Chapter 3
Elora
Tears stung Elora’s eyes, her vision blurring. She gripped Arria’s hand tighter. Maybe if she held on, her touch could pull her back from the brink. But it was futile.
Elora gasped. It felt like she couldn’t get enough air in her lungs. Everything around her slowed, the world narrowing to just her and the body of her best friend.
No… This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
Her thoughts were like distant whispers, barely breaking through the fog that was clouding her mind. She stared down at Arria’s beautiful face. Her eyes, once so full of light, stared blankly into an abyss. Can she see me? Does she know I haven’t left? That I would never leave?
Elora felt the room tilt around her, the dizziness threatening to topple her over. A ringing filled her ears, muffling the surrounding sounds. She thought she could sense movement, robes rustling along the ground, feet moving near her. But it seemed distant, muted, as if she were underwater.
“Arria,” she squeaked. “Please don’t leave me…”
A voice broke through the haze, sharp but muffled, like talking through a closed door. She barely registered the words at first. “You interfered with the test.”
Elora blinked, her eyes slowly turning towards Master Egorim. She couldn’t comprehend what he had just said. Interfered… You… you… didn’t. You let her die.
Her gaze returned to Arria, willing her to suddenly gasp for air, to sit up and laugh at this cruel joke. But there was nothing, only the stillness, only the silence that pressed in around her.
Slowly, the sounds of hushed whispers broke through the barriers her mind was working overtime to build.
The masters were talking, conversing, possibly deciding her own fate then and there.
But Elora couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.
There was a gaping void in front of her that was pulling her in, swallowing everything she knew and held dear.
“What is done is done,” Master Fern said, her tone carefully neutral. “Let’s continue. Elora and Alfie, please present your potions.” The woman, this supposed master, disregarded Arria as if she were no more significant than the rat.
Alfie’s face was pale, his eyes glistening, but he stood.
He threw a handful of white powder into the air above them.
The powder transformed into a dark, brooding cloud, its low rumble of thunder echoing across the forest. Alfie’s tears mirrored the steady drizzle that fell.
The downpour was a somber reflection of the group’s grief.
Instinctively, Elora leaned over Arria’s still-warm body, shielding her from the rain. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She gritted her teeth. Arria deserves better than this… better than to be discarded as if she didn’t matter, as if she were nothing.
The rain grew heavier, each drop striking like a cold needle against Elora’s skin. Her hands clenched into fists, berry juice seeping through her fingers. They don’t care. How do they not care?
Her nails dug into her palm until she felt the sting of broken skin.
The pain mingled with the fury building inside her.
She wanted to scream, to tell the masters that they were heartless monsters who didn’t deserve the amount of power they wielded.
Why have such power if they won’t use it to help people, to guard and protect people?
But she knew better. They would see any outburst as defiance, a challenge to their authority, a reason to make her fail.
A reason to keep her here. Despite freely challenging Thorn’s authority, she knew these masters wouldn’t let her get away with it.
No, she couldn’t risk it. So, she swallowed her anger.
The gray cloud above them shriveled and dissipated, leaving behind a heavy, humid stillness. “A simple effect, but expert level,” Fern said. “Elora, what do you have to present?”
She wasn’t ready to stand. She wasn’t even certain if she’d be able to.
Turning her attention to anything or anyone who wasn’t her friend felt like a betrayal.
Like she was abandoning her. She brushed a loose, stray lock away from Arria’s face, cupping her cheek, feeling the stiffness of rigor mortis already taking hold.
Whispering so quietly that no one else could hear.
“I’m sorry, Arria.” She plucked a strand of Arria’s chestnut curls and finally stood.
Her fingers trembled as she held the single strand of hair. Her next steps were clear to her. She just prayed it wouldn’t cost her everything. Uncorking her vial, she let the strand drop into the mixture. Her soul blazed with a fiery newfound resolve. I will not allow you to be forgotten.
