The sun blinked through the thinning clouds above the glade—dim and hesitant, as if unsure it belonged there. It cast a pale, cold light over the earth, making the chill of early autumn feel sharper. Overnight, the season had crept in like a silent thief, brushing the trees with rusty fingertips and filling the air with the dry scent of falling leaves.
Serenya sat cross-legged on the damp soil, shoulders tense and brow deeply furrowed. A wilted fern drooped before her, curled in on itself, brittle and gray. Her fingers hovered inches above it, trembling with effort. She inhaled slowly… exhaled again.
Still, nothing.
The plant sat there in the same miserable state—if anything, looking even more offended now.
"Focus, Serenya. You're not trying to charm a chicken. You are channeling the source of your bloodline," Elder Mirell snapped from behind, pacing like a tired hawk too stubborn to rest.
"I am focusing," Serenya muttered through clenched teeth, trying not to sound like a sulky child.
"No, you're glaring," Mirell said flatly. "There's a difference."
Serenya scowled harder at the fern. Somewhere in the trees, a bird let out a sharp trill that sounded oddly judgmental.
She fought the childish urge to throw something in its direction.
This was her third failed attempt today to coax even a flicker of life into the smallest plant. Healing flora was supposed to be the most basic skill—the first step before moving on to people or animals. But for her, it might as well have been trying to lift a mountain with a spoon.
The others, those close to her age, had already progressed beyond this. They could seal shallow wounds, coax bruises into fading. Serenya was still stuck reanimating shrubbery—and failing miserably at it.
She could feel their eyes on her. No one said anything cruel, but the pity was there, seeping from their glances. She wasn't one of them. She had no proud lineage, no mentor who spoke of great ancestors, no tales of victories passed down. Only a mother who died in flames and left behind silence.
Serenya dared a glance at Elder Mirell, who had stopped pacing and now stood with arms folded tight and a look sour enough to curdle milk.
"Well?" Mirell asked, arching a tired brow. "Have we managed to brown it further? That would be progress of some sort."
Serenya bit the inside of her cheek. "It's not working. The magic just doesn't work."
The words tasted like ash. She hated how true they sounded today.
"Magic works for those who work at it," Mirell replied, voice dry as bark. "Not for those who look like they're fighting off a sneeze."
A few snickers broke out behind her. Serenya's face flushed hot with embarrassment.
"Enough," Mirell said, waving a hand. "Go stand by the old ash tree. Reflect on what it means to waste your time—and mine."
Serenya stood, her knees stiff and her pride bruised. She trudged across the glade to the tree that stood like a shadow of the past. The bark was dull and cracked, its twisted limbs bare. Even the moss clinging to its roots looked tired, like it had long since given up.
The tree looked broken. Forgotten.
She rested a hand against its rough trunk and leaned her weight into it. Her shoulders dropped as the quiet rustle of
training behind her faded. A soft breeze touched her face, cool and dry, like the breath of something long dead.
"This is stupid," she whispered. "I'm stupid."
Her throat tightened. She blinked hard. She hated crying—hated the way it always crept in when she felt most alone.
No one here really knew her. No one saw the girl beneath the name, beneath the silence. The last remnant of a court burned to ashes.
Her hand curled into a fist against the bark.
"I try," she whispered. "I try so hard. And it's never enough."
And then something stirred.
Not a thought. Not a feeling.
Something real.
A warmth pulsed beneath her skin—soft, unexpected. Her breath caught. It wasn't fire or pain—it was gentle, like the glow of a candle held close. Her hand grew warm, her veins lighting up like sunlight under water.
She jerked back, heart leaping.
But the light didn't stop.
Golden light shimmered across her palm. Her skin glowed faintly, as though lit from within. A quiet gasp escaped her lips.
And then the tree groaned.
A low, ancient sound—like bones stretching after years of stillness. The bark beneath her hand softened. Color bled
into it slowly, like paint into paper. The roots shuddered. Tiny buds popped open on the high branches.
Leaves.
Green, living leaves, bursting from branches long thought dead.
Gasps rose from behind her. Dozens of them. Sharp and breathless.
Serenya turned and found everyone staring. The other trainees frozen in place. Elder Mirell looked like the wind had been knocked out of her. Even the judgmental bird had fallen silent.
She turned back to the tree, hand trembling at her side. It stood tall now, its branches heavy with bright new leaves, golden light glinting through them.
"I… did I do that?" she breathed.
Mirell approached, slowly, eyes never leaving her. There was no scolding in her expression this time. Just something quiet. Heavy.
"You awakened it," Mirell said. Her voice was softer than Serenya had ever heard. "That tree's been dead since the
war. Since the night your mother…"
She stopped herself.
Serenya took a step back, heart racing. "I didn't mean to. I was just—upset."
Mirell turned to the others. "Go," she said. "All of you. Return to the lodges. Serenya stays."
There was hesitation, but no argument. The group trickled away in hushed awe, their eyes wide and uncertain.
When they were gone, Mirell looked at her again. "Magic doesn't move without reason, Serenya. It responds to truth. To pain. To will. That tree heard something in you."
"But I wasn't even trying," Serenya whispered.
"Exactly," Mirell said. "That's why it listened."
She reached out and ran her hand along the tree's bark, reverent. Her fingers moved slowly, tracing the new grain as if trying to memorize it.
"Most of us spend years working for a flicker of what you did without meaning to. This power you carry… it doesn't stay
hidden forever. And it doesn't come without danger."
Serenya swallowed. "Is it bad?"
Mirell's eyes softened, but the weight remained. "It's not bad. But it is dangerous. For you. For everyone around you. You need to learn control—before someone else tries to take it from you."
Serenya nodded, curling her hands into her sleeves. "I'll try."
"No," Mirell said firmly. "You must do more than try. You must learn to live without fear of it. Because it's already chosen you."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft whisper of new leaves swaying in the breeze.
Serenya looked up at the tree. Its presence no longer felt cold or haunted. It felt… familiar. Alive. And strong.
She reached out again and touched the bark. The warmth remained. The magic didn't fade.
It stood because of her.
And for the first time in a long while, she stood taller too.