Elira had never ridden a gryphon before.
The massive creature's body shifted with every beat of its wings, muscles rippling beneath feathers and fur. Its eagle-like head cut through the mist, eyes sharp as blades, while the leonine hindquarters gripped the air with an unnatural grace. The wind stung Elira's face, whipping her braid loose. She clung to the saddle, one arm wrapped tightly around Rho, who buried her face in Elira's shoulder and muffled a squeak every time the gryphon tilted.
Below them, the forest stretched endlessly — a sea of green broken only by rivers that glinted like threads of silver. Hills rolled into valleys, and mountains loomed like dark guardians at the edge of the world. Rionne, their sleepy village, had already vanished behind the horizon, reduced to nothing more than memory.
One of the Third Order soldiers sat at the front of the saddle, reins steady, his posture straight and unyielding. He hadn't spoken a word since they departed, and Elira doubted he ever needed to. The gryphon obeyed his subtle movements as though their wills were bound together, beast and knight.
Elira dared not look down for long. The sheer drop made her stomach churn, but the sight was mesmerizing all the same. It was the kind of view bards sang about, the kind she had only imagined when listening to Rho's breathless daydreams about knights and castles.
Rho, despite her fear, eventually peeked out from Elira's shoulder. "Elira, look! It's like the world just… keeps going forever."
Elira tightened her grip. "Don't lean too far." Her tone was sharper than she intended, but her heart was still racing.
They flew for hours before the mountains swallowed the horizon. Peaks rose like jagged teeth, capped with snow that glittered in the morning light. Then, through a veil of clouds, the gryphon tilted its wings and circled downward.
What emerged took Elira's breath away.
A citadel carved of white stone gleamed against the cliffs, towers rising like lances into the sky. Bridges arched across sheer abysses, connecting battlements that looked as though they were suspended in air. Banners of deep blue and gold snapped in the wind, their embroidered stars catching the light. It seemed less like a fortress and more like a vision of heaven made solid.
Sanctum Auralis — the Holy Order's mountain stronghold.
Elira's chest tightened. She had heard of the Sanctum only in stories, whispered by travelers in the tavern or sung in half-remembered ballads by wandering bards. But to see it now, so vast and unyielding, was to realize that this was not a place built merely by stone and labor. It was built on faith, on power, on centuries of conviction carved into every wall.
The gryphon landed with a thunderous beat of wings, talons striking sparks against the stone platform. Wind blasted across the landing terrace, tugging at cloaks and banners. The soldiers dismounted with practiced ease, their movements smooth as water. Elira hesitated, legs stiff from hours of tension, and nearly stumbled as she slid down with Rho clutching her arm like a shadow.
Inside the gates, rows of armored figures stood in perfect silence, their helms gleaming, spears upright. Their discipline was unnerving. Not one moved, not one blinked. When the commander strode forward, every soldier struck a gauntleted fist against their chest in salute, the sound echoing like a single heartbeat through the stone walls.
"Commander Sirena," one of them said, bowing low. "We received word of your return."
So that was her name. Sirena.
The woman who had saved Elira in the forest, who had cut down the Fireback Bear as if it were nothing. Elira studied her from behind lowered lashes: the black hair tied short, the glaive at her back, her eyes sharp as tempered steel. Everything about her radiated authority, yet it was not the authority of pride. It was the weight of someone long accustomed to carrying burdens too heavy for others.
Sirena did not bask in the salute. She merely nodded once. Then she turned, her gaze falling on Elira with the weight of judgment.
"You're going to be evaluated," she said. Her words were clipped, leaving no room for debate. "If you pass, the Order may offer you a place."
Elira's stomach twisted into knots. "I'm not… I mean, I've never trained—"
"You cast two intermediate spells without a chant," Sirena cut in. Her tone was not cruel, but absolute. "You're not normal. That's reason enough."
Elira swallowed hard. She wanted to protest, to say she was just a village girl, that what happened in the forest wasn't something she even understood. But the words stuck in her throat. A part of her knew Sirena was right.
