Violet came back home and went straight to her room.
She didn't stop for dinner. Didn't answer when Maria called after her. Just closed the door and collapsed onto her bed, still wearing her training clothes.
Garrett's words echoed in her mind.
If things had been different... she would've been the greatest enchanter this kingdom had ever seen.
Not "she was talented." Not "she had potential."
Would have been the greatest.
What happened? What could have stopped someone with that much ability?
Violet closed her eyes, exhaustion pulling her toward sleep.
But the questions followed her down into darkness, unanswered and heavy.
***
Downstairs, Garrett and Maria sat together at the dinner table.
The fire crackled softly. Outside, wind moved through winter-bare trees with sounds like whispered secrets.
"She asked about you tonight," Garrett said quietly.
Maria's hands stilled on the cup she'd been preparing. "What did she ask?"
"If you were bad at magic. If that's why you stopped."
"Ah." Maria resumed her work—mixing herbs and spices into hot water with practiced precision. "I told her I was a bad student."
She set the steaming cup before Garrett, then sat across from him with her own.
"Why?" Garrett lifted the cup, breathing in the fragrant steam. "Why not tell her the truth?"
Maria was quiet for a moment, staring into her tea like it held answers.
"And fill her with what?" she said finally. "Hatred? Anger? Regret?" She looked up, meeting his eyes. "I don't carry those things anymore, Garrett. And I don't want her to either."
Her smile was small but genuine. "I found something more precious than affinity with magic."
But Garrett remembered.
He remembered Maria when she was young—before marriage, before Greyhollow, before everything that had come after. He remembered watching her work enchantments that made master craftsmen weep with envy.
Remembered the way her face lit up when she successfully completed a complex binding.
Remembered her hands moving with absolute confidence, weaving magic like other people wove cloth.
That joy had been real. Complete.
And it was gone now, buried under years of deliberate forgetting.
He drank his tea in silence, and they sat together until the fire burned low.
***
Dawn broke pale and cold.
Violet woke with determination burning away yesterday's disappointment. She'd failed, yes. Lost control. Let frustration override discipline.
It wouldn't happen again.
She dressed quickly and made her way to the training grounds.
Kari was already waiting.
"Today we begin real combat training," the snow leopard said without preamble. She held out several strips of cloth inscribed with strange symbols—talismans, their surfaces shimmering with contained power.
"Wrap these around your limbs. Arms and legs."
Violet obeyed, winding the cloth around her forearms and calves. The fabric felt ordinary at first—just rough cotton against skin.
"Now," Kari said, "pour your aura into them."
Violet focused, channeling the flow Garrett had taught her. The talismans responded immediately—growing warm, then hot, the symbols glowing faint blue.
"The more aura you feed them," Kari explained, "the heavier they become. The less you feed them, the lighter. You need to find the balance—strong enough to take blows without breaking, light enough that you can still move."
She settled into a fighting stance. "We'll spar. I'll come at you slowly at first. Your job is to maintain the correct aura flow while defending."
Violet nodded, taking her own stance.
***
First bout.
Kari moved—not fast, just a simple strike toward Violet's shoulder.
Violet panicked and flooded the talismans with aura.
They turned to lead.
Her arms dropped like stones, too heavy to lift. She stood frozen, helpless, as Kari's hand tapped her forehead gently.
"Dead," Kari said. "Too much. Again."
Second bout.
This time Violet held back, feeding only a trickle of aura.
Kari's strike came—still slow, still controlled.
Violet raised her arm to block.
The impact drove through her defense like it wasn't there. Pain exploded across her shoulder. The talisman had offered no resistance at all.
She stumbled back, clutching her arm.
"Too little," Kari said. "Once more."
They repeated the exercise. Again. Again. Again.
Each time, Violet got it wrong. Too much and she couldn't move. Too little and the blows hurt. The middle ground was impossibly narrow, shifting with each heartbeat as her aura reserves fluctuated.
By the twentieth bout, frustration had become rage.
Kari struck. Violet tried to block.
The talisman failed—too weak again.
Something inside Violet snapped.
Ice erupted from her hands, spreading across the talismans in crystalline sheets. They froze solid, becoming rigid barriers instead of flexible protection.
Kari's next strike glanced off harmlessly.
For one second, Violet felt triumphant.
Then she saw Kari's face.
The snow leopard's expression had gone cold. Flat. Dangerous.
"What," Kari said quietly, "do you think you just did?"
"I—I blocked—"
"You cheated." Kari's voice could have frozen blood. "You used magic because you couldn't control your aura.
Because you were angry and impatient and refused to learn properly."
She stepped closer. "If you can't control your rage, you're not ready for a weapon. You're not ready for any of this."
The words hit harder than any physical blow.
"Go home," Kari said. "Don't come back until you've mastered yourself."
She turned and walked away, leaving Violet standing alone with frozen talismans and shame burning hot in her chest.
***
The walk home was long.
Violet's thoughts churned—anger at herself, frustration at the training, humiliation at being sent away like a child who couldn't behave.
She pushed through the cottage door harder than necessary.
"Violet?" Maria called from the kitchen. "What happened? You're back early—"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Violet moved toward her room, but Maria stepped into her path.
"Sweetheart—"
"I said I don't want to—"
"Violet." Maria's voice was firm. Not angry, just... immovable. "Sit. Please."
Something in her tone made Violet obey despite herself. She slumped into a chair at the table, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Maria sat across from her. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Maria sighed. "Kari sent you home, didn't she?"
"How did you—"
"Because I recognize that look. I've worn it myself." Maria's hands folded on the table. "When training goes wrong. When you fail. When someone you respect tells you you're not ready."
She was quiet for another breath.
"I'm sorry for lying last night."
Violet's head came up. "What?"
"When you asked about my magic." Maria met her eyes steadily. "I was never bad at it. And I didn't quit because I wanted to."
The air in the cottage seemed to still.
"What happened?" Violet leaned forward. "Mama, what—"
Maria's hands clenched together. "It was my father. He made me quit magic."
Silence crashed down.
"Your... Father?"