Chapter 2
Rynlee’s POV
As my eyes fluttered open, morning light began to cut through the stained-glass window of the dorm at Arcanna. A sharp voice sliced through my haze. “Get up, sleepyhead,” Gianna’s tone filtered through the thick fog of sleep as she gently shook my shoulder.
“Ten more minutes,” I mumbled, burrowing deeper into my pillow.
“You don’t have ten more minutes, Ryn. We’re going to be late for our first day at Arcanna.” That got my attention. Gianna yanked the covers off me, and I hissed as the cold air rushed in. My eyes flew open, blinking against the early morning light.
“I’m going to kill you,” I groaned, glaring up at her.
“You can’t kill me,” she replied, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Because then you’d be stuck without someone as cool as me to drag your sorry butt out of bed.”
She already looked like a seasoned warrior, standing there in her fitted light-brown leather uniform. The rich tones of the fabric contrasted beautifully with her dark skin, making her seem more confident, more ready. Honestly, Gia seemed as though she belonged here. But of course, she did.
She came from a family of warriors. Her seven older brothers had all gone to Arcanna and were now stationed out in the world, fighting on the borders, defending the realm.
She was born for this. “Come on,” she urged, eyes widening in mock horror.
“If we’re late, who knows what kind of punishment they’ll throw at us?
My brother Gage told me someone last year got turned into a frog for missing orientation. ”
I sighed, dragging myself upright, every muscle aching with nerves or maybe just from the terrible mattress. Either way, there was no going back now.
“That’s not true, Gia,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as I pulled on the uniform.
The leather pants clung too tightly to my hips and legs, and the long-sleeved top laced down the spine until Gia tugged the strings snug around my ribs.
It still felt stiff to me, like I was crawling into someone else’s skin.
I paused in front of the mirror hanging on the wall.
The reflection staring at me wasn’t kind.
Bright blue eyes, ringed with dark circles.
Complexion pale—ghostly, in the morning light.
My long, dirty-blonde waves tangled into a mess, so I twisted them into a loose braid and allowed it to fall down my spine.
For a moment, I just stared. My grandmother’s words floated through my head like a breath of wind: You are a Yarrows.
You carry your father’s blood, stubbornness, strength, and will.
Keep getting up. I exhaled slowly and let my gaze travel over the leather uniform clinging to me.
“This is fine,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. But it wasn’t. Not even close.
“You look like a haunted scarecrow,” Gianna added helpfully from behind me.
“Wow, thanks,” I muttered sarcastically as I tugged on the brown leather boots that completed the armor.
Gianna grinned, and together we stepped out of the dorm and into the hallway where light filtered through small stained-glass windows.
The winding staircase led us down to the rotunda, a grand circular chamber that pulsed with history and reverence.
Carvings of the Sun Goddess and Moon God adorned the stone walls, their hands outstretched but never quite touching.
Lovers, or so the legend said. A forbidden love, the kind that shaped myths and perhaps doomed them both.
We turned left and stepped out into the crisp morning air, following the flow of other first-years spilling into the courtyard.
Every student wore the same patch on their right shoulder: a four-part crest symbolizing the kinds of magic we might awaken during the ceremony.
Each section held a different emblem. Body, elements, conjuration, and the rarest of them all…
divinity. Most of us would never see that fourth one light up.
Arcanna War College sprawled like a city unto itself.
It had everything: a vast library for magical theory, weapon histories, and spellcraft; open training grounds scarred with years of combat drills; a gleaming armory in the east wing; a feeding hall where food supposedly moved on its own.
Not appetizing; dormitories and showers tucked into the west wing; a fully stocked medical ward and probably a hundred other places I hadn’t memorized.
I tried studying the map before I arrived, but my mind had wandered to healing herbs and alchemy instead.
Typical. I already regretted it. My thighs burned from the stairs we’d climbed the night before, and I wasn’t sure how I’d survive today.
But I would. I had to. This was where everything changed.