Stepping to the brazier, she held the vial over the flame, watching the liquid inside bubble and a thin trail of steam curl into the air.
The students and masters watched her, their expressions puzzled, their whispers incredibly loud in the silence.
She knew the judges might consider altering a potion during the trial a breach of the rules, but she had to believe that they would see this minor act for what it was.
Not defiance. Honor. Finding a way, anyway, to keep Arria from being another casualty of the Empire’s cruel tests.
She forced a steadying breath, then slowly tipped the vial and poured half of its shimmering contents into the flames.
For a moment, the flames wavered and shrank to almost nothing.
Did I fail her again? The embers replied, sparking to life, glowing brighter, and the fire began to twist and turn. Reforming. Reshaping.
The blaze surged upwards, stretching into the form of a girl.
Arria. The elemental took shape, its fiery tendrils mimicking the curves of Arria’s braids and her round cheeks.
It twisted and flicked with every movement like strands of molten gold.
The flames cascaded down her shoulders in a waterfall of red and orange.
Arria’s face was distinct amidst the fire, the accuracy undeniable.
The only difference was her eyes. Instead of deep chestnut brown, the face in the flames had glowing eyes the color of melted amber.
There was a warmth to them that seemed to glimmer between life and something otherworldly.
Her figure shimmered with an almost translucent quality, as if made from the purest and most delicate fire.
She was vibrant, alive, and yet only a memory.
The image made Elora’s heart sink into her gut, but she had to focus.
She had to prove that she had complete control over the elemental.
She closed her eyes, feeling the connection between her and the fiery figure strengthen.
One last act, she thought. Something meaningful.
Impactful. She pictured Arria’s arms moving in the salute that only MAHO officials exchanged as a gesture of recognition. Of respect.
The fire elemental raised its arms, its movements fluid like water, perfectly mimicking the gesture.
Tears glistened Elora’s eyes, knowing it was the closest Arria would ever come to delivering the salute herself, even if it was through a hollow imitation of her. There you go, Arria. You deserve this.
The lab was mute. The tension in the surrounding forest silenced even the birds’ songs.
Everyone watched the fiery figure perform the official salute with an almost unreal grace and dignity.
A thousand emotions swirled inside Elora’s mind.
Anger. Sadness. Defiance. She fought to keep control of the elemental, to let it linger just a little longer in that form.
Long enough for her to feel that perhaps, in some small way, she had given Arria a victory in the face of her failure.
Alfie shifted uncomfortably, his eyes wide, glancing nervously at the masters for any sign of reaction. He seemed torn between staying silent and stepping forward.
Marcus stood rigid, his arms crossed against his chest. “They won’t stand for this,” he muttered.
Rowan seemed helpless, but also in awe of the display before him. He inched forward, wanting to get a closer look, but stopped. A small step of support would mean trouble for him if the masters didn’t approve of Elora’s act.
The masters themselves stood like sculptures.
Their eyes glazed over, revealing nothing.
Master Egorim watched the flickering form in the brazier, his lips pressed into a thin line.
For a fleeting moment, he almost seemed curious, but he quickly resumed his mask of indifference.
Master Fern’s brows furrowed, her expression caught between interest and disapproval.
Her eyes darted between the flames and Elora as her fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against her crossed arms.
After a long, heavy silence, the masters concluded the trials with no indication of their verdict. Their ending statement was brief and completely devoid of ceremony.
“Send for a clergyman,” Master Egorim commanded, his tone not alluding to any discomfort about what he was saying. “Let them attend to the body.” And with that, the masters turned as one and left.
That’s it? They just left, no comment, no sign of their thoughts.
Elora’s arms prickled with goosebumps. Their silence hadn’t been a rebuke; it suggested something.
Maybe, just maybe, they saw her potion alteration not as defiance but as a tribute.
As it was. A desperate attempt to honor her friend.
But as the masters’ figures faded into the distance, the fragile hope warred with a darker fear. What if they saw it differently?