Chapter 3
By morning, the entire academy is breathing fire.
Not real fire... Not yet but something close to it.
Excitement crawls through Arcana Academy before breakfast, bright and restless, slipping under doors, sparking against windowpanes, making the candles in the corridors burn too high.
The walls hum louder than usual. The floating lanterns along the east tower glow gold instead of their usual soft white.
Even the portraits seem awake earlier than they should be, whispering to one another as students hurry past in formal cloaks and polished boots.
The Gathering is tonight. Everyone knows it. Everyone feels it.
For final-year students, the Eternal Flame Gathering is not just a ceremony. It is the moment the academy stops treating us like students and starts measuring us like weapons. Partners will be chosen. Bonds will be formed. Reputations will rise or crack open in front of everyone.
For most, tonight is opportunity. For me, it is exposure.
I stand in front of my mirror with both hands braced on my vanity, staring at a girl who looks too pale to survive a ceremony built from ancient fire.
My light blonde hair falls in loose waves over my shoulders, softer than I want it to look.
My blue-grey eyes seem too bright against the sleepless shadows beneath them.
The formal black dress fits neatly, the silver buttons gleaming down the front, the collar sitting high at my throat.
My final-year cloak hangs from the back of my chair, plain black lining turned outward like a wound.
I look like what I am. A girl without a place.
My fingers tighten around the edge of the vanity until my knuckles pale.
I barely slept again. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt it again.
Valerius Draven's fingers brushing mine.
The flash of gold. The orb flaring above us.
The strange warmth beneath my ribs, sharp and impossible, like a spark trying to become something larger.
I told myself it was nothing. A faulty charm.
A trick of the privacy ward. His magic reacting, not mine. Anything but mine.
Last night, lying alone beneath the carved beams of my room, I pressed my fingers to my chest until they hurt and waited for the warmth to come back. It didn't. Magic doesn't come because powerless girls beg quietly in the dark.
A knock sounds at my door.
I straighten quickly, smoothing my expression before I answer. "Yes?"
The door opens, and my mother steps inside.
Today, she is not only my mother. She is the dean.
I know it instantly by the robe. Deep black velvet trimmed in silver and old gold.
The Arcana crest rests at her throat, larger than usual, the three branch symbols circling the open eye.
Her pale gold hair is braided back from her face and pinned with emeralds that glow faintly when she moves.
She looks untouchable and powerful. Everything the academy believes she is.
Everything I am supposed to have inherited.
Her eyes soften the moment they land on me and just like that, the dean becomes my mother again. "You're awake early," she says.
"I don't think anyone slept late today." I smile.
"No." A faint smile touches her mouth, but it doesn't last. "The Gathering tends to make the academy restless."
I glance toward the window. Outside, morning fog curls over the courtyard stones.
Students move below in clusters, their cloaks flashing color as they cross between buildings.
Some laugh too loudly. Some walk in silence.
Some practice tiny controlled spells between their fingers, as if the Flame might be impressed by last-minute showing off.
"Does it always choose well?" I ask before I can stop myself.
Mother stills near my bed. "The Flame?"
I nod.
She is quiet for a moment. Too quiet. Then she walks to my chair and lifts my cloak. "It chooses truthfully."
"That's not the same thing." I say.
"No," she says softly. "It isn't." Something in her voice makes me look at her. She runs her thumb over the black lining of my cloak. Her face is composed, but her eyes are far away, fixed on some memory I can't reach.
"Were you nervous?" I ask.
"At my Gathering?" She still has her attention on my cloak.
"Yes." I answer.
Her mouth curves, but this smile is sadder. "Terrified."
That surprises me. My mother has always seemed like someone magic chose gladly. I can't imagine her standing beneath the Eternal Flame with fear in her throat, waiting to be measured by something ancient enough to see through blood and bone.
"Who were you bonded to?" I ask.
Her thumb stops moving. For one second, I think she won't answer. Then, "Your father."
The room seems to go still. I look at her sharply. "You and Father were Eternal Flame partners?"
"Yes." She nods.
I gasp. "You never told me that."
"No." She admits.
"Why?" I ask.
She turns the cloak in her hands, smoothing the shoulders though there is nothing wrinkled about it. "Some things are difficult to speak of after they change."
