FLASHBACK — Zade, Age 14
The first time I saw Reano fight, I realized I wasn't the strongest person in the room.
We were just kids thrown into combat training while the council watched from their ivory balconies, pretending they weren't picking favorites.
Reano didn't say a word before the match started.
But he didn't need to.
He moved like a storm: clean, lethal, focused. Not one wasted motion. I was cocky back then, thought raw power meant something. He taught me otherwise.
After I hit the floor—hard enough to knock the breath out of me
he knelt down, offered a hand.
"You're fast," he said. "But you fight like you have something to prove."
I remember spitting blood and laughing. "Don't we all?"
Reano smiled. Just a flicker.
"Prove it to yourself, not to them."
That was the moment I stopped hating him.
And started respecting him.
We weren't friends in the normal sense. Not the way people mean it. But we had loyalty. A word that means something where we come from. More than brotherhood. More than trust.
If Reano told me to jump into fire, I wouldn't ask why.
But now?
Now I have a choice to make.
Because Reano's whole legacy, his purpose was built on the prophecy. On being the one. The savior. The healer.
And if Eva really is who we think she is, then...
That makes her an Anchor. One of the few.
And Reano? He was never meant to save her. He was meant to be undone by her.
PRESENT DAY – Zade
I'm back in my room now. Sitting on the windowsill, staring out at the blackened silhouette of Edelmare under the stars.
My hands are clenched.
Because I already know.
When Reano finds out the truth, it won't just break him.
It'll destroy him.
And I'm not sure if I'll be the one holding the pieces… Or standing in his way.
Reano~
The hallway stretches behind me, voices fading like echoes underwater.
I keep walking.
East wing. Observation decks. The only place in Edelmare where the silence doesn't judge you.
I don't stop until I'm staring out over the moonlit gardens, breath fogging faintly against the glass. My fists hurt. Didn't even realize they were clenched.
"She had no aura."
I say it aloud, like that'll make it less impossible.
Loreths always have an aura. It's the first thing we learn to sense. Even children can do it by instinct. Like scent, like sound—unmissable.
But Evara?
Nothing.
It wasn't just that she didn't register.
It was like the air around her bent, resisted being known.
And yet when I touched her, when I pulled her from that pool, I felt something.
Not power.
Not strength.
Not danger.
Recognition.
Like a piece of me had been searching for her without even knowing it.
And when I looked in her eyes, all I saw was fear… not of death, but of being seen.
Like she's spent her whole life hiding.
And I don't know if I'm supposed to be the one to find her—
—or the one to expose her.
I've lived my entire life under the prophecy's shadow. Born on a full moon. Four abilities. The perfect Loreth child. Everyone assumed I was the one meant to restore balance.
But if she was born to oppose that,
And if she's an Anchor…
Then what am I to do?
Have been a weapon waiting for the definite war my whole life but now that it has arrived I don't know if I should actually fight through or put an end to it.
I close my eyes, breathing deep, trying to rein in the storm rising inside.
I need answers.
And there's only one person who might have them.
Rictor.
He was the one my father trusted. The keeper of secrets in this twisted academy.
If he knew, if he knows who she really is and said nothing
I'll make him talk.
I push away from the glass and head toward the west tower.
Every step heavier than the last.
Because the truth?
The truth might shatter everything I've been built to believe.
But if Evara is who I think she is…
Then keeping her hidden?
Was never protection.
It was containment.
And the moment she learns who she truly is— This kingdom will burn.
Not even I can save it...because
I won't try to.
I will be the spark that sets it ablaze.
The match they handed me long ago, now kissed by fate and flame. Let them tremble. Let them pray. The storm they feared is already awake.
And it's wearing my face.
They crafted me into a weapon, shaped by blood and prophecy. But even weapons have a choice.
I descend the stairs, the air thick with unshed truths.
The academy is asleep—peaceful, ignorant. But peace born of secrets is no peace at all.
I reach the west tower, the door to Rictor's chamber sealed tight with old wards. Faint golden runes flicker across the surface, pulsing like a heartbeat.
I don't knock. I don't wait.
Power coils at my fingertips. The symbols flare then fracture. The door bursts open with a force that makes the walls shudder.
He's standing there. Calm. Too calm.
Like he knew I'd come. Like he's been waiting for me to break.
"You've been keeping something from me," I say, stepping inside. "About her."
Rictor's gaze flickers just for a second but his voice stays even. "Her?"
"Don't act clueless. Evara. The girl you've hidden like she's nothing. But she's not nothing, is she?"
He says nothing.
"Don't play dumb, Rictor." I take another step forward. "Evara. The girl hiding in plain sight. The one you tucked away in this academy like a secret you prayed would stay buried."
His lips press into a thin line. "I've kept many secrets, Reano. That doesn't mean I have all the answers."
"You've felt it too, am I wrong?" My voice tightens. "She's one of them."
"She's not Loreth. She's not human. She's… empty. No aura, no pull, no resistance to spells—just nothing. And yet when I touched her, I felt the world tilt."
Still, Rictor remains silent.
I take another step forward. "She's an Anchor."
That finally gets a reaction. Not surprise. Something quieter.
Resignation.
"I don't know what she is," he says slowly. "But that theory… isn't new."
I narrow my eyes. "You suspected?"
"I observed. I never confirmed. And neither will you, not without watching her fall apart first."
"Why hide her then?"
He exhales, long and tired. "Because Anchors aren't protected. They're feared. And fear becomes a weapon. People will try to use her to break Loreth bloodlines. To end the prophecy you were born for."
He meets my eyes.
"And if she is an Anchor… then she's the end of everything this kingdom built."
I look away. Because I already know.
"She's waking up, Rictor. And when she does, I don't think I can protect anyone from what follows."
"At least she's not Caldane," Rictor mutters, almost to himself.
I turn toward the door.
"Maybe that would've been easier," I whisper.
Because this?
This is chaos in human skin.
And I don't know if I'm supposed to stop her—
—or join her.
Rictor's words cling to me like smoke—possibility, threat, target. He doesn't know? No. He refuses to know. Because knowing would mean choosing a side.
And no one chooses the Anchor side. Not in this kingdom. Not without consequences.
Which makes me the last thing standing between her and a truth this kingdom buried deep.
All my life, I've been told I was chosen. The one who'd bring balance, order, peace.
But now I wonder
Was I shaped into this legend just to keep their real fear hidden? A golden distraction. A lie with a charming smile and obedient blood.
And what if I'm done playing the lie?
I stop at the edge of the courtyard, the moon slicing through clouds overhead like a blade. My hands curl at my sides, heat building under my skin.
She's not just waking up.
She's unraveling fate.
And gods help them—so am I.
Because if this kingdom buried her kind to prevent a prophecy...
Then I'll burn it again to expose the truth.
This time, not as their hero.
But as the fire they can't control.
"I don't need your confirmation," I say. "She's waking up, Rictor. And when she does, this kingdom won't be able to contain her."
There's no reponse.
At the door, I pause.
"And you'd better pray she never remembers who made her that way."
The door clicks shut behind me, but the storm inside doesn't settle.
I stalk down the hallway, the marble beneath my boots echoing louder than it should. The air feels tighter now. Like the academy itself is holding its breath.
She's waking up.
I've seen it. In her eyes. In the way the world bends around her when she's not looking.
Her presence hums like magic unspooled. Raw. Untamed. And even if Rictor won't say it, I know.
Evara is an Anchor. The last of them.