Chapter 17
Bloodline is not merely inheritance—it is leverage. Where leverage exists, so does the will to take it.
—Lineage and Law: A History of Elemental Governance
November arrives under moody gray skies, long drizzles, and a chilling mist that clings to every surface. By the time I reach the bottom floor of the Logistics building, my sleeves are damp from brushing past wet stone and my boots squeak against the corridor’s polished floor.
The room is already warm with bodies, the air thick with the smell of rain-soaked clothing. A handful of upperclassmen sit scattered through the hall today—Straits’s idea of “remediation” after last week’s essays proved some people could recite dates but not understand why they matter.
Professor Straits stands at the front, not one to waste time on greetings. She turns to the board and writes three names in sharp, deliberate strokes.
MORVAINE
VIRELLAN
THALRIEN
We’ve just begun our unit on the history of water magick—diving into the ancient bloodlines that fascinate me the most. But it isn’t just fascination anymore. It’s a tug under my ribs, like the names are hooked to something inside me.
Straits dusts the chalk from her hands. “Today we’re discussing the three major water lineages—how they rose, how they held power, and how they fell.”
Stella Moreau—the third-year water-wielder, and Noa’s ex—is sitting in the front row like she’s holding court, her blonde braid laid like a crown around her head.
She acts like her attendance in this class is beneath her.
The essay peeking out of her bag, bleeding with Straits’s red ink, would suggest otherwise.
“The Morvaines never fell. They’ve always been the most stable of all the water lines,” I hear her murmur to the boy sitting next to her. It’s well known that Stella has an ancestor with Morvaine blood, a fact she likes to remind everyone of constantly.
Professor Straits’s gaze snaps to her. “Miss Moreau,” she says, each word clipped, “while I appreciate your enthusiasm for the subject matter, talking out of turn will not be tolerated.”
Straits underlines MORVAINE once, hard enough to squeal.
“But you are correct. The Morvaines have maintained influence through consolidation—marriage alliances, political footholds, and a keen understanding that bloodline is currency.”
She moves to VIRELLAN, drawing a clean line beneath it.
“The Virellans are no less entrenched,” she continues. “Both Morvaines and Virellans still hold high positions of government—here and abroad—because power likes to protect itself.”
My pen scratches across the page as I take notes, but my attention keeps snagging on the last name. The one Straits hasn’t touched yet.
THALRIEN.
Straits finally turns, and the chalk taps the board beneath it—once, twice.
“The Thalriens were an ancient and powerful water family—possibly the oldest known. They were famous for a particularly rare form of magick, and they were coveted—”
“—and hunted,” someone murmurs. I think it’s Nate.
Straits’s eyes flick over the class. “Yes. Hunted to extinction.”
My stomach turns, slow and sick, like I’ve swallowed river silt.
She frowns as she continues. “Their line was completely wiped out after the Second Rebellion.”
Rozsen’s hand shoots up, but she doesn’t wait to be called on. “Professor,” she says thoughtfully, “if a bloodline is wiped out, does that mean whatever magick they possessed is just… gone?”
Straits only nods. “Bloodlines carry not only power, but also knowledge, technique, access. History shows us that people in power repeatedly choose to erase what they cannot control.”
Stella’s mouth curves as she leans back in her chair. “Or maybe it’s just choosing to erase a threat.”
“A threat,” I echo before I can stop myself, disbelief cracking through my tone. I feel heat climb my neck as heads turn. “You mean children? Families? People who happened to be born from certain bloodlines?”
Stella’s voice turns razor-thin. “I mean anyone who thinks they’re above the rules.”
Her chair scrapes softly as she turns toward me, her eyes gleaming like she’s preparing for a duel.
“Besides,” she adds, her tone bright, almost bored, “the Thalriens weren’t ‘hunted.’ They rebelled. Twice. They lost. That’s what happens when you bite the hand that feeds you.”
Something hot and ugly flashes behind my ribs.
Professor Straits’s eyes narrow. “Is that your scholarly conclusion, Miss Moreau?” she asks. “That extinction was a fair consequence for rebellion?”
Stella lifts one shoulder delicately. “History isn’t fair. It’s just… efficient.”
The word lands like a slap. It sickens me, what people in power have done to Magicks. What Magicks do to their own kind. My fingers tighten around my pen.
Professor Straits steps closer to the board. With one smooth motion, she draws a circle around THALRIEN, sealing the name in chalk like a ward.
“The Thalriens were wiped out after the Second Rebellion,” she repeats, voice low.
“Not because their magick was immoral. Not because they were monsters. But because the wrong people wanted what they carried, and couldn’t tolerate the idea that it might not belong to them.
They opposed the Magick–Administration alliance.
They believed power must be kept in check.
That power begets power—and corruption.”
Students shift in their seats as the air around us suddenly gets colder.
Straits’s gaze moves over the room, lingering a fraction too long on Stella before returning to the rest of us. “Magick does not excuse genocide,” she says. “Extinction should not be the consequence for rebellion. To say otherwise is to lose your grasp on your humanity.”
Silence stretches.
I remember my father once telling me that magick in and of itself doesn’t start wars—power does. Magick just makes the body count higher. I feel like I’m beginning to understand what he meant.
And I hate that understanding feels like stepping closer to an edge in the dark, where the only certainty is the drop.