My parents were chosen by the Eternal Flame. Once, something ancient looked at Amara Vale and Alaric Starling and decided they belonged beside one another. Now my father can barely look at me without doubt turning his eyes cold. It makes the whole idea of the Flame feel less romantic and more cruel.
"Did the bond mean anything?" I ask.
Mother finally looks at me. "It meant what we allowed it to mean."
"That sounds like no." I look at her.
"It sounds like choice." She corrects me.
I swallow. Choice. The academy speaks of the Flame like destiny. The students speak of it like gossip. Professors speak of it like a law. My mother speaks of it like a door someone can open or leave closed. I wonder which one is true.
Mother steps closer and drapes my cloak over my shoulders. The fabric settles heavy and familiar, plain black lining brushing my wrists. Her hands linger at the clasp beneath my throat.
"You don't need to be afraid of tonight," she says.
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. "You're saying that as my mother, not as dean."
"I am both." She tries to reassure me.
"Then as dean, you know everyone is waiting to see what the Flame does with me." Her jaw tightens. "They want to know if it will choose me at all," I say. "They want to know if ancient magic can be embarrassed."
She gasps. "Valentina."
"I'm not trying to be dramatic. It's true." I say.
Her hands fall from my cloak. For a moment, she looks unbearably tired. "There are people in this world," she says carefully, "who will always confuse power with worth. Do not help them by believing the same thing."
I stare at her. The words should comfort me.
Instead, they make something ache because it is easy for powerful people to say power isn't worth.
They have never had to live without it in a world that worships nothing else.
Before I can answer, the morning bell tolls.
Mother closes her eyes for half a breath, then opens them as dean again.
"Breakfast," she says. "Then abbreviated lessons. Final-year students are dismissed after midday to prepare."
I nod.
She walks toward the door, but pauses before leaving. "Valentina?"
"Yes?" I look at her.
Her gaze rests on me, intense enough to make my spine straighten. "If anything feels strange tonight, if the Flame behaves in any way you do not understand, look for me."
A chill slides down my back. "What do you mean?"
Her expression softens too quickly. "The Gathering can be overwhelming. That's all."
That is not all. I know it. She knows I know it but the door opens before I can ask again, and the academy beyond my room rushes in with all its noise and expectation.
My mother leaves me standing in front of the mirror with her warning pressing against my skin.
If anything feels strange tonight. I almost laugh.
Everything about tonight already feels strange.
Breakfast is worse than yesterday. The dining hall has been transformed overnight.
Silver branches arch over the long tables, grown from magic rather than wood, their leaves flickering with tiny flames that do not burn.
The ceiling no longer reflects the morning sky.
Instead, it shows a circle of stars even though the sun has risen outside.
A massive golden flame burns in illusion over the center of the hall, casting warm light over hundreds of upturned faces.
Practice for tonight. Or a warning.
The branch tables are louder than usual.
Tempest students boast openly about possible pairings, calling across the room and making lightning crackle in their palms.
Veil students pretend to be calmer, but their green flames pulse nervously above them.
Aether students are unbearable, turning every rumor into visible sparks and ribbons of color.
I sit with Seren beneath the Veil flame because sitting alone would invite more attention, and I have already reached my limit for being stared at before breakfast.
Seren drops into the seat beside me with two plates, both piled high. "I brought options," she says. "Nervous bread, angry fruit, and emotionally supportive eggs."
I look at the plates. "Which one is which?"
"They'll reveal themselves." Despite everything, I smile.
Seren grins back, but the expression doesn't fully cover the worry in her eyes.
She looks beautiful today, her auburn curls pinned with tiny green stones, her Veil cloak freshly pressed.
The green lining suits her. It always has.
Life and death, bloom and bone, softness and bite.
She belongs to her branch so naturally it hurts to look at sometimes.
"Have you thought about who you might get?" I ask.
Her nose wrinkles. "Unfortunately."
"And?" I raise an eyebrow.
"I'm trying not to want anyone specific. The Flame can smell desperation." She says.
"It's fire, Seren." I say.
"It is ancient fire. Very judgmental." She adds.
I tear a small piece from my bread. "Who don't you want?"
"Marlow Thane."
"The Tempest boy?" I ask.
"He once tried to impress me by making thunder spell my name." She shakes her head in disbelief.
"That sounds sweet." I laugh.
"He spelled it wrong." She bursts into laughter.