The Everlasting Isles are both a land of incredible beauty and danger, home to the three clans that conquered the Isles centuries ago, after being guided by the Goddess Alaya, who raised the Everlasting Isles from beneath the sea, giving the clans a home to call their own. Of course, there were hardships; the Everlasting Isles were unforgiving, and countless blood had been spilled in the name of claiming the Isles, but each clan held strengths that allowed them to conquer their new homes. The Aurion Clan is a clan of powerful mages, blessed by Alaya herself, who wield incredible magical power, establishing them as the governors of the isles. The Maris Clan is a clan of warriors wielding a unique art to imbue themselves and weapons with mana. They were the defenders of the isles, always seeking a battle to test their might. The Sylva Clan lived in the Great Oaks in the southwest of the Isles, masters of both nature and beasts, and even rivaling the elven archers of the mainland in skill, they maintained the flow of mana and the ley lines, the force that binds the world throughout the Isles, ensuring it upholds the laws that govern everything. Each clan upheld the pillars of the Isles and the tenets and teachings of Ayala, and together they made up the Everlasting Isles, my home.
The sun glistened through the oak that towered above me. Rain still clung to its leaves from the morning squall that rinsed the Maris River Valley. My name is Lorien Everwind. I am fourteen winters old and slight in build, especially compared to the broad boys in the ring around my age. My hair is the color of pale straw, and my eyes are too bright to conceal my feelings. My skin holds the faint pallor of the high snows, a reminder of the many mountains that cradle our city and the cold winds that shaped me. I'm soft-spoken—and, apparently, pretty. Pretty enough that people look over, take one quick glance, and assume I'm a girl.
I can't really argue about the first part; my voice has never carried the weight or edge that everyone else in the clan seems to be born with. But the second part… that's harder to deal with. It's embarrassing in a way I can never quite hide. In a clan where even the girls move with a kind of rugged, steel-bright confidence—sharp eyes, sure footing, beauty that looks hammered into shape by the mountains themselves—I end up standing out for the opposite reason. My features are too gentle, my expressions too easily read, my presence too quiet to command even a moment's respect. So when someone mistakes me at first glance, my cheeks burn instantly. I know it isn't meant as an insult. It's just that next to everyone else, I look like I came from some entirely different place. And maybe, in some ways, I did. Still… it's humiliating. I'd rather be left alone with a book than out in the yard breaking bones on the practice posts. I reach for vests instead of cuirasses, and my voice slips into something small whenever fear catches me—which is far more often than I'd like to admit.
I had passed the clan trials fairly and squarely, and the warrior braid hung down my back as proof despite the clan's best attempts, saying I cheated, using my magic to pass the trial easily, but that was far from the truth. It was a struggle, as my twelve-year-old body at the time could barely withstand the trial that lay before me. At the same time, other kids had awakened as adepts through the drinking of the Draughart, a concoction that helped stir the mana within, and endured intense hardships from the trial itself. The Draughart didn't have any effect on me as I had already awakened as a mage five years prior. I held my braid in my hand, pulling it from its original spot of dangling behind my back, as I do when I need to remember that I belong. No one thinks I do. The Maris Clan despises magic and mages, and I happen to be a mage—albeit a clumsy one. I love magic because it feels as natural as breathing. It came to me more easily than the skilled arts that make the Maris Clan formidable warriors. Being a warrior in general is not my strength. Sure, I had gone through martial training, but I could barely handle the basics, and anything beyond that I struggled with because of my sheer clumsiness. But magic is the one genuine connection I have left from Mom. Of course, I would much rather practice my mana control than read, even though I did enjoy it.
However, in Maris Clan territory, only Aurion diplomats are permitted to cast their spells openly at any time they need to. Even Aurion travelers and adventurers can get into trouble if they use their magic at the wrong time and without permission, despite being in the clan of mages who ruled the majority of the Isles alongside the other two clans under the Tribunal. So, I practice under the cover of night, in secret, something that I wasn't really proud of, but it needed to be done so I wouldn't miscast any of my spells in public and get in trouble. My Anima—my catalyst—clicked softly against my belt as I shifted on the grass. It was a diamond-cut stone, caged in bronze, blue as the winter sky, which indicated the wind resonance I wielded, the elemental attunement I was born and awakened with. It formed when I awakened at the age of seven as I accidentally threw everything in the room with the wind I released upon awakening. A byproduct of my awakening, where mana erupted from my being, creating a magic crystal that became my anima, it was the physical embodiment of my soul. Without it, I wouldn't have been able to cast spells, being worse off than a Mundane or a person who could not manipulate the mana around or within them. Worse than being a mundane, if it were ever to leave my person forcefully, like a piece of me being ripped from my body, I risked becoming very ill and even dying from the separation as it was essentially a piece of my soul, I wondered had they had ever made the discover thousands of years ago when the first humans were given the gift. Still, I would rather not think about it, as I would think it would have been excruciating to find out. I often wondered why I resonated with the wind; perhaps I sought freedom, away from the place that shunned me for being who I am, or maybe a change to myself or everything else, only the gods knew.
