary.”
Her laugh grew a little clearer.
The tightness in Phantsin’s chest eased.
“If the barriers fail,” he continued, “if a demon appears, if anything tries to hurt you, I’ll stand between you and it.”
“Even if you’re far away? Even if the monsters are very big?”
“Even if I’m far away. Size is irrelevant against a precise cut.”
Flower smiled.
“That sounds like something you’d say even if you were fighting a mountain.”
“A mountain is not a reasonable target for a sword.”
“I’m glad there’s a limit.”
Phantsin stood and offered her his left hand.
“Come on. I’ll take you back to your room.”
Flower looked at the hand.
Then at her brother’s right arm, held rigidly at his side.
“Why are you only giving me that hand?”
Phantsin did not blink.
“The other one is numb.”
“From training?”
“Yes.”
Flower climbed down from the chair.
Her fingers wrapped around two of his.
“Ellie told you not to train today.”
“Ellie does not control my training.”
“She also said you would answer exactly like that.”
Phantsin started walking.
“Ellie talks too much.”
“I’ll tell her tomorrow.”
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because then she’ll talk more.”
Flower smiled as they moved through the corridor.
The manor lay in half-darkness. Moonlight entered through the tall windows and painted silver rectangles across the floor.
Phantsin walked slightly ahead.
Not because he was in a hurry.
Out of habit.
He always placed himself between Flower and any dark space.
She knew.
She had never told him.
As they passed a window, Flower stopped.
“Phantsin.”
He turned.
“What?”
She pointed toward the garden.
Despite the hour, several jasmine blossoms beside the glass had opened.
“They were closed when I went to bed.”
Phantsin studied the flowers.
“Maybe they bloom at night.”
“Not those.”
Flower raised a hand toward the glass.
The petals seemed to turn toward her.
“Sometimes they do that when I’m sad.”
Phantsin looked first at the flowers, then at his sister.
“Does anything hurt? Do you feel sick?”
“No.”
“Then it isn’t dangerous.”
Flower smiled.
“Your method of understanding magic is peculiar.”
“It works.”
“You classify everything as dangerous or not dangerous.”
“It’s efficient.”
“And what am I?”
Phantsin answered without thinking.
“Protected.”
Flower stared at him.
He resumed walking.
“Come on.”
She had to hurry two steps to catch up.
When they reached her room, the scent of jasmine and damp earth was stronger.
Pots lined the windowsill, small plants covered a table, and a vase of fresh flowers stood beside the bed. Ellie said keeping so many plants in one room was impractical.
Flower had replied that the plants did not seem to agree.
Phantsin pulled back the blankets.
“Lie down.”
Flower obeyed and placed the rabbit beside her.
He drew the covers up to her chin.
“Too high.”
Phantsin lowered them a few inches.
“Thank you.”
He was about to step away when Flower caught his left wrist.
“Wait.”
“What?”
She took his hand between hers.
Her skin was warm.
Remarkably warm.
The ache in Phantsin’s knuckles eased almost immediately.
Flower frowned.
“This hand is warm.”
Phantsin withdrew his fingers.
“Normal.”
Flower looked to his right.
“The other one isn’t.”
Silence.
“Phantsin.”
“Sleep.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Flower did not press him immediately.
That made her more dangerous.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“No.”
“Then why are you hiding it?”
“I’m not hiding it.”
Flower looked at the arm Phantsin was deliberately holding behind his body.
“I see.”
Phantsin sighed.
He brought out his right hand.
The frost had already disappeared.
Flower took it before he could stop her.
Phantsin tensed.
Her fingers were warm.
His were cold.
Flower looked up.
“Your fingers are freezing.”
“I was practicing temperature control.”
She blinked.
“That sounds invented.”
“It isn’t.”
“What were you trying to do?”
“Lower the temperature.”
“You succeeded. Why?”
Phantsin hesitated half a second too long.
“Control.”
Flower narrowed her eyes.
It was an expression she had learned from Ellie.
“Do you have nightmares too?”
“No.”
“Phantsin...”
“I said no.”
“Sometimes you talk in your sleep.”
He went still.
“What do I say?”
“Names.”
“What names?”
“Mom. Dad.”
Phantsin’s face emptied of expression.
Flower gently squeezed his hand.
“And sometimes you say my name.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“They’re dreams.”
