Ravenna - POV
It's been weeks since Xandros agreed to train me. If you could even call it that. This isn't teaching. It's survival. Every day begins with pain and ends with silence. He doesn't offer guidance just commands. No comfort. No warmth. No approval. Just his voice like frostbite: "Itera." (Again). The word pulses with dark energy, making my bones shudder. "Celerius." (Faster.) It latches to my muscles like static, forcing them to obey beyond exhaustion. "Fortius." (Stronger). It doesn't just demand more, it rips the strength from me as if trying to see what's left beneath the skin. Every word is an incantation. Every command a spell wrapped in cruelty. And still, I obey. But today... something cracks. I can't feel my legs. My breath comes in ragged gasps. My vision blurs with white. The snow is falling harder now, biting into my skin like knives. Xandros doesn't stop. Doesn't slow. "Itera." (again) I stumble. And something deep inside me something I buried years ago, screams. I bite my tongue, but the words come spilling from me, not from thought, but from pain. "Dolorem meum, audi!, Viscera fracta, cor tremens, Noli me tangere! Incendia lacrimarum!" (My pain, hear me! Broken core, trembling heart, Do not touch me! Burn with my tears!) The ground ruptures. A shockwave of violet flame and shadow explodes outward, casting Xandros back. I fall to my knees, gasping. The world is quiet too quiet. I look down at my hands. They're trembling violently. Frostbitten. Bloody. Cracked open from overuse and cold. The snow swirls around me like ash, falling heavier now, as if the storm itself is grieving with me. And in that silence, for the first time in weeks... I feel seen. But only for a breath. Because this... this agony is nothing compared to what I've survived. I've felt the sting of chains around my throat. I've tasted blood while begging for scraps. I've watched my kind sold for silver and stripped of their names. Let him push me. Let him see me crawl. To him, I'm not a student. I'm a weapon he's testing, waiting for it to shatter. But I won't. Because I've been shattered before. And still I rose. I will not fall because of hunger or bruises. I will not break for a man who thinks pain is power. Because this fight, this rage, this fire in me... it's not just for me. It's for her. For Lilac, who was gentle and kind and far too good for this world. Who died chained and beaten while I ran. I-I will not let her die in vain. So I keep going. When I rise, and I will, he will see what they all refused to believe: That a demi-human can burn brighter than any flame. That I am not a pet. Not a slave. Not a mistake. I am Ravenna. And I was forged in cruelty, not broken by it. He can throw storms at me, tear my body down to ash, drown me in the shadows he casts, I'll still crawl forward. Eyes open. Teeth bared. Because I wasn't made to kneel. I was made to rise. And if I have to rip the sky apart to prove it, then gods help the ones who get in my way.
Xandros - POV
I didn't expect it. One second she was on her knees, shaking, bleeding, bones stiff from frost and pride And the next... the air cracked. A pulse. Raw, chaotic. Untamed. Magic spilled from her like a scream that had been caged too long. The snow answered her fury. It fell harder, driven sideways by a force I couldn't name. Not darkness. Not fire. It was something more primal. Born not from study, but from pain. The moment it hit me, I staggered. Not from injury. From shock. My wards recoiled. The mist around me curled back. It wasn't just power It was grief. Rage. Defiance. And it was beautiful. She didn't look at me. Just stared down at her trembling hands. Frostbitten. Cracked. Blood soaking into the snow. She looked fragile. She looked real. I could have walked away. I almost did. But something kept me still. Something tightened in my chest, like the ghosts of old wounds pulling at freshly sewn flesh. She doesn't even know what she's done. And that's what makes it dangerous. Untrained emotion is a wildfire. But hers Hers was a blade, sharp and sure, forged by agony and refusal to kneel. What are you? I wanted to ask. But I already knew. Not a student. Not a girl. A storm wrapped in skin.
I stepped closer not out of comfort, but curiosity. She didn't flinch. Didn't rise. Just stayed there with her hands curled, blood staining the snow like ink bleeding through parchment. I stared down at her, the weight of the spell still humming in the air between us. "You don't even know what you just did," I said quietly. She looked up at me, eyes burning through tears she refused to shed. "No," she rasped. "But it worked, didn't it?" A beat passed. The snow whispered between us. I let out the faintest breath almost a scoff, almost something else. "Hmph. Maybe you won't die as quickly as I thought." I turned, cloak brushing frost from broken stone. But as I walked away, I didn't dismiss the spell that still shimmered faintly on the edge of my wards. I left it there untouched. Because part of me wanted to remember how it felt. What she felt like. A girl made of shadows and scars. A storm I didn't see coming.
The Mist (Unseen Third Person)
Beyond the ruined temple, past snow-drowned hills and frostbitten trees, something stirred. A veil of shadow. Barely more than a whisper. It clung to the rocks like dew, silent and waiting. It had no name. Not yet. Not one it remembered. But it felt something now. A tremor in the weave. Each time she screamed inside each time he wielded power to silence it, It listened. It fed. Two forces in collision. Two broken souls lighting fires inside each other. The perfect storm. And the mist drank deep from their fury. It curled tighter around the mountains, a little darker than before. A little thicker. Soon, it would reach the next village. Soon, it would no longer be a rumor on the wind. And when it moved, it would not knock. It would devour.
The High Seer
Far from the frozen temple, high in the crystalline spires of Ellarion, the Astral Pool shimmered. The water was still. But the visions never were. The High Seer stood motionless at its edge, silver hair cascading over her shoulders like moonlight over snow. Her eyes, glowing pale green, stared deep into the pool's surface. And there it was. The mist. Just a thread now, curling like smoke. But it pulsed with something... ancient. Wrong. She watched it crawl across the frozen landscape like rot blooming beneath ice. "...It's feeding," she whispered. Behind her, elven attendants waited in tense silence. "One spark. That's all it took. A spark between two who should have never met." She closed her eyes. The pool's vision did not fade it seeped into her thoughts like ink on silk. "The Fifth Chosen walks the path of ruin." One of her attendants stepped forward nervously. "Shall we send word to the others?" The Seer didn't answer. She opened her eyes again. In the reflection, she saw not the mist but them. Ravenna. Xandros. Fire and void. Scar and silence. "No," the Seer said. "Not yet. Let them believe the fire died long ago." She turned from the pool, cloak billowing behind her like storm clouds parting for prophecy. "They must walk into fate willingly. Even if it leads them to the end of the world." Another attendant hesitated, then asked softly, "Is that wise, Seer?" She paused at the archway, eyes cast toward the horizon where the mist crept ever closer. "No," she murmured. "It is inevitable."