I closed the book when I saw them spilling out of the churchyard—five kids with the kind of grins that suggest they've already decided how the day will go. I focused on the grass and slid to the side. Perhaps they would let me be. The biggest of them stepped into me, shoulder first, hard enough to rattle my teeth and nearly drop my book. Cade Rimvare. He's older by two years and wider by the same, the sort who wins bouts by leaning. Fair skin, dark, unruly hair kept in a short braid, and sharp gray eyes give him a weathered, watchful look. His muscular frame strains the seams of his family's leathers, the roughhide still dusted with chalk from training, and a wolf-fur mantle hangs at his shoulders, one of his first kills that helped earn him his braid.
"Watch it, bright-born," he said, and the others snickered at the comment.
I hugged my book tightly to my chest and swallowed hard, accustomed to the name-calling and insults I heard every day since awakening as a mage. I didn't stand a chance against him.m, nor was I going to risk getting in trouble for using my magic to protect myself.
Don't cast, Lorien. Not here. Not where they all can see.
Cade's gaze snagged on my braid. "Look at you. Pretending to be a warrior," His fist closed near the base of my skull, and he yanked. Heat burst behind my eyes; my knees went watery. Steel hissed—someone's belt knife being unsheathed. Its shadow slid along my braid.
"Please… don't," I breathed.
"What are you going to do, fight me? As if you're a lousy excuse of a warrior." He said with the others laughing.
My fingers went white around the book. I counted the iron studs in the church door like Mom taught me when terror tried to steal my lungs. One, two, thr—
"Let go," a voice said, flat as an anvil.
A familiar head of blond oat hair entered the clearing. Astrid Everwind stepped between us and the sun. My half sister, sixteen, with her oat-blond hair tied back in a braid and green eyes steady as a ring judge. She wore a tan leather coat and an iron chestplate covering her breasts, a small shoulder plate catching the light, brown leather gloves that had seen plenty of training bouts, and iron boots guarding her feet and shins. Where I was all softness, quiet edges dulled by shyness, Astrid was the sure, unbending line of a drawn bow, a true warrior that belonged to the Maris Clan. Cade jerked, trying to free himself, but Astrid already had his wrist. Her thumb pressed into a nerve, her stance unshakable. Mana pulsed along her forearm—not a spell, but the Maris craft of the Adept, strength bound into flesh and bone.
"Let go of my baby brother," she said, her voice calm but heavy, the kind of calm that promises hurt if ignored.
Baby brother. My cheeks burned hotter than Cade's wrist under her grip. Baby brother? In front of everyone? I felt a strong urge to assert my independence, but the words got caught in my throat, leaving me reflective and hopeful for future conversations. All I could do was avert my eyes and make my face not stay red. Still, a tiny, guilty part of me felt safe hearing it.
"You dare attempt to cut a warrior's braid," Astrid went on, her anger banked low and dangerous. "Do you know what that means, Cade Rimvare?"
"It means he shouldn't have one," someone muttered from behind him.
Astrid didn't even glance away. "It means you are prepared to violate clan law and have petitioned the elders for a week in the latrines and a month on half rations. If you're lucky."
She twisted smoothly, a practiced movement, and the knife clattered into the grass. Her other hand caught me, not an overlay embrace but steadying, gentle in a way that made my ears burn all over again.
"Breathe, Lorien," she said.
And I did, shakily, the fire in my face refusing to fade.
Cade tried for bravado. "Are you going to strike me, Astrid? In an unofficial fight between clan members?"
"No," she said. "I'm going to make a point." Heat shimmered around her open palm. She struck the air beside his ear; the shock cracked like a fresh branch. Dust leapt from the church wall; Cade staggered three steps, blinking, unhurt, and very aware of it.
The others flinched. No one was injured. No one had any excuses.
"Pick up your knife," Astrid said, "by the blade and hand it to me. Then apologize to Lorien for the insult and for nearly committing the greatest crime a member of the clan could commit."
He hesitated. She did not. Cade bent, grasped the steel, winced, and set the hilt in her waiting hand. "S—sorry," he muttered.
"For what?" Astrid's voice cooled another degree.
"For the insult. And… the braid. I shouldn't have, it's unbefitting of a warrior."
"You shouldn't have even thought of it. He passed the trials the same as you," she agreed. "Next time, think first or face my wrath, not the elders."