“A moment ago you said dreams weren’t dangerous.”
“They aren’t.”
“Then you can talk about them.”
Phantsin carefully withdrew his hand.
“I don’t need to.”
Flower looked at him with a sadness too mature for her ten years.
“All right.”
Her acceptance produced more guilt than an argument would have.
Phantsin sat on the edge of the bed.
“I don’t remember much.”
Flower said nothing.
“About that night,” he added.
Her green eyes widened slightly.
“The night Mom and Dad...?”
Phantsin nodded.
“I remember fire. Screaming. I remember carrying you.”
Flower remained still.
“I don’t remember anything.”
“You were very little.”
“Sometimes I wish I remembered them.”
Phantsin looked at the floor.
“Sometimes I wish I didn’t.”
The confession hung between them.
Flower sat up and rested her head against his arm.
Phantsin went rigid.
Then his shoulder relaxed.
“That really was sad,” she murmured.
“Yes.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“It wasn’t useful.”
“It was to me.”
Phantsin did not understand why.
But Flower rarely said things without reason.
They remained like that for several seconds.
At last, she lay back down.
“Phantsin.”
“What?”
“Will you have breakfast with us tomorrow? And I mean a complete breakfast. Sitting down. No finishing in three minutes so you can go train.”
“Yes.”
Phantsin frowned.
“That’s inefficient.”
“Please.”
“The entrance ceremony starts late.”
“Then there’s time.”
“Ellie will want to inspect my clothes.”
“She’ll do that whether you eat breakfast or not.”
True.
“Master Seamo will probably want to talk.”
“He’ll do that even if you run away.”
True again.
Flower smiled.
“Besides, it might be our last breakfast together for a while.”
Phantsin took too long to answer.
Far too long.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“I’ll have breakfast with you.”
“All of it? No escaping?”
Phantsin looked at her.
“All of it. No escaping. I promise.”
Flower settled into the pillow, satisfied.
“Thank you.”
Phantsin stood.
“Now sleep.”
“I’ll try.”
“Close your eyes and breathe slowly,” Phantsin ordered.
Flower obeyed.
“If I breathe too slowly, Ellie will be angry with you.”
Phantsin stared at her.
Flower opened one eye and smiled.
“That was a joke.”
“I know.”
“It didn’t look like it.”
“Sleep.”
She closed her eye again.
Phantsin walked toward the door.
“Phantsin.”
He stopped.
“What?”
Flower’s voice was barely audible.
“I’m going to miss you too.”
He remained with his back to her.
His fingers curled.
“Rest.”
Flower did not answer.
Phantsin took another step.
“And, Flower.”
“Yes?”
“Me too.”
A small silence followed.
“Good night, Brother.”
“Good night.”
Phantsin extinguished the lamp.
He did not leave immediately.
He remained in the doorway until Flower’s breathing became slow and even.
Only then did he step out.
He closed the door carefully.
The corridor fell silent again.
Phantsin walked to an east-facing window.
In the distance, silhouetted against the stars, rose the spires of Arcanum Bellator Academy.
Tomorrow he would be there. He would train, learn, and become strong.
His right hand throbbed.
Phantsin raised it.
For an instant, nothing happened.
Then a magenta spark appeared between his fingers.
Frost spread across the windowpane.
Phantsin studied his reflection: crimson hair, crimson eyes, a hard expression.
And demonic light burning in his hand.
The rules had seemed simple.
Demons had murdered his parents, and demons were the enemy. He would become strong enough to protect the innocent—Flower above all.
But that flame turned the equation into something he did not know how to solve.
Phantsin closed his fist around the fire.
This time, he did not extinguish it.
Magenta light leaked between his fingers.
“I’ll use it. I’ll learn to control it.”
His voice did not tremble.
The cold climbed his wrist.
“And if this power tries to control me...”
He tightened his fist.
For an instant, a red glow appeared beneath the magenta.
True fire.
His fire.
The two colors fought in silence within his clenched hand.
“It will lose.”
Phantsin lifted his gaze toward the Academy.
He thought of Flower sleeping on the other side of the corridor.
He thought of his parents.
He thought of the monsters from the stories.
His jaw tightened.
“If I have to become a monster to protect her from the real ones...”
The magenta flame grew.
His crimson eyes never left the distant towers.
“Then I’ll become the worst one of all.”
