Chapter 2
Breakfast at Arcana Academy is never quiet.
It can't be, not with hundreds of students crammed beneath a ceiling of enchanted storm clouds, not with branch flames shifting above every table, not with magic slipping from careless fingers the way laughter slips from mouths.
By the time I force myself to pick up my fork, the dining hall has become a living thing around me.
Tempest students at the far left table turn their porridge cold just to annoy one another, frost blooming over silver spoons and ceramic bowls.
Veil students near the center murmur over teacups steeped with herbs that twitch like living vines.
Aether students sit under red flame, their emotions so strong they sometimes spill into the air as visible color—gold bursts of excitement, blue streaks of nerves, sparks of irritated orange when someone says the wrong thing.
Magic everywhere.
In the steam rising from the food. In the walls. In the ceiling. In the casual cruelty of everyone doing extraordinary things without thinking.
Seren drops into the seat across from me and pushes a plate of sugared bread toward my side of the table. "Eat," she says.
"I'm not hungry."
"You are always not hungry when your father speaks to you." I glance up sharply. She lifts both hands. "I'm not judging. I'm observing. Veil habit."
"You are gossiping." I tell her.
"I am saving your life through carbohydrates." She raises both hands in defence.
My mouth twitches. I tear a small piece from the bread, more to please her than because I want it.
The sugar sticks to my fingertips, sparkling faintly from some kitchen charm meant to keep baked goods warm.
It stings a little against my skin. Not enough to hurt.
Enough to remind me that even breakfast knows what to do with magic better than I do.
Across the hall, my father stands beside the professors' table, speaking with one of the council representatives who must have arrived early.
The representative is a tall woman in pearl-grey robes with a chain of black stones resting against her chest.
I don't recognize her, but I recognize what she is by the way the professors straighten around her. Council.
Their authority is different from my mother's. Mother rules the academy because the academy trusts her. The council rules because bloodlines decided long ago that someone must watch the powerful before the powerful become gods. At least, that is what the textbooks say.
Seren follows my gaze. "That's Magistra Voss."
"You know her?" I ask.
"My aunt calls her the silver vulture." She informs me.
I gasp. "Seren."
"What? I'm repeating family history. That makes it educational." She proceeds to put eggs in her mouth.
I look back at the woman. Magistra Voss's eyes move across the dining hall like she is counting weapons instead of students. "Why is she here so early?" I ask.
"For the Gathering preparations, probably." Seren leans closer, lowering her voice. "Council always attends final-term ceremonies. Makes them feel important."
"They are important." I say.
"They're nosy." She adds.
"They can be both." I shrug my shoulders.
Seren sighs and butters her bread with unnecessary force. "I hate council terms. Everyone acts like they're one bad spell away from being executed."
"Some families probably are." I assume.
"See? This is why you need more sugar in your life." She sprinkles some sugar on top of her butter.
I try to smile again, but my attention pulls unwillingly toward the Aether table.
Toward him. Valerius Draven sits in the center of his branch like a black flame surrounded by red ones.
He's not speaking. He doesn't need to. Eli says something beside him, one hand moving through the air as faint lightning flickers between his fingers.
Luc sits on Valerius's other side, pale and still, turning a black plum between his long fingers until it slowly decays into grey dust, then reforms again whole. A Veil trick. Unsettling but elegant.
Valerius doesn't react to either of them.
His forearms rest on the table, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal dark markings inked along his right wrist.
Not tattoos exactly. Bloodline sigils. Draven marks.
They shift when he moves, not like ink beneath skin but like shadows deciding where to settle.
I should look away. I shouldn't care how still he is, how the air around him seems to hold its breath.
I shouldn't remember the way he looked at me as if I were a mistake he couldn't be bothered to correct...
but my eyes betray me. Maybe because he is everything this place values.
Maybe because I envy and hate him for it.
Maybe because hatred, at least, feels stronger than shame.
As if he senses the weight of my stare, Valerius turns his head.
Our eyes meet. Instantly, that strange warmth flickers beneath my ribs again.
Small but quick. Impossible. I suck in a breath.
The red flames above the Aether table twist violently to one side, bending as if struck by a wind no one else feels.
