Chapter 2: The First Trial
Elara woke to the sound of the hall's cold wind whistling through the cracked windows. Her body ached from the previous day's exhaustion. Every muscle protested as if reminding her of the struggles she had barely survived. Her hands still shook from trying to lift the stones, and yet, a stubborn spark of determination had taken root deep within her chest. I am still here. I survived yesterday. I can survive today.
The other girls were stirring around her, some whispering, some sobbing quietly, others staring blankly at the stone floors, lost in their own despair. Aria sat beside her, her dark eyes calm, though there was a tension in her posture that betrayed her own nervousness.
"Are you ready?" Aria asked softly, her hand brushing Elara's shoulder. "Today… it will be harder than yesterday."
Elara swallowed hard, the memory of the first trial still fresh. "I don't know if I can," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I couldn't even lift a stone yesterday. How can I survive today?"
"You will," Aria said with quiet certainty. "It's not about lifting the stones. It's about facing them. One step at a time. That's all it takes."
Elara nodded, clinging to the words like a lifeline. She had survived being sold, abandoned, and thrust into this terrifying new world. Surely she could endure this.
The hall doors creaked open, and Selvira entered, her cloak trailing behind her like living shadows. The witch's presence filled the room immediately, a suffocating weight pressing down on the girls. "Today," she said, her voice sharp and commanding, "you will face your first true trial. The price of power is steep, and it is not given freely."
Elara felt her stomach twist. Power. Magic. She did not want any of it. She wanted freedom. She wanted to escape this place. Yet, she was trapped, forced to face the impossibility of the stones again, along with new tests she could not even imagine.
Selvira waved her hand, and several girls were directed toward a series of glowing, smooth stones placed carefully in the center of the hall. "Lift these," she commanded. "Without touching them. But this time, it will not be merely strength that is tested. You must also use your mind, your focus, and the will that lies within your heart. Those who fail… will pay the cost."
Elara's hands shook violently as she stepped forward. The first girl went before the pile, her face pale but determined. Slowly, one of the stones rose, levitating slightly, before black veins snaked across her hand. She screamed, collapsing to the floor as the others gasped in horror.
Elara shut her eyes, willing herself to breathe evenly. Aria leaned closer, whispering, "Focus on yourself, Elara. Do not let fear control you."
Taking a deep breath, Elara extended her trembling hands toward a small stone. I can do this… I must. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. The stone wobbled slightly, lifting an inch, then fell. Her lips trembled as tears threatened to fall, but she forced herself to stand tall.
Selia, the girl who thrived on cruelty, smirked. "Pathetic," she sneered. "Why are you even here? You'll never lift one stone."
Elara's cheeks burned with shame. For a moment, she wanted to hide, to disappear entirely. But then she remembered the nights she had survived: the cold, the hunger, the endless cruelty of her father. I have survived worse. I will survive this.
Once more, she lifted her hands, concentrating not on the stone itself, but on her courage, on the tiny ember of defiance inside her that had refused to die even under her father's hatred. She imagined the stone floating, imagined it obeying her will.
For a heartbeat, the stone trembled and rose slightly. It wavered, almost toppling, but it hovered long enough to make her heart soar. She had done something. Not much, not perfect, but something.
Selvira's gaze fixed on her, sharp and evaluating. "Interesting," the witch said. "Even without full power, you persist. Most would crumble. You… do not."
Elara's chest swelled with a quiet pride. I am not most.
The day dragged on, each trial testing the girls' endurance, focus, and courage. Candles floated above the floor, delicate and dancing, demanding steadiness and control. Crystals hovered, trembling in the air, reacting to fear and doubt. The hall echoed with screams, whispers, and the occasional sharp laughter of Selia.
Elara observed carefully, learning from the successes and failures of the others. The girls who panicked, who let fear rule their hearts, failed. Those who controlled their emotions, even if their hands shook violently, had a chance. Elara repeated the lessons silently, memorizing them: Stay calm. Focus on the task. Trust yourself.
By mid-afternoon, exhaustion weighed heavily on her. Her arms trembled, her back ached, and hunger gnawed at her stomach, but she persisted. She lifted a candle with shaking hands, focusing on keeping it aloft, imagining her will guiding it. Slowly, it rose and hovered for a moment, swaying, but not falling.
Selvira's sharp voice broke through the tense air. "Good. A flicker of power. Perhaps you understand, at least in part, the cost of magic."
Elara's lips curved into a small smile. She had not succeeded fully, but she had done what she had never believed possible. She had lifted something—not entirely, not perfectly—but enough to prove she could endure.
As the sun began to set, Selvira dismissed the girls. Their bodies were bruised, aching, and trembling, but the lessons had been learned. Elara sat with Aria, exhausted, yet alive with a quiet fire she had never felt before.
"I… I did something today," Elara whispered. Her voice was hoarse, but it carried the faintest edge of hope.
Aria smiled softly. "You did. And that counts more than you think."
Elara's thoughts drifted to her past, to the village, to her father's hatred. Even though she was still small and powerless, she had endured. She had survived. And in surviving, she discovered a spark of something far greater than fear or despair: the quiet knowledge that she could endure.
Night fell, and the girls were guided to their sleeping quarters. Elara lay on the hard floor, staring at the ceiling. Shadows from the flickering candlelight danced across the walls, forming shapes that seemed alive, almost threatening. Yet in that darkness, Elara felt something she had never known before: control. Not over magic, not yet, but over herself.
She recalled the cracked mirror in her room. The shards had reflected not only her face, but every moment of pain, anger, and hopelessness she had endured. And now, for the first time, she felt a spark of strength—one that had nothing to do with magic, yet everything to do with her will to survive.
Outside, the wind howled through the cracks in the stone walls, carrying whispers of the forest and the world beyond the witch's domain. Inside, Elara lay awake, thinking of the trials to come, of the stones and candles, and of Selvira's ever-watchful gaze. Fear still lingered, but it was tempered by the knowledge that she could endure anything.
Tomorrow would bring new trials, new challenges, and perhaps new victories. Elara did not yet have magic, but she had something more essential: the courage to face what came, no matter how terrifying.
And as she drifted into a restless, uneasy sleep, one thought burned quietly in her mind, louder than any fear: I am still here. I will survive. And that… is enough.
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