Chapter 3 #4
“Bet you didn’t see that coming,” I retort, lips curling into a smirk.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. The shadows coiling around his arms stirred, as if they sensed his rising temper.
And then he was on me. Faster than I could process, I was slammed to the mat, breath knocked from my lungs.
He pinned me easily, his hips anchoring mine, one hand pressed beside my head.
My chest rose and fell rapidly beneath him; every inch of his body was touching mine: hard muscle, tension, and heat. His jade eyes bore into me.
“Just because you landed one punch doesn’t mean you’re not predictable,” he stated, voice low, dangerous.
“You’re sloppy. Uncoordinated. Weak.” I didn’t respond.
Couldn’t. His gaze darkened literally. What had been jade turned to onyx, his power flaring just beneath the surface.
For once, I stayed quiet. “Let’s go again,” he said coldly, and he stood, stepping off me as though I meant nothing.
After sparring ended, my body felt like a live punching bag; every muscle throbbed and burned.
“I’ll catch you later,” I told Gia before slipping out alone toward the alchemy greenhouse.
I needed air that didn’t reek of blood and steel.
Luckily, the place was blessedly empty. I sank onto one of the moss-covered benches, the faint blue glow of enchantments flickering along the walls.
The scent of mint and dittany clung to the space, sharp and green, pulling me back in time.
Before war, before this academy. I was six years old again.
Aiden and Alaric sparred outside our tiny family greenhouse, the thud of fists and boyish grunts carrying through the open window. But my focus was on my mother.
Mackie.
Her wavy blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, honey eyes soft as they landed on me.
“Now, Rynlee,” she said, holding up two plants; mint was in her left hand, dittany in the right hand. “Which one eases pain the fastest?” I remember squinting, so small my feet barely touched the stool, and pointing to the plant in her right hand.
“Both are useful,” I answered proudly, “but dittany is stronger.” Her smile was radiant, a quiet pride shining through.
“Exactly. You’ll do so well at Sylvara.” She then ground the herbs together, the aroma rising, fresh and warm, like safety itself.
I smiled softly at the memory. Moments like that were all I had left of my mother now. Even though I hated the decision my father had made, I was here, and I had to make it count. Healing was where I belonged, but maybe… I could belong here, too.
Arcanna was brutal. Just this morning, another student had been killed, their throat cut clean through, their name already etched into the stone at the front gates.
The reality of it sat heavy in my chest. My body still ached from sparring with Aiden earlier, every muscle sore, every bruise a reminder of how relentless he was.
He hadn’t gone easy on me, not once. He never had.
Each time he knocked me down, the frustration only intensified.
And yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about the power he carried.
I’d caught only fleeting glimpses during training: dark markings burned into his skin, half-hidden, impossible to study clearly.
I read about the godmarked once, in an old tome my father kept at home. Those chosen or cursed by the gods bore runes etched into their flesh, marks of divine power and divine burden alike. I didn’t know what Aiden’s symbols meant, only that they looked painful.
Permanent.
Either way, I was here now. And I would be damned if I disappointed myself, let alone my mother.
I took a deep, relaxing breath as the mingled scents of herbs wrapped around me like a shield.
At least there was alchemy class. At least here, surrounded by earth and herbs, I could pretend.
The greenhouse could be my escape. My one fragile sliver of hope in a school built to destroy.
After a moment, I decided I should probably drag myself to my next class. My legs shook as I stood, the ache in my muscles reminding me of every sparring blow I’d taken. I reached for the door, but before stepping out, I glanced back into the greenhouse one last time.
The afternoon sun streamed through the high glass panes, gilding the space in warm gold.
For a heartbeat, I swore I saw her, my mother standing by the workbench, her hands working the mortar and pestle with practiced ease, herbs crushed beneath her touch.
She hummed softly, a tune I almost remembered, one which always made the air seem lighter.
My breath caught. A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it, but I wiped it away quickly, refusing to let it linger.
The vision faded. The bench stood empty. Only the whisper of leaves stirred in the breeze. Pulling my gaze away, I stepped out into the hall, forcing myself forward. But the echo of her presence clung to me then, like the faintest trace of dittany and mint, reminding me of everything I had lost…
…and everything I still carried.