Syra had a few minutes alone, and she was going to make it count.

  She rested against one of the forest’s many greatwood trunks and closed her eyes. Her ardor, the energy of her soul, looked like fireflies: bright specks of light floating inside her body. She strained to command it, to cast it.

  She may as well have tried to get her body to sprout wings and fly. The fireflies continued flitting about, undisturbed.

  This is normal, she reassured herself. I’ll get this right soon enough.

  She knew what she was doing incorrectly. Flashes of pain, reminders of her past attempts, pulsed in her memory fresh like red, running blood. All the times she’d failed. Warnings of what could go wrong.

  Syra brushed aside her silver hair and put a hand up to her right cheek, feeling the soft bump of her scar from her first attempt to Soulcast.

  It only steeled her resolve.

  If her ardor wouldn’t listen to her, it was because she was worried about the consequences. She let her dream of one day being a Redcloak, of valiantly enforcing peace on the island, drown her fears.

  She reached into her soul senses and pushed the fireflies of her ardor with all her will. Sweat beaded her skin as seconds passed, hot and sticky and bothersome, but her concentration held. At first the effort was as insurmountable as wrestling a drake, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, the flitting fireflies drew closer and closer to the silhouette of her body. She pushed harder and harder, teeth grinding, muscles tensing, fingers curling and digging into her palms. The fireflies in her soul sense shone impossibly bright and she grinned in triumph, until the ardor abruptly slipped from her grasp like an unspooling thread.

  Syra cried out in agony. Wild, screaming lances of blue lightning covered every inch of her body, biting into her skin as if running her through a hundred thorn bushes. The discharge indiscriminately devoured even the bark of the trunk behind her, filling the air with the acrid smell of blight.

  The pain only grew as the bolts bloated and accelerated, tearing at her blouse and skin. She flinched, thoughts scattered before she could piece them together.

  Just like last time. Blood leaked across her body from a myriad of cuts. Some might make a new scar. If it wasn’t for her Soulcasting-enhanced body, she’d have been dead within a second of trying to Soulcast.

  But this wasn’t like last time anymore — the lightning was stronger, more ferocious.

  It could even kill her.

  The thought sobered her mind, and with what little willpower she could scrape together, she recalled something Da had once told her many years ago: Jeol may wear a full-body armor of his Soulcasting element, but it’s an inefficient ability. It spreads his control thin. Then he’d paled, as he always did when realizing he’d let slip a piece of advice on Soulcasting. She had picked up all her knowledge on Soulcasting from bits and pieces like that, since everyone was forbidden from talking to her about Soulcasting by law. That was likely why she had so much difficulty with what she thought should’ve been the simplest application of ardor. All the more reason to practice whenever she could.

  She might’ve been making the mistake Da had been speaking of; she needed to sharpen her focus, her control. Syra balled a fist, clammy from sweat and blood, and commanded the lightning to vent out her fist.

  “Go!” she tried to shout, but her voice came out as more of a hoarse whisper. The arcs dancing over her skin merely shivered in response, but she held her concentration. Only seconds later did it race to her fist — then out.

  Syra cringed her eyes shut and clutched her bleeding ears as the entire vicinity of the forest lit up like the sun had fallen on it. Shrieks like a thousand birds threatened to deafen her, but she held on, curled up and panting into her knees. Her skin was raw and torn, throbbing with an undying intensity.

  In just a few moments, the forest silenced, save for a few crackling embers that remained. Deep gashes bore into the bark around her, and smoky fumes lifted up into the leaves above, bitter and gray. But greatwood trees were tall as the sky and wide enough for an entire village to link arms around their trunk. Little fires wouldn’t cause any real damage. As usual, she was the one most hurt by her own practice. Though that did nothing to dampen her spirits.

  That was a success. She clapped her hands, wincing at the resulting spike of pain but unwilling to wipe the growing smile from her face. I need to focus my ardor on a specific part of me from now on. One new thing learned, and that’s all that matters, right?

  Thunderous footsteps drew near. Her time was up. Syra tried getting on her feet, but a spike of pain kept her slumped against a tree, waiting for the inevitable lecture.

  Roshi was a man with an imposing beard and stature, with black hair in a close shave. He wore a crimson-colored cloak, though the hood was down, giving a clear view of the black-and-red mark on his forehead: his Umbra. As he neared, he paused to take in the ashy scene Syra had created.

  “Da,” she greeted before breaking into a fit of coughs.

  The next thing she remembered, she was in her home in the village of Sylvanshade, lying on her stiff cot with Da looking over her with concern. Her body was sore all over, with heavy, sticky weights pressing down on her. She used what little energy she had to lift her head an inch. Thick white bandages, by the looks of it, strapped all across her body where she’d been cut. She tried not to think of how many of those would scar. She had plenty branching red lines permanently marking her skin already.

  “It’s been a day,” Da said softly, catching her attention. “If I didn’t have to present you to Elkah so she can punish you for disobeying orders to not Soulcast, I wouldn’t let you leave this room for another week. Thankfully, you’re already on the path to recovery. I can’t believe how tough you are.”