She slipped the blade into her belt with a swift, practiced motion and then turned to face me. The tension in her hands dissipated like mist in the morning sun.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice softening into the comforting tone she reserved for me, enveloping me like a cozy cloak on a chilly evening.
"I... I didn't do anything, I was powerless," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper and thick with uncertainty. A rush of frustration washed over me as I hated how small I sounded. The lingering echo of "baby brother" rang in my mind—a reminder that made me feel both sheltered and completely exposed.
"You did exactly what you should have done." She checked my braid with deft fingers, as if it were a sword edge. "No cut. Good." A stray strand of hair had come loose, and she tucked it behind my ear. I pretended not to like it, but I failed. "You're coming with me."
"I can walk home alone," I said, my voice returning to its usual tone, which was a clear, smooth timbre with light and slightly high-pitched delivery.
"I know," she said, her voice sweet and her expression immovable. "I'm still walking with you. Also, you're eating. You forget when you read."
"I don't—"
"Mmm." Her hand rested lightly on my shoulder—easy to shrug off, if I wanted, and I didn't. Over her shoulder, she told the others, "If you want to test your edge, ask for a duel. That's what it's for. Touch my baby brother again, and I'll have words you won't enjoy."
They didn't follow.
When the church bells were only a memory, Astrid let out a breath. "I know you won't use magic here," she said softly. "I'm not asking you to. But you're not alone, Lor. Not while I've got hands, my blade," she paused and grinned a little, "and my sisterly wrath."
It almost drew a smile from me, but the incident came back to me.
"They think I don't deserve the braid," I said to the road.
Astrid bent down to meet me at eye level, a happy smirk dotting her face. "What do you think, Lorien? Do you think you deserve your braid?" she asked.
I honestly didn't know. Did I deserve my braid? I wasn't a perfect warrior of the clan, yet I claimed to be one, hoping to find a place here in Ironclad, within the Maris Clan, and even in the Isles themselves. However, no one saw that; they only saw a blight upon the clan, a mistake, a miserable excuse of a warrior. I looked away from her, trying to hide my shame.
She tipped my chin up with her hand. "You passed your trials like any member of the clan. A warrior isn't only what you swing; it's what you stand through." Her gaze flicked to the wind-blue Anima at my belt. "And what you choose, even when choosing, makes everything harder."
"Thank you," I whispered.
"Always." She bumped my shoulder with hers. "Also, if you're going to 'read' under the oak, turn the page sometimes. I've watched you glare at the same paragraph three visits running."
Heat rushed to my cheeks."I was… thinking."
"Good. Think faster. I'm starving."
I laughed, surprised and small, and the knot in my chest loosened. The wind tugged at the leaves, and for a heartbeat, it felt as if it tugged at me—not to run away this time, but to follow. That tug always brings Mom to mind. Seven years ago, when plague scythed through Ironclad, she saved us all and left. Loretta Everwind—Aurion by birth, Maris by vow, the only person who looked at my magic and called it a gift. I was feverish when she left, suffering from the plague that threatened to wipe out our clan. One day, she leaned in close and told me not to be afraid, assuring me that I would be safe because she had made sure of it. She promised that we would find each other again. Her footsteps faded. Her words never did. Nobody told me why she was forced to leave; perhaps the clan thought she was the one who caused the plague, despite her tireless efforts to save it from destruction. She was the only one who supported me and my magic. Astrid always supported and protected me, along with my father, Callan, but neither of them understood me. Magic isn't only a tool for war and mundane tasks but an expression of the soul. Animas are the physical manifestations of the soul and the tools used to cast magic; it was a part of me. Nobody in the clan understood that, but only her, and now she was gone.
"Hey, sis," I said, the hope in me bright and embarrassing.
"What's up, Lor?" She glanced at me, eyes curious in that way that makes me want to do brave things so that she'll keep looking.
"Maybe I can go find Mom," I blurted. "Bring her home. Show her how much I've grown."
Astrid's smile was proud, maddening, and warm. She ruffled my hair.
"Hey," I protested, swatting at her hand as my face went hot again.
She ignored me the way only sisters can and pulled me into a hug, resting her chin on my head like I was, yes, her baby brother. I let her. For a moment, I even liked it. I didn't care if she was my half sister; she will always be my big sister, despite her antics, quirks, and angry outbursts all in my name, which I loved her for.
"Good," she said, her voice soft against my hair. "I hope you do. I miss her, too."
Bring her home? That thought of having her with me caused me great pain and a sense of yearning for her. To finally have my mother home after all of these years was perhaps one of the things that kept me going through the torment of the clan, and maybe just maybe I can bring her home.