The ceremony ended like a dying breath—hollow and unsatisfying.
I lingered in my seat as the hall emptied, watching the way students gave me a wide berth, their footsteps quickening as they passed. Their fear was a tangible thing, thick as the blood still drying on my collar.
Headmaster Evelyn remained at the podium, her fingers steepled, watching me with the patience of a spider.
"Ashen Crimson."
Her voice cracked through the empty hall like a whip. I didn't flinch.
"Headmaster." I inclined my head, just enough to mock respect.
She descended the steps, her boots silent against the marble. Up close, I could see the scars—thin, branching lines like lightning etched into her skin, pulsing faintly with stored power.
"You're here because the board voted," she said, her voice low. "Not because I approved."
I smiled. "How democratic."
A spark jumped between her fingers. "You have one week."
"Until?"
"Until I test you myself." Her violet eyes gleamed. "If you survive, you stay. If you don't?" She shrugged. "The academy could use a new lightning rod."
[System: Oh, she's definitely going to kill you.]
Perfect.
The Library Gambit
I found her at dusk, surrounded by towering shelves of ancient texts.
Cecilia Thorne, the Ice Blade Princess, didn't look up as I approached. Her fingers traced the pages of a spellbook, frost blooming in their wake.
"You're blocking my light," she said, voice colder than the grave.
I leaned against the shelf beside her, close enough to see the way her breath fogged in the air. "I need your help."
That made her look up. Her eyes—pale blue, like glaciers under moonlight—narrowed. "Why would I help you?"
"Because Evelyn's going to murder me in six days." I flipped a dagger between my fingers. "And you hate her more than you hate me."
A muscle twitched in her jaw. The truth was an open secret—Cecilia's family had once challenged Evelyn for the title of Lightning Tyrant. They'd lost. Badly.
"What do you want?" she finally asked.
I slid a book toward her—The Art of Conducting Lightning: A Heretical's Guide.
"Teach me how to survive a direct strike."
She stared at the cover, then at me. "You're insane."
"Often." I flipped the book open to a dog-eared page. "But I'd rather be insane than dead."
For the first time, something flickered in her gaze—not respect, not quite, but the barest hint of intrigue.
"Meet me at the eastern tower," she said. "Midnight. And if you tell anyone about this, I'll freeze your tongue and shatter it."
I pressed a hand to my chest. "My heart's all aflutter."
She threw the book at my head.
The First Lesson
The eastern tower was a ruin, its stones blackened by centuries of lightning strikes. Cecilia stood at the center, her rapier glinting in the moonlight.
"Evelyn doesn't just wield lightning," she said as I approached. "She conducts it. Channels it. Makes it an extension of her will."
I rolled my shoulders. "So how do I stop it?"
"You don't." She raised her blade. "You redirect it."
Then she struck.
Frost surged from her rapier, jagged and swift. I barely dodged, shadows coiling around my arms in defense.
"Pathetic," she sneered. "Evelyn's lightning is ten times faster. Again."
We danced across the tower—her ice, my shadows, the air between us crackling with barely contained violence. By the third hour, my lungs burned, my muscles screamed, and my shadows flickered like dying embers.
Cecilia wasn't even winded.
"You're holding back," she accused, her blade at my throat.
I grinned through bloody teeth. "And you're enjoying this."
She froze. Then, with a sound of disgust, she sheathed her rapier. "Tomorrow. Same time. Don't be late."
As she vanished into the dark, the System chimed.
[Skill Progress: Lightning Resistance (D → C)]
[System: …Huh. Maybe you won't die.]
I collapsed onto the stones, staring at the storm gathering overhead.
Five days left.
And the real training had only just begun.