Several students glance up. Eli stops speaking. Luc's fingers go still around the plum.
Valerius's expression doesn't change but his eyes sharpen. He saw. I know he saw. The warmth disappears, leaving me cold in its absence. I look down at my plate so fast my hair falls forward over my cheek.
"What happened?" Seren whispers.
"Nothing." I lie because honestly I have no idea what just happened.
"Val." She looks at me with seriousness written all over her face.
"Please don't." I beg. She goes quiet, but I feel her watching me.
My heart beats too quickly. I stare at the sugared bread until the glittering charm on top blurs.
I don't understand what that was. Twice now, something has sparked beneath my skin when Valerius looked at me.
Not magic. It can't be magic. I'm magicless.
If I had magic, it wouldn't have waited seventeen years to embarrass me at breakfast because Valerius Draven decided to use his eyes like weapons.
Maybe the dining hall wards shifted. Maybe one of the Aether students lost control.
Maybe my body is simply exhausted from sleeping badly and standing too close to my father's disappointment.
There are a hundred explanations. Only one is impossible, which would be me having magic... So I choose one of the hundred.
The third bell tolls before Seren can force me to talk.
Conversations thin. Chairs scrape back. A hush rolls slowly through the dining hall as the professors rise from their table.
My mother steps forward. The hall stills completely.
Even the branch flames seem to calm for her.
Dean Amara Vale Starling does not raise her hand.
She does not amplify her voice with a spell anyone can see.
She simply stands at the front of the hall, and the room understands it is time to listen.
"Students of Arcana Academy," she begins.
Her voice carries everywhere. Clear. Warm.
Unbreakable. "Welcome to the first day of final term."
A ripple moves through the final-year tables.
Excitement, nerves, dread. I feel it pass around me, not through me, like weather pressing against glass.
"This term marks the most important stage of your training," Mother continues.
"For first-years, it will be a season of foundations. For second-years, refinement. For third-years, discipline. And for final-years..."
Her gaze moves over us. For half a breath, I think her eyes stop on me.
"For final-years, this term will test not only what magic you possess, but who you become when your magic is no longer enough."
The words sink through the hall. I feel Seren shift across from me.
My mother gestures toward the three carved symbols above the dining hall doors.
"Tempest. Veil. Aether. Three branches. Three disciplines. Three ancient paths that have shaped our world for centuries."
The flames above each branch table rise as she names them. Blue lightning cracks softly above Tempest. Green light blooms over Veil. Red flame unfurls above Aether.
Nothing rises over me. I keep my eyes on my mother. "This year's Eternal Flame Gathering will be held tomorrow night beneath the old observatory," she says.
A louder ripple this time. Tomorrow. The word lodges beneath my ribs.
I knew it was soon. Everyone knew. Final term always begins with the Gathering, the old ceremony that binds final-year students into pairs for advanced classes and final trials.
Still, hearing the date spoken aloud feels different.
Tomorrow night, the Eternal Flame will choose partners.
For everyone else, it is thrilling. A chance for prestige. Strategy. Romance, for some idiots who think ancient flames care about crushes and pretty faces. For me, it is another public reminder that magic has never chosen me for anything.
"The Gathering is not a game," Mother says, as if answering every excited whisper before it can form.
"The Flame does not choose according to your wishes. It does not obey family alliances, branch rankings, or personal preference. It chooses balance. It chooses challenge. It chooses what your magic requires, even when your pride disagrees."
Several students glance toward the Aether table. Toward Valerius. He sits motionless, but Eli grins beside him like the idea of Valerius being challenged personally entertains him.
"The partner chosen for you will stand beside you through advanced practical examinations, branch integration drills, and the final Ember Trial at term's end." My fingers tighten around my fork.
The Ember Trial.
I have heard stories about it since first year.
Everyone has. The final test hidden beneath the academy, built into old stone chambers older than the school itself.
It changes for every bonded pair. It tests magic, control, trust, fear, weakness.
Most students pass. Some barely. No one dies anymore.
That is what the professors always say. Anymore.
The word doesn't comfort me as much as they seem to think it should.
"Your bond will not be permanent," Mother continues. "But while it holds, you are expected to honor it. Train with it. Respect it. Learn from it."