Chapter 4 Lesson Above
four
Lesson Above
Zydar
I always preferred to train at night, beneath the silvery embrace of the moon. Under the harsh glare of the sun, my kind grew sluggish and weary. We thrived in the darkness, where our true nature could unfold without restraint.
Yet that was not the only reason I chose the hours between sunset and dawn. Nighttime offered privacy that daylight could never provide—a peaceful silence far more conducive to learning than the clatter of the practice yards.
When thunder rolled across the sky, heralding the start of our session, my gaze found the Vessel I was to train.
That stubborn girl stood in her simple gray robes, looking pale beneath the moon's glow. Her golden eyes, shadowed with exhaustion, remained locked on mine with the same defiance she'd shown in the courtyard.
She challenged me without words, as though her will alone could strike me down where I stood.
How refreshing.
I had worried that she wouldn’t show, giving me a reason to punish her once more, but it seemed like she was not a mindless creature who could be underestimated.
The training platform sat at the cliff’s edge, a wide obsidian disc marked with glowing sigils. As soon as I stepped on, it rose into the sky, held up by thick chains of lightning. There were no railings, no walls. Just open air and a long drop.
Wind howled around us, stripping warmth from stone and bone. It caught her pale hair, sending golden strands whipping across her face. Rain began to fall, cold droplets that turned the obsidian slick and treacherous.
Through it all, she stared directly at me. Unblinking. Her eyes met mine with undiluted rebellion.
It was fortunate for her that I found such traits admirable in a warrior. Grudgingly so, but admirable nonetheless.
Still, admiration was not respect. That would need to be earned.
"Welcome to your first lesson," I said, deliberately sliding my gaze away from her in a way that I knew was bound to irritate. "Most Vessels begin by channeling power through their Oath Mark. It allows your fragile mortal body to contain what would otherwise destroy you."
She folded her arms, watching me with narrowed eyes. "Sounds charming."
My gaze flicked toward her at last, slow and assessing, like I was deciding whether to correct a disobedient soldier or a child playing war.
"It isn't," I said simply. "It's survival. Nothing more."
The space between us hummed, every breath thick with stormlight. She was aware of the distance, of how easily I could close it.
I stepped forward.
"But in your case," I continued, voice lowering just enough to make her stomach tighten, "we have a complication."
She raised a brow. "You mean the part where your magic touched me and… failed to leave its mark?"
My eyes darkened, and the clouds above seemed to shift with them. "The mark rejected you. Either way, it should not have happened."
"Perhaps your magic isn't as all-powerful as you think."
I was close enough now that she could see the flicker of lightning reflected in my red eyes. "Careful, little dove. Tell me, what do you know of fae magic?"
"I told you not to call me that."
I smirked. "Do I need to remind you that I am the master and you are one of many Vessels?"
She scoffed, her nose wrinkling. "I would sooner die than call you master."
"So be it."
We were high above the ground and it was a sheer drop down the side of the cliff to the raging sea. I was well aware of the fear of heights most humans had, and I was certain Miralyte would feel the same.
She was pale and still, her jaw clenched. I saw the slight tremble in her hands, her legs. She tried to hide it, but I was well trained at observing my opponent.
I took a few steps away from her, leaving her in the center of the platform, the wind whipping at her thin shirt, which had quickly become soaked and plastered to her torso.
"So are you just going to stand there staring or are you going to teach me?"
I smiled slowly.
She was good at hiding her fear, but not good enough.
I extended my hand, palm up, letting a controlled thread of lightning dance between my fingers. "First, we test what magic you can channel without a mark. Most Vessels begin with simple energy manipulation. Even without proper binding, some mortals can hold a spark for several seconds."
She watched the electricity with wary golden eyes. "And if I can't?"
"Then we discover just how useless you truly are."
I grasped her wrist, pressing my thumb where her Oath Mark should have blazed blue. "Feel the power," I commanded, letting a thin stream of energy flow into her. "Now hold it."
Her face tightened in concentration. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a tiny, pathetic flicker appeared in her palm—barely visible, weak as a dying ember.
"A child could do better." The spark sputtered and died within seconds. "Again," I commanded.
This time, she managed to hold the energy for perhaps three heartbeats before it dissipated. Her breathing had grown labored from the effort.
