Chapter 13
Waking up early was worth Pip’s grumbles as I settle into my prized seat in the middle of the amphitheater.
The thought that my body’s gilded markings, wrapped in white and gold aerial leathers, are more at home as a statue decorating these ornate walls than as an ensign training for war still sits bitterly on my tongue.
Maybe I should take it as a sign that I belong here. After all, I do match the decor.
In the low hum of recruits trickling in to take their seats for our entrance exam, thoughts of my magic tumble through my mind.
At only eight years old, ice and fire bristled through my fingertips, elemental magic awakening in my blood at an unusually young age.
Allowing me more time to master each element.
With Sully’s help, I’ve become proficient in minor magic: manipulation, simple illusions, runes, enchantments, Sangre healing.
I have a strong foundation in potions and deadly poisons.
The Mysticwoods being my second home granted me fluency in all things natural and magical creatures.
I may not be a Shadowmancer, but I can dance among the shadows in a way others can’t, an ability called Shadowblending. Maybe that is my only special talent.
Yet everyone has a unique magic, their Celestial Gift.
I hear there’s a Chronosense in this year’s class, with the ability to sense more than just random moments in time, able to reverse or speed up time by several seconds.
An insanely unique skill. Emberhell, even S?las is annoyingly powerful with his Shadowmancing skills, able to manipulate them as an extension of his own will.
I’d love to have his power, minus the part of being branded as an outcast, just because the last-known wielder of shadows was Wuvon.
However, it certainly didn’t seem to scare the ladies away from what little I witnessed during the trials.
By my age of twenty-two, everyone here will have already come into their Celestial Gift.
Perhaps mine is just Shadowblending or being strong in all Elarian magic.
I guess for the first time, I won’t be standing out, which is pretty amusing now that I think about it.
The Fates are known to be fickle, mischievous entities; I suppose that’s where their younger sister, Karma, gets her sense of humor.
A happy squeal tears through my thoughts as Winx finds me in the auditorium.
I look over my shoulder to see her smile radiating beneath striking violet eyes.
Our gazes collide, hers flaring neon, glimmering through newly dyed rainbow hair.
Her lean, muscular body and slender legs move with a Pixie-like flutter.
She’s modified her uniform to a cropped leather corset, tightening across her petite breasts and exposing her midriff.
So impractical, but she does love standing out.
The high cut showing off the carved lines of her lower stomach, cutting in a V.
Everything about her is petite, except for her personality and the flames roaring through her blood.
I catch her blushing, curling a smirk at the corner of my mouth. I may not be one for attachment, but I can admit it’s nice having such a beautiful, familiar face excited to see me in the sea of strangers. Especially when I’m not used to being around so many Fae at once.
“I am so happy to see you! I knew you would make it, of course.” Her words come out so fast, it’s hard to keep up.
“Last week, I heard my father mention your name angrily in his office, talking with Commander Bragen. They could have only been that upset because you made it here.” She snickers with a coy smile.
“It’s good to see you, too. I like the new hair. Brings out your eyes,” I say with a wink, donning my mask, using the numbness to help me pretend I’m not a gutted, hollow ghost.
I have to play the part, a confident weapon ready to bloody my way through a Wuvon horde. Tucking the real me deep within the darkness, which happily coils around it, a dragon of shadows hoarding her treasure. Hidden even from myself.
Winx’s eyes flare brighter as she glances at my lips. “Oh, I almost forgot. This is my cousin, Flint Rockwell. He’s been dying to meet you since I told him about how you slayed the Ritherin in Snowmas.”
Flint pops out from behind her. Winx quickly whirls aside, making room for him.
He’s taller than her and a Cerfios Lilliac, a stone Pixie-Elarian hybrid.
His skin is carved of white marble with grey veining.
His muscles are chiseled into broad shoulders, his left arm bearing a crack filled with gold veining.
His face is carved for the heavens, with striking emerald eyes framed by windswept white hair. He’s a walking piece of art.
