The lie.
It was a cold, greasy rock lodged right in Kairen's gut when his eyes snapped open. 'No trouble, Mom.' The sound of his own voice from last night was a sticky, fouling memory. He could still see the wash of pure, heart-shattering relief on her face—a peace he'd purchased with a fraud. The memory of her proud smile was a hot coal pressed against his conscience. How could she be proud of a liar, a coward who was hiding the truth?
It was a torture breakfast. The bread had the flavor of dusty cardboard. His stomach growled as he pushed the butter around his plate since he didn't want to swallow it. He could always feel his mother watching him, even if he wasn't looking up. She knew. She was too sharp not to. She wasn't asking, though. She was respecting the dumb, thick wall he'd thrown up yesterday. He sat there, a hollow shell meant to calm her nerves, but felt like he was a million light-years from her, shivering alone.
He had to escape the house.
The walk to the academy felt wrong. The city woke up as usual: brass clockwork figures sweeping the cobblestones; silent sky-ships with crystal sails drifting between the tall, pointy buildings. A week ago, he would have been lost in wonder. Today, the whole panorama felt like a hostile, dazzling insult. Every floating vendor cart, every glowing shop sign was magic. And he was… nothing. Each bright, arcane display was a spike of accusation aimed straight at him.
Dain and Ilya were already at the griffin fountain. Dain was, of course, eating—a monstrous breakfast-loaf stuffed with cheese and bacon, yelling with his mouth full, waving a chunk of bread. Kairen couldn't even hear the words. Ilya leaned against the stone, reading. Her book was dark leather, its silver symbols seeming to crawl and writhe whenever he didn't look directly at them.
"You look like you chewed on a gloomfang and spat it out," Dain observed, swallowing his heroic bite. "Stomach churning about first casting with old man Thorne?"
Kairen's throat had seized up. It was dry, a pinched tube. He managed a short, stiff nod.
"Don't sweat it," Dain assured him, clapping a hand on Kairen's shoulder. The heavy weight nearly sent him staggering. "Thorne's tough, but fair. My brother said he once turned a kid's hair into snakes for a week for talking. But he also said he learned more from him than anyone. I hope we get to blow something up!"
Ilya closed her book. The restless symbols went instantly still. Her silver eyes met Kairen's. "Professor Thorne values precision," she said, her voice low and even. "He despises waste. No theatrical displays. Don't try to impress him. Just be exact."
A coil of fresh agony twisted in Kairen's chest. "But what if there's nothing there to be exact about?"
Her expression softened only slightly. "Then you must be precise in observing that emptiness. Identify its shape. Its nature. Kairen, everything has a form. Even nonexistence."
Her logic spun in meaningless circles, yet the words clung to him.
They reached the massive stone doors of the practical casting hall. He felt a heavy, terrible flop in his gut.
It was as big and booming inside as a tomb. The air had the unadulterated smell of powerful spells, like ozone and ash. The walls were scarred. Black scorch marks everywhere, some vaguely human-shaped. Wild, unnatural stains. Deep gouges in the ancient stone.
Failures. A gallery of student disasters. He was going to be the next exhibit, a fresh scorch mark for next year's class to point at.
Professor Thorne paced like a trapped predator, hands locked behind his back. He stopped. He stared.
"Today," his voice cracked, sharp and brittle as glass breaking, "we begin with an assessment. An illumination spell. Luminos Arcana. The first spark. The most basic manipulation." His eyes, dark and unforgiving, raked over the line. "Magic is not a game. It is fire. And the weak will be burned by it. Some of you will be burned today. If you cannot manage this, you don't belong in my classroom. You don't belong at this academy."
His gaze swept back, and Kairen felt his muscles cramping, trying to disappear into the floor.
"One by one. Step into the circle. Speak the incantation. Produce the sphere of light. Do not embarrass yourselves. Do not embarrass me."
Thorne pointed a bony finger. "You. Start."
Elowen squeaked and shuffled into the chalk ring. Her hand, palm up, was shaking so fast it blurred. The raw panic on her face was a twin to the terror churning in Kairen's core.
"L-Luminos Arcana," she murmured in a hardly audible whisper.
Above her palm sputtered a small, flashing light hardly larger than the head of a match. Weak and struggling against a ghost wind, it faltered but was there. A quiet, collective puff of tension left the line. She had done it.
"Adequate," Thorne dismissed the effort. "Control your breathing, Miss Elowen. Your fear corrupts your magic power. Next!"
A smirking, self-satisfied boy with his hair wiped back came forward. He made a large, unnecessary thrive, and a steady, dazzling ball of white light. He loved the impressed whispers. His easy confidence felt like a physical blow to Kairen's diaphragm.
Thorne grunted. "Less showing off. Raw power is useless. Next!"
Finnian, the quiet scholar, was next. He looked collected, already reciting the spell in his head. He spoke the words perfectly, with steady conviction.
Nothing happens.
Confusion flashed, a brief, awful second. He tried again, his voice tighter, a visible line of sweat beading. Still silence. His self-assurance broke into degrading fragments. After staring at his empty palm, he pulled away, his shoulders crushed by loss, and his face whitened.
Thorne didn't speak. He just moved his gaze to the next student. He acted as though Finnian no longer existed. That cold, vast silence was an agony far worse than any shouted anger.
Kairen felt numb. If Finnian couldn't do it… what was left for him?
"Ragnor!"
Dain grinned wide and charged forward. He didn't whisper. He roared the words like a challenge to a god. "LUMINOS ARCANA!"
The light didn't appear—it detonated. A massive, furiously wild sphere of crackling energy that threw blinding sparks everywhere. It was brutal, uncontrolled, but undeniably power.
"Messy, Mr. Ragnor," Thorne said, bored. "Power without control is a weakness. We will beat that brutishness out of you. Next!"
Dain just shrugged, grinning at his raw display, and rejoined Kairen.
"Veyne!"
Ilya stepped forward with silent, effortless grace. Her expression was serene. "Luminos Arcana," she whispered, her voice clear and soft as a tiny, ringing bell.
A perfect, steady sphere of silent, silver light simply bloomed over her hand. Like a flower made of frozen moonlight. It neither flickered nor sparked. It just shone. It was amazing.
For a long time, Professor Thorne remained mute. For a brief moment, Kairen thought the man's severe frown lines around his mouth had softened. "Precise, Miss Veyne. Very good. The quality of the light is… unusual. Continue that discipline. Next."
Kairen's heart was now hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. His turn was next. Closer. Closer. Cold sweating dripped from his palms and he wiped it rapidly across his jeans. The wingmark on his back began to burn like a brand beneath his shirt, a raging, secret fire that screamed, "false, impostor." The heat brought a whispering mental trauma of his mother's face contorted in disappointment.
One more student passed, their light a respectable orange. Then another, who managed only a few pathetic sparks before shrinking back.
He was next.
He had a bone-dry throat. He could hear the loud ROAR of his own blood. The world shrank to a pinpoint. He saw Kaelan lean forward, a hungry, predatory smile stretching his lips. He was waiting for this. Savoring it.
Professor Thorne's sharp, unforgiving eyes fell on him.
"Zephyrwind!"