"Pathetic. Most Vessels can maintain a flame for a full minute on their first attempt."
Her jaw clenched. "Perhaps your teaching methods are lacking."
"Perhaps you are simply weak." I released her wrist and stepped back. "Try forming a barrier spell. Focus the energy into a defensive shield."
She stared at me blankly. "I don't know how."
I moved behind her cold, wet form, positioning her arms. Heat radiated from my chest against her back, steam rising where our bodies nearly touched.
"Hands up. Like this." I guided her palms forward, fingers spread.
My hands covered hers, warm against her frozen skin.
"The gesture helps channel the energy, gives it direction and shape. "
She held the position, her muscles tense.
"Now repeat after me. Shael'tora em'varis." The Old Fae rolled off my tongue easily, the words for 'shield of light' that every fae child learned before they could walk properly.
"Shael'tora em'varis." I barely restrained my shock at her flawless pronunciation.
She extended her hands, face screwing up with effort. A faint shimmer appeared in the air before her—so thin it was nearly transparent, lasting only a moment before collapsing.
"A strong wind could break through that shield," I said dismissively. "You would be dead before you could finish casting." Where did she learn to speak in the ways of the Old Fae?
"I'm trying—"
"Trying is not sufficient. Results matter. And your results are..." I gestured at the empty air where her failed magic had been. "Non-existent."
Her hands clenched into fists. "Then teach me properly instead of standing there insulting me."
"I am teaching you. This is what failure looks like. Learn to recognize it."
The magic lesson had proven what I suspected—she was weaker than most mortals, not stronger. Whatever anomaly had prevented her marking, it had also crippled her ability to channel power.
I snapped my fingers and the platform answered. Weapons shimmered into existence between us—blades of every style and size. I didn’t miss her appreciative gaze at the sight.
“If magic will not bend to you, perhaps something less refined will. Pick up the practice blade.”
She didn't move, though her grip on the fabric at her sides tightened ever so slightly.
"Land a single blow on me. One strike, anywhere you like." I began to circle her, taunting her with slow, deliberate steps. "Do that, and the lesson ends."
I knew what her response would be before she uttered the words. "Let's begin."
A wicked smile spread across her face as her gaze slid over the blades. I expected her to pick up an axe or mace. Something large and monstrous.
To my surprise, she dropped to a crouch and grabbed a pair of short daggers.
The blades were forged of shadowglass—a volcanic alloy laced with obsidian and tempered fae silver, light enough to dance with, but strong enough to pierce armor and redirect minor spellwork.
Magic clung to them like a second edge, humming faintly against the wards lining the walls.
She twirled them over her knuckles with practiced ease before flipping them into a ready grip. As if they belonged to her. As if she was born with them in hand.
She wasted no time as she attacked.
She lunged to her right to throw off my read, twisted low, and launched the dagger in a clean arc straight for my chest. It struck true.
Right in the heart.
Except—it wasn't mine.
The body she hit vanished the moment the blade made contact, dissolving into smoke and light like shattered glass catching the moon. The illusion held until the final second, solid enough to cast a shadow. Just long enough for her to believe it was me.
The real me stood three paces to her left, watching her blunder.
She should have known better. In the fae world, illusions were as common as breathing.
Every court wielded them differently—some crafted from shadow, others from light, still others from mist and memory.
A fae child learned to question what their eyes showed them long before they learned to speak.
Trust nothing at face value. Assume every opponent had three more tricks hidden behind their smile.
We couldn’t lie, but we could fool the eyes.
Mortals never learned that lesson quickly enough.
"Deceiving cur," she hissed, whirling toward me and raising her remaining dagger. Her eyes were narrow, her posture tense. Gone was the weakness and fear she had barely hidden. Here was her true nature: sharp edges, deadly focus, and lethal speed.
"Deceiving is what we do best, little mortal," I said.
She stepped forward, dagger raised, eyes fixed on me like I was the only threat in the world.
So I broke her world.
With a flick of my wrist and a whispered trigger word in the old tongue, the sigils carved into the obsidian flared beneath my feet—and split me apart in illusion.
"Pick one," I said. All five voices spoke at once, echoing over the roar of the storm.