After combat, we weren't given a break. No water. No rest. No time to breathe.
Cam guided me through the twisting corridors of the east wing to our next class — Elemental Control. It sounded dramatic. The kind of thing that would come with a chant or glowing runes.
But the classroom was a stone circle open to the sky, no walls, no seats, just a cold floor and six instructors standing at each compass point. They didn't speak. Just watched as students trickled in, stretching sore limbs and trying not to limp.
I stood near Cam, arms folded tightly.
One of the instructors raised her hand. A flame danced above her palm, floating without heat or smoke.
"We're not here to teach," she said. "We're here to observe. Control is not gifted. It's earned. Show us what you've got — or don't. Either way, you'll be marked accordingly."
Marked?
Before I could ask, students began stepping into the center of the circle, one by one, performing quiet demonstrations of power. A girl from House Draven summoned a wind strong enough to knock over two students who stood too close. A boy from Hollow pulled water from the air and sculpted it into jagged shapes.
Cam leaned close to me. "They track everyone's potential. Record it. Every burst, every failure."
"What if you don't know what you are?"
Her lips twisted. "Then you'll find out in front of everyone."
Great.
When Cam's name was called, she stepped forward without hesitation. No theatrics. She just exhaled — and the temperature dropped. A frost spread from her feet outward, delicate and lace-like, blooming across the stone floor. Clean. Controlled. Terrifying.
The instructor gave a single nod. Cam walked back like it was nothing.
I wasn't surprised when they called me next.
"Seraphina Nightborn."
The silence pressed down like weight. I moved toward the circle slowly, forcing my spine straight even though my ribs still ached from the fight.
What was I?
I knelt, palms down on the stone, reaching inward. Nothing surged. No spark. No dramatic wind or flame.
But the longer I stayed there, the quieter everything got. Not just the students — the space itself.
Like the air held its breath.
A soft vibration rippled under my hands. The stone beneath my fingers shifted — not violently, but subtly, like it recognized something.
A low hum started in the floor and echoed up through my bones.
Not magic. Not yet. But something ancient stirring.
Then—
A flicker of silver light blinked at my fingertips and disappeared. Gone before it could mean anything.
I stood up, heart hammering.
The instructor tilted her head. "Unrefined. Dormant. But not absent."
She waved me off. I walked back to Cam, who didn't look impressed or concerned.
"That wasn't nothing," I said under my breath.
"No," Cam agreed. "It wasn't."
---
The rest of the day blurred together — a blur of too many faces, too much information, and too little food. I didn't see Lucien again, not until the final class of the day — Vale Ethics.
That one felt like a trap.
We were herded into a long, narrow lecture hall with carved ceilings and too many mirrors. Every seat reflected your face back at you. No way to hide.
Lucien sat near the front, alone, of course. Cam and I took seats farther back.
A man in a dark robe walked in — tall, pale, with lines around his eyes that said he'd smiled once, but probably hated it.
"You will not ask questions in this class," he said. "You will listen. You will absorb. You will not speak unless called on."
Perfect.
He walked slowly across the front of the room as he talked. "You were placed in House Vale not because you are good, or kind, or noble. You were placed here because you are capable. Or at least, we think you are."
The mirrors reflected a dozen versions of me — tired, bruised, unsure.
"Vale values restraint, discipline, and control. Power without control is waste. Emotion without reason is weakness. If you have come here to feel, to express, or to find yourself—"
His eyes landed on me.
"—I suggest you do it quietly."
Cam muttered, "This one's fun at parties."
Lucien didn't react at all. Not even a twitch.
I kept my head down for the rest of the class, biting my tongue when every word from the instructor sounded like a cage.
By the time we were dismissed, the sky outside had gone black. The halls buzzed as students scattered — some toward the mess hall, others back to their rooms, shoulders hunched.
Cam peeled off without explanation. Just a "See you tomorrow" and a short nod.
I walked the rest of the way alone.
---
Back in my room, I peeled off my uniform, inspected the bruises, and sat in front of the mirror that still refused to reflect unless you were looking it dead-on.
"Dormant," I muttered.
Not absent. Not nothing.
I touched my palm where that flicker of silver had shown up. It was cold.
Lucien hadn't spoken to me all day. Hadn't looked at me. Not even during class.
Fine. That made things easier.
This wasn't about him. It wasn't about any of them.
I'd survived day one.
Now I had to decide what came next.
Not just survive.
But learn.
And maybe, eventually…
Win.
---