I swallow at the sight of him. If my body looks more at home amongst the ornate walls of this theatre, he is the centerpiece.
He shyly glances my way with a sweet smile as he says, “The Sa-Savaé Entropaé. You’re already the talk of the class.
I can’t wait to sa-see you in the spa-sparring ring.
I’m hoping to be placed in the ground-combat division.
” He glances down nervously, as if his stuttered words sputter out on the floor.
There’s a subtle beauty in the stark juxtaposition of Winx’s vibrant, fiery confidence against her cousin’s cool, quiet shyness—like a magnet’s north and south poles.
“Glad to see Winx hasn’t melted you to magma yet.” I throw a smirk at Winx before continuing, “I’d love to train with you in the combat arena anytime.”
His eyes flare neon green as he nods excitedly before taking his seat next to Winx, who’s sharing her experience of the third trial. He seems eclipsed in her presence, fading into the background he’s accustomed to, while Winx shines on the center stage.
The open seat on my other side is taken up by a familiar face.
It’s the Mao who went right before me in the second trial.
What is her name again? A laugh tugs on my mind, rumbling up her last name, as she is of a feline-Fae subspecies.
Mrow, that’s it! Kissa Mrow. I silently chuckle to myself before painting on a smile as she takes her seat.
“Hey, I’m—”
“Yes, Savaé Entropaé. Trust me, everyone in this room knows who you are.” Her ears shift in different directions, consuming all the conversations around us. “You are currently on everyone’s lips,” she says, unamused.
“Um… sorry, I think?” I’m not quite sure what the fuck to say to that.
The white and gold leather illuminates the different hues of purple in her fur as her chartreuse eyes narrow on me before softening. “Sorry. It’s not your fault. The racket of the room just has me on edge. I’m Kissa Mrow. Laugh at my last name, and it will be your last breath.”
I smirk at her. “I’d prefer to make it through orientation with my trachea intact, thank you very much. But I’m glad I’m not the only one unnerved by being around this many Fae at once.”
She laughs, and there is almost a purr to it.
“I guess you’re alright, then… and it was pretty fucking badass, the way you took out that Pykavow.
I thought for sure you were minced meat when you went rolling off the cliff.
Nice moves. Glad to also know you have a clever head on those broad shoulders of yours.
Not all stab first and ask questions later. ”
I laugh dryly. “Don’t be so sure about that last part. It's far more fun to stab first.”
She rolls her chartreuse eyes before lifting a finger to her lips as her ears lurch towards the front of the lecture hall. Steps ring out across the amphitheater stage, silencing the recruits. A thin, short male with disheveled brown hair and an ill-fitting tan tunic strolls to the podium.
“Welcome, new recruits, all five hundred of you. I am Professor Alaric Teak, scholar of Magical Theory and Arcane studies. I will be teaching you how to hone your Celestial Gift. And, if you become an Ellian Knight, your Arcane Glyph. But first, you must pass the written entrance exam. The papers will appear before you, starting the three hours you have to finish. The results will be posted this evening. Each of you who pass will receive a letter from a Scroll Owl with your assignments.”
The entrance exam decides your fate. Not just with ink and parchment, but with magic.
At the end of the written portion, each ensign nicks a small cut on their finger, placing it on the parchment—mentally teleporting to a magical room where all their abilities are tested to their limits.
Powerful Runic, Illusionary, and Sangre magic combine to create the entrance exam.
Regardless of whether we pass, we’re all considered ensigns in the Golden Legion now.
Those who fail this part are still trained, but for a shorter time before joining the infantry.
They are not weak—having proved their strength in the trials—but they don’t have the strategic fortitude for leading assaults.
The Golden Legion, Cascara’s shield, divides its strength up into two arms. The infantry is our first line of defense.
Our advance force is broken up into an aerial military structure: a Wing is the combination of our tactical Ground Unit and our Chivalry of Ellian Knights.
The former rides volunteer Pegasuses and the latter on their bonded flying creatures.
Wings soaring together in coordinated mission forms a Command, capable of devastating or defending entire fronts.