The barracks stank of sweat, damp wool, and oil. Kaelen dropped onto the edge of his cot, still tasting the iron of blood in his mouth. His knuckles were raw from gripping his sword too tightly. Around him, the recruits who'd survived the morning's field exercise slumped into bunks or laughed too loudly to hide their nerves.
Seralyn stood near the window, silent as always, checking the fletching on her arrows one by one. Maeve had her knees pulled up on her cot, whispering small runes under her breath like she was replaying every spell she had cast. Deren sprawled belly-up, boots still on, grinning like a madman.
"First real taste of the outside," he said to no one in particular. "And we didn't even die. That's a bloody achievement."
Kaelen shot him a look. "We almost died."
"Almost doesn't count," Deren said with a shrug. "Besides, that thing's face when you jammed your blade in its jaw? Worth the nightmares."
Maeve frowned. "It wasn't a game. That creature nearly took Seralyn's arm."
Seralyn said nothing, though her hand paused briefly over the string of her bow.
Before Kaelen could reply, the heavy door creaked open and Instructor Halden stepped in. His gray hair was tied back, his face lined from decades of battle. Every conversation died instantly.
"On your feet."
They obeyed. Even Deren scrambled upright, grin vanishing.
Halden's eyes swept the room like a blade. "You returned alive. That's the first measure. But don't mistake survival for victory. You were sloppy. Your formation broke. Two of you hesitated." His gaze landed on Kaelen. "And one of you nearly got the whole squad killed."
Kaelen's stomach dropped. Heat crept up his neck, though he bit down on the instinct to argue.
Halden stepped closer until he was a breath away. "If you freeze like that again, boy, you won't just carry scars—you'll carry the weight of your comrades' graves. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Instructor," Kaelen forced out.
Halden studied him for a heartbeat, then moved on. "But you lived. And you learned. That is the Order's way. Tomorrow, your lessons continue. You'll rotate into the arcane discipline at dawn."
Kaelen stiffened. "Arcane?"
Halden's eyes narrowed. "Every recruit learns it. Knowledge of magic is as vital as steel. Some of you will take to it. Others will not. But ignorance is not an option. Dismissed."
He turned on his heel and left.
The room exhaled all at once. Deren flopped back onto his cot with a groan. "Bloody perfect. Nothing says rest after almost dying like burning your eyebrows off in class."
Maeve perked up, though. "It isn't so bad. Magic responds to discipline. It's about listening as much as speaking."
"Listening?" Deren snorted. "What, you whisper sweet nothings to the fire until it likes you?"
Seralyn muttered, "Better than swinging wildly like you do."
Deren clutched his chest in mock agony. "Cruel. So cruel. You wound me, archer."
Kaelen sat heavily, staring at the floorboards. Arcane lessons. He remembered childhood games in the underground library, when Lyra had teased him for mispronouncing the names under the stone angel's gaze. Back then it had been a joke. Tomorrow, it would be proof—public proof—that he had no gift at all.
The training yard smelled of damp stone and chalk the next morning. A ring of carved runes glowed faintly on the ground. Elder Marros, a tall, gaunt man draped in gray, stood at its center with a staff etched in silver. His voice was low, but carried.
"Magic is not trickery. It is law. To wield it, you must respect it. To resist it, you must understand it. Each of you will learn the basics of fire projection. Sparks, then flame. Begin."
He gestured, and Maeve stepped forward first. She closed her eyes, whispered the syllables, and a tiny flame bloomed between her palms. She held it steady, her face serene.
Marros nodded. "Control. Precision. Well done."
Seralyn was next. She muttered reluctantly, managed a sputter of sparks, then smirked like it was enough.
Deren's turn came. He fumbled the words, his spark flared too big, and his own sleeve smoked. He cursed loud enough to make even Marros twitch. "Shit! Bastard thing nearly cooked me alive!"
The other recruits laughed, and even Seralyn cracked a grin.
Then it was Kaelen's turn.
He stepped into the circle. The mist of early morning clung to the stones, his breath fogging in the chill. He repeated the words carefully, staff firm in his grip. He willed heat into the wood, into his hands.
Nothing.
Not even a spark.
Marros' expression didn't change. "Again."
Kaelen tried. Sweat pricked his brow. His stomach knotted. He thought of Lyra laughing in the library, teasing him when the runes never glowed for him. He thought of her lips brushing his cheek that one night before everything burned. He tried harder.
Still nothing.
Marros' voice turned sharp. "Discipline, not desperation. Step back."
Kaelen's heart pounded in his ears. He wanted to scream, to shatter the staff against the stone. Instead, he swallowed the rage and stepped out of the circle. Deren gave him a sympathetic half-grin, but even that felt like mockery.
Maeve's flame flickered gently in her hands. She glanced at Kaelen with worry. "It will come," she whispered when Marros wasn't looking.
Kaelen shook his head. "Not for me."
That night, the barracks fire popped and crackled as recruits sprawled around it. Seralyn sharpened her arrows. Deren leaned back, balancing on two legs of his chair. Maeve sat cross-legged, tracing glowing lines in the air.
"Did you hear the old stories?" Deren asked suddenly, grinning like a child about to stir trouble. "About the Hollow Spire? They say its stones whisper at night. Some poor bastard tried to sleep inside once and woke up blind."
Seralyn scoffed. "Or maybe he was just drunk."
Maeve frowned. "It's not a joke. The Spire is cursed ground. Souls were bound there. Sacrifices. The walls remember."
Deren waggled his brows. "Spooky. Maybe that's why Ash-boy here can't summon fire. The ghosts already claimed him."
Kaelen's jaw clenched, but he stayed silent. The image of the angel carved in the underground library wall rose unbidden. He and Lyra had laughed at it back then, daring each other to speak to it like it would answer. A child's game. Now, the memory cut like a blade.
He stared into the fire until his eyes burned. Maeve's gentle voice reached him again. "You'll find your path. Just… maybe it isn't fire."
Kaelen nodded stiffly, though he didn't believe her.
The flames popped. Shadows stretched long against the walls. And Kaelen, feeling smaller than ever, swore to himself that if he couldn't wield magic, then he'd master steel until no one could break him again.