Seven #2
No heat. No glowing light. Nothing. But the crack stares down at me, unyielding.
I lower my hands and stare back, willing it to mend itself. The silence in the room feels unbearable.
Broken. I want the word out of my head.
I wipe the sweat from my face and force myself upright, fumbling for my uniform. The fabric feels too tight today, as if I’ve outgrown it overnight.
As I dress, I catch a flash of myself in the polished metal plate by the door. The X from the Choosing is long gone, scrubbed away, but my face looks different, my eyes look too bright and my mouth is pinched as though smiling is a fading memory. I don’t recognise myself.
“What are you?” I mutter to the reflection.
It just stares back, empty.
I pull open the door, desperate to escape the question’s weight. The crack in the ceiling follows me all the same.
A warning.
I am not safe here.
The Dome is already alive with chatter by the time I arrive, Mana humming through the air in restless waves. Marissa is already there, sitting on a bench near the wall, hugging her knees as she watches Callen work through a set of practice swings on a dummy.
I walk in quietly, my boots soft against the stone. Marissa spots me first, waving me over with tired eyes and a nervous smile. Callen stops his swings and wipes the sweat from his brow. His face is set in the same grim concentration I've seen ever since the Choosing.
I slip onto the bench beside Marissa. She reaches for my hand, squeezing gently, and a faint scent of lavender follows the movement. She trembles slightly. Not as much as before, but the quiver is still present.
“Did you manage to sleep any?” she whispers. “You disappeared yesterday, and I was worried about you.”
“You shouldn’t be worrying about me,” I say. “But yes, barely. What about you?”
She shrugs, tucking her chin. “A little. But I see so many memories while I sleep here. It scares me.”
Callen glances over. “Are we training today, or are we just going to talk?” he asks, eyeing me before handing me a sword.
I shake my head. “I don’t think a sword is going to help. We need to channel shields.” I keep my voice low.
Marissa looks sheepish, though hope flickers in her eyes. Callen shrugs but nods, drying his hands on his uniform.
“Have either of you been able to channel anything?” I ask. “Even something small?”
Marissa shakes her head. Callen frowns. “Not really,” he says. “The bands always smothered it. I can feel something there now, but...” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to reach it.”
“Same,” I lie. “I used to watch the Senior Wardens train.”
I mimic the motion—hands at my sides, drawing them up as I inhale, then pressing my palms outwards as if pushing away an invisible wall.
“It always looked like breathing to me. Like pulling something up from deep inside yourself.”
Marissa watches in earnest, then copies the motion. Her hands shake with nerves.
“Now, close your eyes and breathe in deep,” I say. “Imagine the light beneath your skin.”
Callen’s expression tightens, while Marissa purses her lips, frustrated.
“Good,” I say. “Now push it outwards.”
For a moment, the only sound is breathing.
Then, a faint golden shimmer appears in front of Callen’s hands—a thin, translucent film, barely visible but still there. It flickers, then disappears.
Callen opens his eyes, stunned. “Was that—? Did I do it?”
I nod.
“Again,” I say. “Hold onto it this time.”
Marissa’s brow furrows in concentration. She tries once, nothing. She tries again, teeth clenched. On the third attempt, a flicker of gold light outlines her fingertips, so brief I almost miss it. She lets out an anxious breath.
“That’s it,” I say gently. “It only has to hold once.”
Callen’s next attempt holds. He produces a steady glimmer of golden light, almost the shape of a shield itself—a wide disc that floats a foot from his outstretched hands. Marissa’s next try is better too, the flickering light extending out from her fingers just briefly.
She laughs, startled by her own excitement. “I did it, Luceris.”
“Again,” Callen says. “We’ll practice until we can hold it for as long as possible.”
I demonstrate the motion again, careful not to let even a drop of my own power show. My skin prickles as Mana stirs beneath it, eager and difficult to suppress here. I dig my nails into my palms until it settles again.
“You’re really good at teaching this,” Marissa says, glancing at me. “Even though...well, you know.”
I focus on the floor. “Even though what?”
She curls a strand of hair in her fingers, embarrassed. “The Blessed said you had no Mana at all. I heard him at the Choosing. He said it was impossible.”
Callen’s eyes narrow, his gaze sharpening as he stares me down. “You know a lot about channelling for someone without Mana.”
“I paid attention,” I reply, shrugging. “I wanted to become a Guardian once.”
Silence stretches between us as they weigh my answer.
Callen returns to summoning his shield again.
