Elara's mind, despite the throbbing pain in her head and the exhaustion that weighted her limbs, refused to succumb to despair. The words of the hulking figures – "The master has plans for you all" – echoed in her mind, a chilling puzzle piece. She glanced around the cavern again, her eyes now more accustomed to the dim light, assessing her fellow captives. They ranged from perhaps ten years old to her own age, sixteen. Most seemed like ordinary children, perhaps from less prominent families, caught up in some unknown scheme. But then, there was her – a van Hatte, a prodigy from the most prestigious magical family in Veridian. Her abduction felt specific, targeted.
She tried to push a sliver of mana through her veins, a cautious, almost instinctive test. It was sluggish, heavy, as if the very air of the cave suppressed its flow. Her body was still weak, too battered to properly channel anything significant. This was the downside the old shopkeeper had warned her about: a mage reliant solely on magic was vulnerable when that power was cut off or diminished.
A soft cough from the bandaged boy drew her attention. He was trying to shift, a pained grimace on his face. "Are you a... a mage?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes wide and hopeful as they fixed on her.
Elara hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. My name is Elara. And you?"
"Kaelen," he replied, his gaze flickering to his crudely bandaged arm. "They... they broke it. And they took our amulets. All of them."
Amulets. That struck Elara. Many children in Veridian, especially those from magically inclined families, wore simple protective amulets, often enchanted with minor wards or communication spells. Taking them would ensure their complete isolation. But why?
"Why us?" Elara asked, her voice low, directed at Kaelen but meant for anyone who might have overheard. "Why did they take us?"
A girl with bright, fearful eyes, huddled close to Kaelen, spoke up. "I heard them talking. Something about... 'harvesting'. And 'potential'." She shuddered, pulling her thin knees tighter to her chest. "They kept saying some of us have a 'spark'."
Harvesting. Potential. Spark. The words sent a cold dread through Elara. It sounded like they were not just captives, but resources. Like cattle. For what? Her mind immediately went to the unique magical resonance she possessed, the "frightening phenomenon" that allowed her to master spells with unnatural speed. Was that her "spark"? And what about the others?
Just then, one of the hulking figures from earlier returned, this time carrying a crude, leather-bound list. He stopped near the flickering light, his back to them, and began to read names in a low, toneless voice. "Anya... Borin... Cassian... Elara..."
Elara's name, when it came, felt like a hammer blow. They knew her. This wasn't random. The beating, the targeted abduction – it was all deliberate. Her prestigious family, her prodigious talent, had made her a mark. The "master" clearly had a precise agenda.
The realization ignited a different kind of fire within her. Not the raw power of her magic, but a colder, harder flame of defiance. She was battered, imprisoned, and stripped of her immediate power, but she was not broken. The old shopkeeper's words about certainty when magic fails echoed in her mind. This was her true test, far beyond the controlled environment of the Passage of Rites. She had to survive, not just for herself, but for the other children, trapped in this grim, echoing darkness, all with their own "sparks" waiting to be harvested.