Chapter Thirty-Six #2
“Well,” she said gently, slinging her bag over her shoulder, “maybe we’ll both work on balance this week.”
His lips curved into a small, genuine smile.
“I’d like that.”
???
After dinner, Anabelle headed to her evening class with a lightness she hadn’t expected.
The practical session earlier had actually gone…
well. More than well, if she was being honest. She’d completed everything on the list: clean intent formation, steady ether flow, controlled release, without blowing anything up or freezing in place.
She’d gone in convinced practical classes would be harder for someone who had spent most of her life believing she was entirely human. No whispered instincts guiding her. Just her. But her magic had answered her intent smoothly, obediently, almost like it had been waiting for her to notice it.
Don’t jinx it, she warned herself. The universe had a nasty sense of humour.
Dominik walked her to her next class, his presence solid at her side, quiet but watchful. Defensive Ether & Counter Measures loomed ahead, the title alone was enough to make her stomach tighten.
Inside, the room buzzed with nervous energy, this wasn’t theory, it was what you used when things went wrong.
A sharp voice cut through the noise.
“Yes, yes, settle down, folks. This isn’t social hour, nor is it a playground.”
Terrane stood at the front, tall and severe, arms crossed as his gaze swept the room. He looked like the kind of man who enjoyed discomfort if it taught a lesson.
“Now,” he continued, pacing slowly, “Defensive Ether and Counter Measures are exactly what they sound like. In your morning classes, you’re learning general applications of ether in everyday life.
Intent matters, but you should already know that.
If you’ve been paying attention, you’ve already memorized the spells required, to function as a society-approved caster from last week’s Caster and Fae curriculum. ”
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
“Here,” he said sharply, “you’ll learn what to do when things go sideways. When intent turns hostile. When you are forced to use your abilities defensively.”
He stopped pacing, fixing them all with a hard stare.
“You should also know by now that attack spells used against any faction, or against a fellow caster, in the real world are punishable by a council trial. And trust me, the consequences are dire for your status.” A pause.
“Unless, of course, you’re employed by the High Leaders…
or the Queen herself.” A humorless smirk tugged at his mouth.
“So keep that in mind. And don’t...” he waved a hand dismissively, “...fuck yourselves over.”
A ripple of uneasy laughter moved through the room.
“Now,” he said, picking up a slate, “today you’ll be pairing off.”
Anabelle’s spine straightened.
“To avoid you choosing your friends and going easy on each other, I’ve prepared a list. You’ll come up, check your assigned partner, and remember...whoever is on the attack will not use lethal spells.”
His eyes hardened.
“I mean it. Use one, and you’re automatically disqualified from the program.”
Her throat went dry.
Fuck…
She swallowed, heart thudding as students began lining up, one by one, to see who they’d be facing. Her mood plummeted the second she saw the name beside hers.
Tyson.
Of all the people in the room, of all the possible pairings, the universe had a cruel sense of timing.
Her stomach sank as she stepped forward, shoulders squaring even as unease crept under her skin. Fine, she told herself. Here goes nothing.
Tyson’s mouth curled the moment he noticed her approaching.
“Oh,” he drawled, eyes dragging over her far too slowly, “Hello, Snow White. Finally gonna be my partner?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “In your dreams, dwarf. Let’s get this over with.”
A flicker of anger crossed his face, sharp, hot, satisfying, but it vanished almost immediately, replaced by something far worse. Calm. The kind of calm that settled too smoothly, too deliberately. The kind that made her instincts scream.
Then he moved. The air shifted, ether snapping into place as illusion spells came at her one after another. Fast. Relentless. Not sloppy beginner tricks, either, precise, targeted strikes meant to destabilize, disorient.
She blocked the first. The second grazed her. The third...
Her breath caught. The room dissolved.
She was standing in front of her childhood home, its windows dark and shattered, smoke curling from the roof. The smell of oil and metal filled her lungs as a broken car sat twisted in the drive, glass glittering like blood beneath her feet.
“No,” she whispered.
The illusion shifted again. A demon stood before her now, massive and cruel, Emmett clutched to its chest like a trophy. His face was pale, eyes unfocused, too still.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
Gods...
Realization hit her like a blade. He must have her trigger journal. There was no other explanation. These weren’t random fears. These were memories. Wounds she’d never spoken aloud, mapped out in ink meant for private healing, not weaponization.
“What’s wrong, Snow White, or should I say Belle?” Tyson’s voice echoed through the illusion, sickeningly sweet. “Having a hard time concentrating?”
Her entire body went cold. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, soft and warm and gone forever. Belle. The name she hadn’t heard since… since before everything broke. She’d stopped letting anyone call her that because it hurt too much. Because grief clawed too deep when she heard it.
Her vision blurred. Ether surged, wild and unanchored, responding to emotion instead of intent. She was slipping. She staggered back a step, chest tight, panic rising fast and sharp. The room felt too small, the illusions too real. She couldn’t breathe—
“Ani.” Joshua’s voice cut through it, firm, grounding, real.
Her eyes snapped towards the sound.
“Choice,” he said clearly, trying to hold her gaze. “Ani, choose. Choose what you’re going to do.”
The word anchored her. Choice. Not fear. Not instinct. Not grief. Control.
She inhaled, deep and shaking, and for the first time since the illusion began, she didn’t fight it blindly. She redirected. Her ether snapped into alignment, sharp and deliberate, flowing with intent instead of panic. And she sent it back.
The illusion slammed into Tyson like a mirror turned weapon.
Snakes erupted around him, coiling, hissing, endless. They wrapped around his limbs, his torso, his throat, their fangs sinking in as they devoured him piece by piece. The screams tore from his chest, raw and unrestrained, as he collapsed to the floor, clawing at visions only he could see.
The room gasped.
Joshua was at her side instantly, one hand firm but gentle at her elbow, guiding her a few steps away as the professor moved in to end the spell.
Her heart was still racing, breath uneven, but she was standing. Grounded. In control.
“Well,” the professor said, a sharp note of approval cutting through the tension. “Good. Very good.”
He turned to the class, gesturing toward her. “See, folks? This is exactly what you want. Miss Wyatt was overwhelmed. Any one of you could have lost control in that moment.” His gaze swept the room. “But instead of letting her ether ride her, she made a choice.”
He nodded once, decisive. “She chose control.” His eyes landed back on the students. “I want everyone to take a page out of her book. Come on, people...show me what you can do.”
Anabelle swallowed hard, adrenaline still humming beneath her skin, Joshua’s presence steady at her side.
She’d been pushed to the edge.
And she hadn’t fallen.