Velanor's outer training field opened around us, alive with movement. At least sixty students were scattered across the broad circular field, each small training ring marked by a thin luminous line pulsing faintly beneath the pale stone.
Above us, the world was grey. A transparent dome arched high overhead, smooth as glass and held in place by threads of magic I could almost see if I squinted. The rain outside hit the barrier in thin silver streaks and slid down like falling starlight, vanishing long before reaching the ground.
Lyla followed my gaze and nudged me lightly with her elbow.
"Containment wards," she said, sweeping her hand upward in a grand gesture. "Keeps us from killing each other too much."
Then she muttered, "Honestly... don't ask why this is part of the curriculum. We're supposed to learn how to control our powers, but I am pretty sure Commander Dale treats this place like his personal torture playground."
A few steps behind us, Ryn huffed, the soft, disappointed kind, only someone who had never broken a rule in his life could make. He caught up and levelled Lyla with a flat look.
"It teaches discipline, Lyla," he said, tone smooth and cool as frost. "Something you Desires are rumoured to be consistently deficient in."
Lyla stopped so abruptly that Ryn nearly walked into her.
"I will have you know," she declared, pointing at him, "I possess plenty of discipline."
One of Ryn's eyebrows rose by about a millimetre. A ghost of a smile flickered across his face, gone before Lyla could explode.
Lyla's expression faltered. "Okay. Maybe not plenty," she admitted quickly. "Some. I have some."
She spun back around and continued walking, muttering insults under her breath that were far too dramatic to be taken seriously. Their bickering faded behind me as a sharp crack split the air.
A single clap, loud as thunder. Instantly, the crowd stilled.
Commander Dale stood at the center of the field, boots planted, shoulders squared, his uniform a severe slate grey trimmed in the deep crimson of his Core. The markings of a Rage bearer.
He was broad-shouldered, lean in the way of a soldier who never stopped training, his dark hair shaved close on the sides. A faint scar dragged from the corner of his mouth to his jaw and his eyes burned with that simmering anger that did not need expression to be felt.
He looked at the students the way someone looks at pieces on a gameboard, meant to be tested, broken and rearranged.
"Commander Dale," Lyla whispered, barely audible. "Rage Core. Very temperamental."
His voice carried across the field, steady and hard as stone.
"A Core-bearer's first failure is the body," he said, pacing with slow, predatory steps. "Weakness fractures control. Exhaustion breaks restraint. If you cannot endure your own power, it will destroy you from the inside out."
He stopped in the center ring, boots grinding against pale stone etched with light.
"Today, we condition the body. We teach the vessel to endure, and the Core to protect."
He raised his hand and the circle around him ignited. Flames roared upward, huge and hungry, heat rippling through the air in dull crimson waves. Obvious amusement on his face as students staggered backward.
"The Core," he continued, stepping out of the fire unscathed, "will always protect its vessel, if the vessel does not resist."
The flames dimmed slightly.
"Today, you will learn to connect with your Core and let it protect you. But until then..."
He paused, letting the tension tighten like a fist.
"You will endure the burn until your Core decides you are worth saving."
Gasps scattered across the field. Heat shimmered thick between us.
What the hell was this lesson?!
"Those who connect will remain untouched," Dale said. "If you fight it..."
He let the silence sharpen.
"...the fire will burn you. And even if a Hope Core patches you back together afterward," he added softly, almost tenderly, "make no mistake..."
His eyes swept over us like a blade, lingering on the Fear students just long enough to make the message clear.
"This will hurt like hell."
The crimson light pulsed beneath our boots like a heartbeat. Warmth bled upward through the soles of my shoes, almost too hot.
"Step forward," Dale commanded.
Students at the front hesitated, except for the Rage-bearers, who stepped forward eagerly, glowing with anticipation.
Lyla rolled her eyes. "They live for this. It's literally their speciality."
Commander Dale gestured sharply and the first group of students began to move toward the front. First in line was the girl from the previous lesson, the one who had persisted in asking questions about the Trauma Core. The crimson in her hair shimmered under the dome's light, her smirk plastered across her face like she had been born with it.
The fire flared the moment she crossed the threshold, then split into controlled streams that rose around her like living ribbons. They did not touch her. They danced for her. She was practically glowing when Commander Dale gave her an approving nod afterward.
The next student was not nearly as confident. A boy from Fear, pale and trembling, had been pushed forward by some of the other boys.
Not even a second after he entered the flames, the cries erupted from within. The flames did not dance for him, they devoured him. He screamed with a sound so terrible it tore through the field, echoing beneath the dome until it became something almost inhuman. The smell of burnt fabric and skin hit the air almost instantly.
Dale didn't flinch.
"That," he said, his voice low but unyielding, "is what happens when your fear commands you instead of the other way around."
My stomach twisted as the fire dimmed, exposing the boy collapsed to his knees, his skin blistering red and black.
An older student wearing a gold jacket stepped forward and was by his side almost instantly. The golden colour of Hope already shone around him and the boy, the skin visibly starting to mend.
The field fell into a tense, suffocating silence. No sound but the whimpers and cries from the boy.
"Next," Dale said, unbothered, and the students began shuffling forward again, walking into the fire one by one.
Ryn had ended up somewhere in the middle of the queue, while Lyla and I had been fortunate enough to secure a spot in the back.
Ryn stepped through without hesitation, the fire bending around him in neat, obedient currents. He did not even flinch.
Lyla whispered, "Show-off," but I could see obvious relief in her eyes.
Eventually, the inevitable came.
"Next."
My feet felt anchored to the stone, refusing to move.
"Enter, Fear," Dale said, sharper and impatient.
I hesitated for a second and then stepped forward. I could feel the heat intensifying on my face with each step I took.
The moment my boot crossed the glowing boundary, heat slammed into me. My breath vanished. Fire crawled up my legs, threading beneath my skin like small invisible needles.
My instincts were screaming at me to act. Run. Fight. Hide.
The fire surged again, angry, wrapping around my arms, my throat, my face. The fire should have peeled my skin away. I should have been screaming. Burning.
But the pain had faded almost instantly, replaced by a hollow weightlessness. The flames surrounded me as if I had been submerged in warm bathwater. They bent inward, curling toward me like creatures recognizing familiarity.
Relief washed through me.
I did it.
I had control.
For the first time since arriving at Velanor, I believed it. Truly.
Then, in an instant, everything shattered.
The fire twisted, snapping out of my grasp like a whip.
It burst outward, violent and explosive, erupting from my Core like a storm that had been waiting for its chance to release.
The shockwave ripped across the field, kicking dust and heat into the air. Students staggered back, shielding their faces.
Commander Dale shoved a couple of students behind him, bracing against the blast.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't feel my body.
My heart felt like glass splintering into shards.
Colours twisted across my vision, bending, breaking, reforming.
The world distorted, pulled inward, pushed outward.
And through the chaos, through the wildfire haze, I saw
Eli.
Standing in the flames, his face pale, his eyes full of that quiet, aching sadness I knew better than my own reflection.
"Eli?" My voice cracked, swallowed by heat.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
He just watched me.
Then he dissolved, smoke unravelling into the fire.
The flames collapsed.
And I collapsed with them.