When we reached the large courtyard, the sheer number of students hit me, at least two hundred first-years, all lined up and buzzing with nervous energy.
Some of us wouldn’t make it past the Fourfold Rite, the ceremony where our magic would either reveal itself…
or consume us. And that wasn’t even considering the brutal trials we’d faced before, then. At Arcanna, everything was fair game.
In the center of the courtyard was a raised wooden platform with a podium perched atop it.
A man stood there like a monument, Commander Dagon.
Even at sixty, he looked as if he could crush a man with his bare hands.
He wore black leather armor that gleamed with silver medallions, and he slicked back his salt-and-pepper hair from a sharp, weathered face.
His long gray beard framed a stern mouth and a sterner gaze.
And behind him, like a shadow poised to strike, stood his son.
Aiden Dagon. The antichrist in the flesh.
I hated him with every fiber of my being.
We’d known each other since we were kids.
Our fathers had once served together here at the academy, back when mine still held rank.
That was before the battle. Before the “accident.” Before my father was forced to step down and fade into obscurity.
And Aiden? His father stayed, and he rose in his shadow. While my family fell, he kept climbing. The Dagons lived down the road from our place, and every time they visited, Aiden never missed a chance to taunt me.
“Too weak to ever become a warrior,” he’d sneer with that infuriating smirk.
Taunting me was his favorite sport: jab, mock, provoke, repeat.
And I hated him for it. Well, jokes on him.
Because here I am. Not at Willowfen, where I should’ve been, where my hands would be grinding herbs and crafting remedies instead of gripping daggers, but here I was at Arcanna.
Trapped in leather and steel, forced into a world I never asked for.
But if I were going to be stuck here, I’d survive it.
Gods, I would do more than survive. I would prove them wrong, my father, Aiden, all of them who looked at me and only saw weakness.
Maybe someday I would prove to myself I belonged here, too.
He stood behind his father in his own black leather uniform, except his top had no sleeves—naturally.
The armor clung to his chest and shoulders as if it had been molded for him, and his tanned, tattooed arms were crossed with practiced ease, muscles flexed just enough to appear effortlessly intimidating.
He stood at approximately 6’3" and had unruly chocolate-brown hair that fell across his forehead in messy waves. Warm golden skin. A sharp jawline shadowed with dark stubble. And a face like it had been carved by the gods themselves.
It should be illegal for someone I hate to look that good. His jade-green eyes swept the crowd. And when they landed on me, I thought for just a second, I saw something. Surprise? Concern?
But it vanished almost instantly, replaced by his usual unreadable expression.
Then he arched his brow. A challenge. The urge to flip him off was strong.
Instead, I mimicked his stance, crossing my arms with deliberate exaggeration.
His mouth twitched slightly. A smirk threatening to escape.
But he turned his head before it could. Only at that point did I realize maybe I should pay attention to the Commander’s speech.
“Welcome, first-years, to Arcanna War College,” Commander Dagon boomed, his voice magically amplified to reach across the courtyard. Lesser magic, but effective.
A handful of professors stood behind him, flanking the stage, each dressed in their respective colors and sigils. My gaze drifted to the far end and I found my father. He looked older than I remembered, though it had only been a couple of days since I last saw him.
The entrance trials had been brutal, more than just an exam, and more obstacles awaited us even after we bested third years. They tested every muscle, every bone, and I still wasn’t sure how I’d made it through. It all blurred together now. But my father… he was not a blur.
He was stark and clear, and somehow smaller.
His sandy brown hair, once thick, had thinned and was cut close to the scalp.
Gray threaded deep into his beard, spreading more since the last time.
His bright blue eyes swept over the crowd, distant, as if none of us were familiar to him.
He rested heavily on his cane, shoulders slouched, and his weight shifted to his left leg.
I almost didn’t recognize him. Because in my mind, another image rose sharper than the one before me. My father, standing tall in the greenhouse back in Aurendale. His laugh was low and warm as he bent over my mother’s shoulder while she crushed mint and dittany into a paste.