I woke to sunlight streaming through the weathered shutters of my room at The Hollow Flame, dust motes dancing in the golden beams. Today was the day. After two weeks of intensive training, of pushing my body and mind beyond what I thought possible, we were heading back to Vaeloria.

  Back to Seraphina.

  The thought of her sent a quiet pang through my chest. I'd left her alone, vulnerable, in a city that devoured the weak. Sure, I'd arranged protection, paid for her room and meals, but still, the guilt gnawed at me. What if something happened? What if those knights I'd hired decided the money wasn't worth the trouble?

  What if she thought I'd abandoned her, just like everyone else in her life had?

  I shook the thought away and rose, wincing at the familiar ache in my muscles. The last two weeks had been brutal, Lysara's training regimen had pushed me to the edge and then shoved me right over it. But results don't lie. I could feel the difference in my mana control, the way the corruption no longer surged with every spike of emotion.

  I pulled on my clothes and gathered the few possessions I'd accumulated during our stay, a set of mana crystals Lysara had given me, some fresh clothes, and a small leather-bound journal filled with exercises and notes. Everything fit into a single pack. Convenient for a lifetime spent running, I suppose.

  Downstairs, Cael was already waiting, leaning against the bar with that infuriating casualness of his, like the world moved at his pace, not the other way around.

  "About time," he said, straightening as I approached. "Thought I'd have to drag you out of bed myself."

  "Wouldn't be the first time," I muttered, then glanced around. "Where's Lysara?"

  "Outside. Said she needed to check something before we leave."

  I nodded, then something shifted in my gut, a decision settling into place. We were about to leave, to start this whole Academy charade, and I still didn't know why. Not really.

  "Cael, wait." I set my pack down, the soft thud echoing in the nearly empty common room. "Before we go any further, I need to know something."

  His eyebrow arched slightly, but he remained silent, waiting.

  "Why the Academy?" I asked, keeping my voice low but firm. "All this trouble, the fake identity, the training... what do you actually want me to do there? What's the real purpose?"

  The false papers alone would cost a small fortune. The risk of discovery was enormous. For a man who seemed to value practicality above all else, the whole scheme felt needlessly elaborate.

  Cael's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes hardened, like a door closing. He glanced around the empty room before answering.

  "You don't trust me, Zane?"

  "I trust you more than anyone in this world," I said honestly. "But trust doesn't mean blind obedience."

  A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Fair enough." He pushed away from the bar, gesturing toward a quiet corner. "Let's just say the Academy offers certain... opportunities."

  "Like what?"

  He exhaled slowly. "Like access to information that exists nowhere else in Eryndor. The Academy library holds texts dating back centuries, some that might help understand that corruption eating away at your heart."

  I frowned. "We could have broken into the library if that's all you wanted."

  "It's not just the library." His voice dropped lower. "There's someone there—someone important—that I need to observe. Having eyes and ears inside, someone who can move freely without raising suspicion... that's invaluable."

  "So I'm your spy?" I couldn't keep the edge from my voice.

  "You're my solution to a complex problem." His gaze was steady, unapologetic. "The Academy isn't just a school, Zane. It's the heart of power in Eryndor, the place where future rulers, mages, and faction leaders are shaped."

  "And what exactly am I supposed to be looking for?"

  Cael leaned closer. "I'll tell you when the time comes. For now, focus on settling in, establishing your cover, learning what you can. The rest will follow."

  "That's not an answer."

  "It's all you're getting today." His tone was final, but not unkind. "Look, this benefits you too. The Academy has resources neither of us could access otherwise, training facilities, mana wells, instructors who've spent lifetimes mastering what Lysara's taught you in two weeks."

  I held his gaze, frustration building. "And if I refuse?"

  "Then you walk away with a corrupted heart and no clear path to fixing it." He shrugged, the motion casual but his eyes sharp. "Your choice."

  The weight of his words settled between us. Not a threat, but a reality check. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I needed what the Academy offered, knowledge, resources, maybe even answers about what was happening to me.

  "Fine," I conceded. "But no more half-truths, Cael. The next time I ask—"

  "You'll get what you need to know," he finished, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Now grab your pack. Lysara's waiting."

  Outside, the morning air was crisp and clear, carrying the faint scent of pine from the surrounding forests. Lysara stood near the edge of town, her tall figure silhouetted against the rising sun. As we approached, she turned, her dark blue eyes settling on me with that unnerving intensity I'd grown almost accustomed to.

  "So," she said, "the student returns to the world."

  "Thanks to you," I replied, meaning it.

