The morning sun cast golden rays through the wide windows of the magical training hall. The air vibrated with a subtle energy, laden with the low murmur of Dalia's preparatory incantations. In the center of the room, Elyandra stood upright, eyes fixed on her tutor's precise movements. Small spheres of violet shadow danced around Dalia's hands, now converging, now drifting apart in a controlled, hypnotic ballet.
— Focus, Lady Elyandra — Dalia instructed, her voice firm, without looking away from the spheres. — Feel the flow of energy within you. Imagine it as a river finding its path through your limbs, under your absolute command.
Elyandra closed her eyes. A faint golden aura began to envelop her hands, flickering and unstable. One of Dalia's spheres drew near, pulsing softly.
— Now, try to attract it to you. Not with brute force, but with intention. Visualize it as an extension of your own will.
The instant the violet sphere touched Elyandra's golden aura, Dalia shifted her tone. The instructor's neutral voice gave way to a sharp, cutting attack:
— Do you remember the blood on your hands, Lady Elyandra? The fleeting warmth of life slipping away?
Elyandra's eyes snapped open. The golden aura wavered violently. The image of the dark night invaded her mind with brutal clarity: the masked man's inert body, the dark stain spreading across the floor, the metallic scent of blood. She stumbled back as if she had received a physical blow.
— What... what are you talking about? — she hissed, her voice choked.
Dalia maintained her composure, the spheres now spinning slower, observing the girl's reaction with a piercing gaze.
— Siris is gone, Lady Elyandra. Forever. And the reason, however indirect, lies in your actions that night. You hesitated to act. You took a life. A man, however despicable he was, breathed his last because of you. Have you not even allowed yourself to remember that?
The words were sharp blades cutting through the veil of grief and self-pity. Elyandra had focused so much on her own loss that the direct consequence of her actions—the death she herself had caused—had remained buried in the shadows of her consciousness. Tears welled in her eyes, but they weren't just from sadness. There was shock, horror, and a rising wave of nausea.
"I... I killed a person... How could I forget that? I took someone's life."
— I... I didn't think... I just... I was afraid...
— Fear does not justify blindness, Lady Elyandra — Dalia countered, implacable. — Magic amplifies truth. Feel the energy around you. It echoes every action, every consequence. Can you feel the weight of the life that ended because of you?
Dalia moved one of the shadow spheres toward Elyandra. As it approached, it vibrated with a cold, accusing energy. Elyandra recoiled, her body trembling.
— No... stop... I don't want to feel... any of this...
— You must — Dalia insisted, her voice severe yet carrying a subtle urgency. — The pain of loss is yours, but the weight of the life you took also belongs to you. Fleeing from this truth will only weaken you. Magic demands responsibility. Face your demons, Lady Elyandra.
The shadows danced on the walls, creating an oppressive environment that echoed Elyandra's inner darkness. The sphere advanced, enveloping her in a halo of gloom and distorted lights. For a moment, Dalia's figure vanished, replaced by the searing memory of the night in the forest: the masked face exploding in a spray of blood and fragments, over and over.
Voices whispered in her mind. Murderer... She killed a person... A Saint has killed...
Elyandra shook her head frantically, tears streaming down.
— No... no... I didn't want to... I didn't want to kill anyone...
In desperation, her latent magic awakened with overwhelming intensity. Golden veins glowed beneath her skin, incandescent traces snaking across her body. Her watery eyes radiated a turbulent golden light. A vortex of pure energy erupted, extinguishing Dalia's shadows in a purifying wave. The room turned vibrant, the air clean and charged.
Elyandra staggered, breathless, but remained standing. Dalia approached, her posture slightly softer. She knelt before her, dark eyes locked onto the still-trembling golden ones.
— What you did was not wrong, Lady Elyandra. You defended yourself. That is all that matters.
She paused briefly, her voice laden with pragmatic conviction.
— This is the natural order of things. Self-preservation is the primordial instinct. Do not blame yourself, nor carry the weight of those who fell. Whether kin or strangers, they were victims of circumstance.
— That's cruel! — Elyandra retorted, her voice breaking. — People shouldn't be like this...
— People have always been like this — Dalia pointed out, firm but without cynicism. — But that doesn't mean you have to be like them. The weight of our acts will accompany us for the rest of our lives; that is inevitable. But we are not defined by them. Learn from them, Lady Elyandra, and move forward.
In Elyandra's eyes, an austere clarity emerged—not ethereal beauty, but a spark of pragmatic determination. She understood the essence: accept the raw reality and continue, despite the weight. She wiped her tears with a firm gesture.
— We must continue, Dalia — she stated, her voice more resolute.
Dalia sighed, her posture unwavering.
— We shall proceed. Now, we will explore the nature of your magic.