“Maybe you’ll be able to channel soon,” Marissa says, her voice hopeful. “Maybe the bands just take a while to wear off.”
“Maybe,” I say, but I can taste the lie on my tongue.
We run the drills a few more times. Each time their shields get stronger, more tangible. Marissa is the first to tire, her arms hanging exhausted by her sides, her breathing ragged. She excuses herself to rest, while Callen keeps going—silent and determined.
“You really want to survive this, don’t you?"
He doesn't speak for a long time. “Don’t we all?” he finally says. “Plus, I want to protect Marissa. She’s just a kid. It’s not fair.”
I nod, but guilt sparks behind my sternum. I can’t protect anyone—not really—not while I continue to hide.
When Marissa returns, Callen is already up and moving. He grabs a sword and offers it to her. “Do you want to try hitting my shield?” he asks.
She grins, all nervous excitement. “Yes, please!”
She takes the sword in both hands, and while Callen projects his shield—golden and steady but as thin as an eggshell—she prods it cautiously with the sword. It vibrates but holds, and they both laugh, as though neither of them expected to anymore.
I watch them for a while longer before losing myself in thought. I find myself staring up at the curved ceiling of the Dome, searching for golden cracks.
There aren’t any here, but the pressure and fear builds beneath my skin all the same, and the question returns.
What are you?
I shake it off, and when I look at Marissa and Callen again, I’m relieved to see them smiling, growing stronger.
I only hope it will be enough.
Callen and Marissa continue to work on their shields while I instruct. We are mid-drill when the atmosphere seems to shift—the temperature drops, like a storm quenching the heat of the sun.
Kael is striding towards us in his dark uniform. Every sharp line of him distracts me more than I care to admit. His eyes are so black they remind me of my first glimpse of night on the bridge over the sea.
He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. He just stops a few metres away from our tight circle, arms folded, watching. Callen’s face tightens into a sneer and Marissa immediately drops her hands, the gold flicker of her shield dying the moment he arrives.
“This looks productive,” Kael says lazily.
His gaze drifts over the fading shield in front of Marissa before settling on me. “I thought the Lightborn kept their Offerings helpless.”
He looks right at me, and the corners of his mouth curl in a wicked half-smile. “Or are my sources incorrect?”
“Just doing what we can,” I say.
I bite the smirk back before he can see it.
Kael steps closer and begins circling me like a wolf. “Still pretending to be powerless?”
His gaze moves over me once, slow and unreadable. “That sounds exhausting.”
Marissa bristles, stepping in front of me like she could do anything against this Shadowborn with her slight frame. “Leave him alone,” she says. “The Blessed themselves said he had no Mana. I heard them.”
Kael ignores her, eyes still set on me. “Blessed are liars in every Dominion.”
His mouth twists faintly. “Power attracts rot.”
Marissa crosses her arms, and I mirror her in solidarity.
“Come on, little rabbit,” Kael says, that slow smile spreading once again. “Let’s go. Feet and fists. If you’re going to survive out there, you need to know how to fight.”
Dread slithers through my stomach. “No,” I say. “And I told you not to call me that.”
“It wasn't a request,” Kael says, already stripping off the top layer of his uniform, revealing dark tattoos winding over old scars. I forget what he was saying.
“Stop it,” Marissa snaps. “He doesn’t want—”
“He’s a big boy,” Kael cuts in. “I’ve seen him swing a sword. Let’s see what else he can do.”
Callen places a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to do—”
I shake him off. “It’s fine.”
My skin has already turned to ice. Refusing would make me look weak. Accepting will probably humiliate me.
I step forward anyway.
Kael grins, bending a finger to beckon me into the centre of the Dome.
The rest of the Offerings seem to sense blood and drift closer, forming a loose ring.
Mercifully, it is only the Waterborn and a couple from each of Earth and Air that are in attendance.
The Fireborn and Kael’s Shadowborn are nowhere to be seen.
I meet him in the centre. The height and weight advantage he has over me becomes painfully obvious, and I can tell just by the way he bounces on his feet that I’m in trouble here.
His movements are loose and controlled, nothing wasted.
His arms hang loose at his sides, tension already tightening through his forearms. My eyes roam downwards against my will. Mortifying.
We square off, and I raise my hands, habitually adopting the fighting stance that was drilled into me at the barracks. Kael watches, amused. “Ready?”
Not waiting for an answer, he lunges. I sidestep his advance, barely, and his hand grabs the fabric at my wrist, yanking me off-balance. He lets go before I topple, laughing as I try to right my footing.
“Almost,” he says. “Try again.”