  A small smile curved her lips. "You did the work. I merely pointed the way."

  "Still—" I hesitated, searching for the right words. "I wouldn't have made it this far without your help."

  Lysara studied me for a moment, then reached into her robes and pulled out a small, crystalline pendant, deep blue with veins of silver running through it like frozen lightning.

  "Take this," she said, pressing it into my palm. "It's a focus stone. When you feel the corruption rising, channel a thread of your normal mana through it. It'll help stabilize your flow, especially in crowded places where emotions run high."

  I closed my fingers around the cool crystal, feeling its subtle resonance with my own mana. "Thank you."

  She nodded, then her expression turned serious. "The Academy isn't like Nareth's Hollow, Zane. They monitor mana signatures closely. Practice your suppression techniques daily, especially after sundown when the patrols are changing shifts."

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "I will."

  "And..." she hesitated, something like concern flashing across her face. "Be careful around anyone who shows unusual interest in your condition. Corrupted mana isn't just forbidden, it's feared. For good reason."

  "I don't exactly advertise it," I said dryly.

  "No, but secrets have a way of revealing themselves," she countered. "Especially in places built to uncover them."

  Cael cleared his throat. "We should move if we want to reach the crossroads by nightfall."

  Lysara's eyes lingered on me a moment longer. "Remember what I taught you, Zane. Control comes from within, not from fighting what you are, but from accepting and directing it."

  I nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "I'll remember."

  With that, she stepped back, a faint smile touching her lips. "Until we meet again, then."

  "You sound certain we will."

  Her smile widened, knowing and mysterious. "Few things in this world are certain, but some meetings are... inevitable."

  She turned and walked back toward the inn without another word, her figure gradually blending with the morning shadows.

  The journey back to Vaeloria stretched before us like an unspooling thread, winding roads cutting through forests that gradually gave way to rolling farmlands, then the more orderly provinces surrounding the capital. Where Nareth's Hollow had been all muted colors and whispered secrets, these lands were open, exposed, the weight of Eryndor's rule visible in every carefully maintained road and patrolled checkpoint.

  During our breaks, I practiced. Sitting cross-legged beneath the dappled shade of roadside trees, I'd draw forth the dual streams of mana—normal and corrupted—working to blend their edges with the precision Lysara had drilled into me. Each day brought small improvements: holding the blend a few seconds longer, achieving a more stable fusion, feeling less strain afterward.

  Sometimes I'd practice while walking, subtly channeling a thread of mana through my fingertips, directing it in the complex patterns Lysara had taught me. Once, when Cael rode ahead to scout a mountain pass, I attempted the full dual-stream exercise, only for the corrupted mana to flare suddenly. The surge sent a jolt of pain through my chest, but I caught it quickly, drawing it back under control with three measured breaths.

  Progress, not perfection, Lysara had said.

  Cael seemed different on the road, more alert, more focused on what lay ahead rather than behind. He spoke less, but when he did, it was practical advice about what awaited us.

  "The Academy runs on hierarchy," he explained one evening as we camped beneath a canopy of stars. "Not just rank or title, but perceived power. They'll test you early, instructors and students alike. Don't show everything you can do, but don't appear weak either."

  "Sounds exhausting," I muttered, prodding the fire with a stick.

  Cael's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Welcome to Vaelorian politics. The sooner you learn the game, the longer you'll survive it."

  (Seraphina's POV)

  The faded curtains barely kept the morning light at bay. I'd grown to appreciate this small intrusion, this gentle reminder that the world continued outside these four walls. "My" room at The Rusted Anvil wasn't much, but after years in chains, even this modest space felt vast. A worn wooden chair with one leg slightly shorter than the others. A small table cluttered with the remnants of yesterday's meal. A bed with rough blankets.

  The air carried a curious mixture of comfort and unease, like a shelter discovered during a storm, safe for now but with no guarantees for tomorrow.

  Morning brought the familiar cacophony from below, the heartbeat of the inn awakening. Wooden chairs scraping against the floor, the hearty laugh of the innkeeper, the clinking of plates and mugs. These sounds had become my morning bells, my first connection to a world I'd nearly forgotten existed.

  I rose, padding barefoot to the window. Pushing aside the tattered curtain, I peered down at the street. Merchants haggled over prices, children darted between carts, guards patrolled with measured strides. So much life, compressed into such a small space. How strange that a world like this had continued while I was locked away, forgotten.

  Sometimes I wondered if I was truly here or merely dreaming from the floor of a cage somewhere.