Rho squeezed her hand tightly. "I'll go with you," she whispered, her crimson eyes fierce.
Elira nodded, grateful. Whatever was coming, she would not face it alone.
They led her deeper into the Sanctum's corridors.
The walls were inlaid with golden sigils, faintly glowing with mana. Stained glass windows soared high above, spilling colors across the marble floors: scenes of winged knights descending in radiant light, of spirits binding themselves to mortal champions, of battles fought long before Elira's birth. Every step echoed in the silence, reminding her of how small she was compared to the weight of history carved into these halls.
Rho gawked openly, tugging on Elira's sleeve. "Look, that one has nine tails… is that a fox spirit?"
Elira managed a faint smile, though her own nerves burned hotter with every step. She felt like an intruder walking in a place not meant for her.
Finally, they reached a round chamber. The ceiling rose into a dome etched with constellations in shimmering gold, like the night sky made eternal. The marble floor was inscribed with glowing lines, forming a perfect circle that pulsed faintly as though alive. At the center stood a pedestal, upon which hovered a crystal sphere, translucent and throbbing with faint light.
"This is the Sanctum's testing chamber," one of the knights intoned, his voice as rigid as the walls. "The crystal measures elemental affinity and magical potential. It cannot lie."
Sirena folded her arms, cloak falling in severe lines around her. "Touch it."
Elira froze. Her palms were slick with sweat, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had heard tales — of children touching the crystal and discovering hidden gifts, of others left shamed when no light came at all. What if nothing happened? What if the forest had been a fluke, a trick of fear and desperation?
She took a shaky step forward. Rho's small hand slipped from hers, though not before squeezing once — a promise, or maybe a plea. Her crimson eyes brimmed with worry, but also belief.
Elira drew in a breath and pressed her hand against the crystal.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
The surface was cool, smooth, almost disappointingly ordinary. Elira's chest tightened until she could hardly breathe. Maybe it really had been a fluke—
The air shifted.
Wind stirred her braid though the chamber was sealed. Water droplets shimmered into being, drifting like stars. Grass burst from cracks in the marble floor, unfurling in wild green vines. Then light erupted from the crystal, brilliant and blinding, searing across the chamber.
The sphere pulsed violently, faster and faster, as if unable to contain what it had awakened. Cracks spiderwebbed across its flawless surface.
"She has four elements!" someone shouted, voice breaking in disbelief. "Wind, Water, Grass, and Light—"
The sphere shattered.
The explosion of mana tore through the chamber like a storm. Knights were hurled from their feet, golden sigils rattled on the walls, stained glass trembled in its frames. Rho cried out as she was flung backward. Elira herself was knocked sprawling, her vision awash in searing white.
She gasped, struggling for breath, her limbs trembling violently. Power still surged through her veins, hot and restless, like a storm caged in fragile flesh.
Through the haze, one figure stood unshaken.
Sirena, cloak snapping in the whirlwind, eyes wide — not with fear, but with recognition.
When at last the light dimmed, the chamber lay in ruin. The crystal was gone, reduced to glittering shards scattered across the marble. The glowing lines of the floor flickered weakly, one by one dying into darkness.
Elira knelt among the wreckage, chest heaving, hair plastered to her damp face. Rho crawled to her side, clutching her hand with trembling fingers.
Whispers broke out among the knights, urgent and disbelieving.
"Four elements…"
"And without a chant—"
"No crystal has shattered in decades—"
Sirena raised her hand. The voices died instantly, cut as cleanly as if by a blade.
"Enough." Her voice carried across the silence, commanding and cold.
She stepped forward, her shadow falling over Elira. Her eyes were sharp, unwavering.
Sirena knelt, her gaze piercing. "You need control. But with training… you'll be one of us."
Then she rose, turning to the others. "Prepare her quarters. And find a suitable mentor."
She looked back once at Elira, her expression unreadable.
"She's not ready for battle. But she's a weapon — and weapons must be forged."