  Syra grinned. “I get tougher each time!”

  He pursed his lips, face taut with worry. “We were foraging for berries and fruits. Why would you leave, just to do this?”

  She sighed. She appreciated his concern, but he just didn’t understand how she felt. “I can’t be a Redcloak, like you or the others, if I can’t Soulcast properly.”

  “Why do you want to be a Redcloak so badly?” he asked, gesturing to her bandaged wounds, as if nothing could be worth all that. “Is it not enough to live peacefully?”

  Syra squeezed her eyes tight, recalling her earliest memory: being surrounded by flames, alone and sobbing, almost ten years ago. She’d been just six years of age. Then her Da had arrived, and found this place: Oberon Island, tucked away in the corner of the world. Here, they could live calm lives away from war and conflict, and judging by Syra’s calm life, he’d succeeded. There couldn’t have been any place in the world as safe, and it was thanks to Elkah’s Umbras: everyone on the island had one, intertwining with each of their souls to compel them to follow Elkah’s laws no matter what.

  “I became a Soulcaster just months after coming here so I help this island,” Syra said, hoping that if anyone could understand, it would be him. As she’d found out, anyone could become a Soulcaster — someone capable of wielding their ardor for magical results — if they possessed a strong enough desire, or a Soulcaster’s Will. A deep yearning in their soul. Hers was to protect Oberon Island’s peace, the most precious thing in the world. “Isn’t that proof? It means everything to me. I could never be happy just sitting around. I want to give back to this island what its given me. Da, there’s nothing I’ve wanted more. This is my purpose in life, I know it, clearly even down to my soul!”

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  Da frowned. “Becoming a Soulcaster after receiving an Umbra deactivated it, too,” Da noted, voice brittle, like he was halfway-given up. “It makes you the only one Elkah can’t control. And if you keep wilfully betraying her orders, she’ll never let you be a Redcloak.”

  “I’m not betraying her,” Syra said indignantly. “She doesn’t trust me to get better at Soulcasting. That’s a load of crottle. I’ll show her that she’s wrong. I’ll figure out how to get my lightning to work properly, and I’ll be the strongest Soulcaster ever, and nothing bad will ever happen again.”

  Da seemed to deflate at those words. In a heavy voice, he said, “Syra. I’m disappointed in you.”

  Her grin vanished. Over the years, she’d challenged him on why he was always so cold whenever she disobeyed Elkah. But she’d learned there was no point. His Umbra glowed on his forehead, and Syra knew exactly what that meant. One of Elkah’s forced laws was active, limiting what he could say or do. He had to be cold with her, no matter whether he wanted to or not.

  A brittle spike of irritation rose, but she batted it away from her mind. Her dissatisfaction with Umbras was just her selfishness.

  But his disappointment still cut deeper than anywhere her lightning could reach.

  Tears threatened to leak from her eyes, so she rested her head opposite Da and buried her face in her bandaged arms. “I just don’t want to be useless all the time.”

  In the dimly lit room, she could tell Da’s Umbra was glowing from behind her. He was silent for a few seconds before he spoke, slowly, as if wrestling with himself: “I will try to convince Elkah to wait until tomorrow to see you. Please take some rest.”

  Elkah lived modestly for being the absolute ruler of Oberon Island. From the outside, her house looked like a moss-bound hovel, like all buildings in Sylvanshade. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all made from greatwood, and even the sparse furniture was made of the same material. There wasn’t much else to use in the forest, after all.

  When Syra walked in, she saw Jeol already engaged in conversation with Elkah. Jeol wore the same billowing crimson cloak he always did, just like Da's. She took a seat at the back of the room to wait out the conversation.

  “The ship’s on the horizon,” Jeol was saying. “It’ll be straddling our shores within the evening.”

  “And what do you plan to do about it?” Elkah’s voice was always kind and warm. Syra found comfort in that, once. Elkah was the creator of Umbras, the arbiter of every law. It forced them to follow Elkah’s rules by some magical power Syra couldn’t fathom. She’d once overheard something about a ‘Mistbound Lake’ being the source of the unusual power, but Elkah had caught her eavesdropping on that private conversation soon after, so she didn’t know much beyond that.

  She squirmed in her seat as she thought of what excuse to make to save herself. The last time she was in such a situation, she’d been locked in her cramped room for a month straight, and every attempt to sneak out had been thwarted in seconds.

  “I’ll wait by the coast, naturally.” Jeol said. He’d always spoken with arrogance, even when speaking with Elkah. It must’ve been a leftover habit from his time as king of the former Oberon Kingdom.

  Elkah never seemed to mind, though. Nothing ever fazed her. She smiled, wrinkles shifting to new positions all along her face. “Good. Take Duri with you. Mind, I don’t want our visitors killed. Anyone who steps on the island is to be brought to me for their Gift.”

  “A warm welcome for the poor fools,” Jeol said dryly. The Umbra on his forehead, a black-and-red mark that looked much like a tattoo, shimmered with the new law. He made to leave the room.