  The knights Zane had hired nodded to me occasionally when bringing food. They never stayed long, their discomfort evident in their shifting stances, their averted gazes. I didn't blame them. What does one say to a broken thing trying to remember how to be human?

  I retreated from the window and settled on the bed, pulling the book Zane had left behind from beneath the pillow. "The Chronicles of Eryndor's Third Dynasty." Dry historical text, but I devoured every word like water in a desert. Knowledge was the one thing they could never fully take from me, even when they took everything else.

  My fingers traced the edges of the worn cover. Stories of kings and queens with their grand schemes seemed so distant from the world I'd known, a world of chains and commands, of survival measured in moments rather than lifetimes.

  There was a certain irony in reading about dynasties while sitting in a rented room, waiting for a man I barely knew to return. Did the queens in these pages ever feel as vulnerable as I did?

  In the drawer of the small table, I kept the journal and charcoal pieces the innkeeper's daughter had brought, "To pass the time," she'd said with a kindness that made my throat tighten. Today, I sketched the view from my window, not the buildings or people, but the slice of sky visible between them. Freedom, framed by confinement.

  My thoughts drifted, as they often did, to Zane. The man with eyes like the void who'd pulled me from darkness into... whatever this was. Not quite freedom, not yet. But something closer to it than I'd known in years.

  I hadn't trusted him at first. Why would I? Trust was a luxury slaves couldn't afford. Even now, part of me waited for the other hand to fall, for him to reveal what he truly wanted from me. People always wanted something.

  Yet he had saved me. Carried me through chaos, protected me, paid for this room, these meals, my safety. And then left.

  People always left, too.

  But the memory of his determination lingered, the fierce concentration on his face as he cut through that dagger-wielding woman, the gentle way he'd caught me after throwing me into the air. Such a strange contradiction. Violence and tenderness living in the same hands.

  He was nothing like the others who had owned me. Those men with dead eyes and cruel smiles who saw people as things to be used and discarded. Zane looked at me and saw... something. Someone. Even when I wasn't sure I saw it in myself.

  Sometimes, in the quiet hours between dusk and dawn, doubt crept in like a thief. Did I deserve this? This room, this safety, this second chance? After everything that had been done to me—after everything I'd been forced to do—was there enough of a person left to rebuild?

  The world moves on with or without your permission. I'd learned that lesson the hardest way possible.

  Midday brought new sounds, the innkeeper's wife shouting orders, the clatter of the lunch rush. I ventured downstairs occasionally, always keeping to the shadows, always watching. The patrons paid me little mind, which was both relief and reminder of my invisibility.

  "Poor thing," I overheard the cook telling a server. "Don't know what happened to her, but she's got that look. Seen it before in soldiers back from the southern front."

  "She barely eats," the server replied. "Master Zane paid good coin for her meals, but most go back untouched."

  I slipped away before they noticed me. Their words weren't unkind, but they stung nonetheless. Pity was just another form of distance.

  Back in my room, I watched children play in the narrow alley below, their carefree laughter both warming and hollowing. I had been that young once, hadn't I? Before everything was taken. The memories felt like stories about someone else, faded illustrations in a book I'd read long ago.

  Afternoons stretched endlessly. I counted the cracks in the ceiling, thirty-seven in total. I listened to the conversations drifting up from below, piecing together stories about people I would never meet. I traced the corrupted veins in Zane's arm in my mind, wondering if they had spread further, wondering if he was still alive.

  Sometimes I allowed myself small indulgences, imagining what I might say if he returned. Thank you seemed inadequate. What words could possibly bridge the gap between enslavement and whatever this limbo state was? Perhaps there were none.

  Freedom isn't a door suddenly opened. It's learning to walk again after your legs have forgotten how.

  The days blurred together. Twelve, perhaps thirteen since he'd left. The knights still stood guard, though their vigilance had relaxed somewhat. The threat, whatever it had been, seemed to have faded. Or perhaps they simply grew bored of watching over a silent girl who barely left her room.

  I was sketching the pattern of sunlight across the floor when I heard it. Footsteps in the hallway outside my door.

  Not the heavy, confident stride of the knights. Not the hurried patter of the serving girl. Not even the shuffling gait of the old innkeeper checking on his guest.

  These were measured steps, deliberate but cautious. Someone trying not to be heard.

  My heart lurched painfully against my ribs. Could it be? After all this time?

  The charcoal snapped between my fingers, leaving a dark smear across the page. I stared at the door, breath caught in my throat, torn between hope and its more faithful companion—fear.

  The footsteps stopped just outside.

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