She extended her hand. Dense, fluid shadows emerged from her palm, twisting with mathematical precision into sharp geometric patterns.
— My affinity lies in the control of shadows — she explained, her voice calm and authoritative. — A more refined version of the skill Siris possessed. But understand: controlling shadows is no different from controlling light. Both are manifestations of energy, opposite ends of the same coin. The key lies in intention and the will to mold them.
The words echoed in Elyandra's mind. Molding light... like molding darkness... If shadow could be controlled with precision, her light could also be directed, focused, transformed into a calibrated instrument.
Dalia proceeded, moving the shadows into complex shapes.
— Magic responds to visualization and intention. Wishing is not enough. You must see the energy shaping itself, feel your will imbued within it. For shadows, I see them as malleable threads, extensions of my mind. I feel their texture, their density, and I direct them with the same precision I would guide my own hand. Your inner light... visualize it the same way. Not as wild fire, but as concentrated rays, like a multifaceted crystal that you can direct with clarity.
Without warning, Dalia drew a small dagger from her boot and made a superficial cut on her own hand. Bright red blood welled up immediately. She held out her wounded hand to Elyandra, her eyes cold and incisive.
— Divine magic transcends mundane logic, Lady Elyandra. Saints are the heart of Divinity, the purest channel. You can shape good... or you can use it. The choice is entirely yours. Cure my hand.
The sight of the blood made Elyandra recoil. The red color brought back the memory of Siris's wounds, of the helplessness of that night. A shiver ran through her body.
— I... I don't know if I can...
Dalia noticed the hesitation. A slight softening appeared in her expression.
— I understand. Perhaps I have moved too fast. I apologize. To care for another, one must first care for oneself. But remember — the rigidity returned, firm as steel — it was you who asked for a more arduous training. I will not go back on my word.
Before Elyandra could respond, the dagger flashed again. With a quick, sharp movement, Dalia cut the girl's palm. Sharp pain exploded. Elyandra let out a short cry and pulled back, warm blood running down her fingers.
The tutor grabbed Elyandra's wounded hand with her own bloodied hand. The blood of both mixed, dripping onto the stone floor. With her other hand, Dalia gently touched the noble's face.
— Memorize this pain, Lady Elyandra. Now, remember the flow of your mana. Feel the energy pulsing within you. Transmute it into divine magic. Visualize it as golden, healing light. Concentrate that light on the wound, with clear and unshakable intention. See the skin regenerating, the blood stopping, the pain fading. You have the power. Use it. Cure your hand.
Trembling from head to toe, her face pale, Elyandra obeyed. Eyes fixed on the bloody cut, her mind in a whirlwind. Memories of the forest assaulted her. Blood... just like his... just like Siris's...
— Elyandra! — Dalia's authoritative voice cut through the chaos. — Do not close your eyes. This is reality. In the real world, we do not have the luxury of hiding from pain. Face the wound. And cure it.
With agonizing effort, Elyandra visualized her mana as a golden river. She imagined threads of light weaving the broken skin together. The pain throbbed, but she forced herself to maintain focus. Slowly, a tingling warmth emerged in her palm. The edges of the wound drew closer, the bleeding slowed until it stopped. The skin joined, leaving only a faint, sensitive reddish line.
Elyandra opened her eyes, incredulous. She touched her palm—smooth, with only a thin mark. A flickering glow of relief appeared in her gaze.
— That... that was terrifying... — she whispered, her voice trembling.
— I am proud, Lady Elyandra — Dalia said, a subtle note of approval in her neutral voice. She stood up, already moving to the next stage.
But Elyandra caught her arm, stopping her. Her small hand wrapped around Dalia's. A warm, golden glow emanated from the contact.
— Your methods are... frightening, Dalia — Elyandra said, her voice still shaky but gaining strength. — Not cozy in the least. If I had to define you in a few words, I would say you are like a neutral Doberman, ready to bite the neck of anyone who steps out of line.
A brief silence hung in the air.
— Since the beginning of this training... I thought about giving up so many times. I wanted to go back to my room and hide under the blankets like a frightened child. But then... I remembered Siris. She woke me every morning with that serene smile... Knowing I won't see that smile anymore... it hurts. But Siris wouldn't want to see me broken. That's why... I continued. Even wanting to give up, even thinking I wasn't capable... I continued.
Elyandra's small hands squeezed Dalia's. The golden light intensified, pulsing with overwhelming energy. Dalia raised her arm to shield her eyes. When the glow subsided, Elyandra was panting but her gaze was firm.
Dalia lowered her arm slowly and looked at her own hand. The cut had vanished completely. The skin was smooth, intact, without a trace.
A short silence followed. Finally, Dalia's stoic expression shifted slightly. Her lips moved to utter a single word, laden with cold and reserved admiration:
— Impressive.