  “Wait!” Syra blurted, turning everyone’s eyes to her and stopping Jeol in his tracks. Roshi frowned at her warningly, but Elkah only turned her smile to Syra.

  “You look like you got set on by a pack of hounds,” Jeol growled, taking notice of her for the first time. She’d washed up and worn new clothes before arrival, but the cuts on her hands and face would betray what she’d done for days to come.

  “What is it, Syra?” Elkah asked. “I can see the byproduct of disobedience on you. Don’t try to come up with an excuse now.”

  Syra shook her head. “Instead, I’d like to suggest a punishment for myself.”

  Elkah leaned back in her seat, her expression growing thoughtful.

  Syra took that as a sign to continue. She pointed to Jeol. “Let me go with him to that ship he talked about. I’ll help bring the people on it back to you. It’ll be hard work, right?”

  “You contend that’s a punishment, is that so? I would think you just want to speak to someone without an Umbra for the first time in ten years. Or, perchance, you hope to escape on their ship?”

  “Of course not!” Syra denied. “I am as devoted to Umbras as anyone with one, even if I’m not bound to your word like them.” She wished her heart could’ve been as sincere about it as she sounded. Elkah’s system of Umbras had ensured absolute peace for the island, after all. She really did want to support Oberon Island’s new nation of Umbras; that’s why she strived to improve her Soulcasting to the point where her lightning could serve as the island’s shield from any who wished it harm.

  “You still seem bent on electrocuting yourself to an ashy husk,” Jeol said.

  “Only to better serve Elkah! Well, not as an ashy husk, but as a fully-fledged Soulcas—”

  Elkah raised a hand, silencing her.

  After a few seconds, she spoke. “I will let you go with Jeol and Duri to receive our unexpected guests.”

  Syra cheered internally.

  Jeol glared at Syra. “You’re letting her off too easily. She’ll make a habit of disobeying you. What if she gets bold enough to try to kill you in the middle of the night?”

  Syra would never think to do something like that, even if she could, but she still felt a stab of fear as she turned to see what Elkah thought of it. Jeol was just bitter that she was the only one whose Umbra didn’t work anymore. He and Moth, another Redcloak, frequently complained about being forced Elkah’s laws.

  Elkah dribbled two fingers on her chin as she thought. “I’m no fool. I’m sure you’d appreciate it if she did put me to sleep, Jeol.” He scowled at that. “Regardless, I’m not a monster. I won’t let Syra get seriously harmed, at least from anything besides herself. We need her anyway, for Roshi to study and figure out how to get her Umbra working again. Yes? So she’ll go with you and Duri, and you’ll watch over her, alright, Jeol?”

  “Still doesn’t seem like much of a punishment,” Jeol said.

  Elkah’s smile grew, shifting her wrinkles further around her face. “I never said that would be the full extent.”

  Syra’s cheer came crashing down. So there was something else Elkah had in mind? If she had to be locked in her room for another month straight, she’d burn herself ten times over if it could tear off the walls with lightning.

  Or would it be something else? Could the punishment be to labor with the builders on constructing new hovels? To scrub the guano and crottle from the village’s trees?

  “You’ve never seen me Gift an Umbra first-hand before, Syra, isn’t it so?” Elkah asked.

  Syra felt a strange chill pass along deep in her bones. She’d only heard about the process of Gifting, and had no desire to see it herself.

  Elkah appeared to have read Syra’s expression. “I’ve sheltered you long enough. Whoever you bring back from that ship, I’ll Gift this evening. You’ll watch it happen, and maybe it’ll mature you. Do that and I’ll let you off for your transgression.”

  Syra suddenly found herself preferring the idea of isolating in a room for a month.

  “Why is it so wrong for me to practice Soulcasting?” she asked, surprised at herself for talking back. “If you’d let Da, or even Jeol give me some pointers, I’m sure I could defend the nation as well as them. As well as a Redcloak.”

  “It’s because your Soulcasting is defective,” Elkah said, the warm smile never leaving her face.

  Syra’s shoulders tensed. “How could you know that? I barely even know what ardor is! Just give me a chance—”

  “Your lightning harms you not because you lack knowledge or experience,” Elkah said. “Novice Soulcasters may be a harm to others out of a lack of control over their abilities, but they’re never a harm to themselves. You are the only one whose element damages yourself. It’s unheard of for any normal Soulcaster. After all, how could a soul want to harm its body?”

  “B-but, then why? I don’t want to harm myself,” Syra muttered.

  “Who can say?” Elkah said. “Your Umbra deactivated when you became a Soulcaster all those years ago. Perchance, having had an Umbra in your soul caused a complication in the process. That is why I don’t want you getting encouraged to practice Soulcasting. It’s only for your own sake I say this, Syra.”

  She didn’t want to believe it was true, but it was the most likely explanation. She grit her teeth and let her Da escort her out to see an apothecary to treat her wounds. She tried not to think about the Gifting process she’d have to see, and distracted herself by wondering what kinds of exciting people she’d get to meet from the incoming ship.