Finn woke to light streaming through a window that hadn't been there the night before.
He sat up abruptly, his heart pounding, and stared at the opening in the wall where yesterday there had been only smooth crystal. The window looked out over a panorama of spires and bridges, all glowing softly in the pale light of what he assumed was morning—though here in Lumina, the light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if the city itself generated its own dawn.
He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was still dreaming. But the room was real enough: the bed soft beneath him, the white robes hanging on the wall, the small desk with a fresh quill and inkpot that hadn't been there before either. And on the desk, next to the quill, lay a folded piece of parchment with his name written on it in elegant script.
Finn swung his legs out of bed and crossed to the desk. The parchment was warm to the touch, and when he unfolded it, the words seemed to shimmer as he read:
Finn Merton,
Your first lesson begins at the ninth hour in the Luminaire Spire. Come alone.
—Master Thorne
That was all. No explanation, no directions, no indication of who Master Thorne was or what the lesson might involve. Finn turned the parchment over, but the back was blank.
A knock at the door made him jump. Before he could respond, the door swung open to reveal Elara, already dressed in her blue Tide robes, her ocean-coloured eyes bright with amusement.
"Good, you're awake," she said. "Theo tried to read your mind to see if you were coming to breakfast, but I told him if he did, I'd turn his hair into seaweed. Permanent seaweed. He's waiting outside."
Finn blinked. "He can read minds from outside?"
"He can read minds from across the city, if he's not careful. That's why he's nervous all the time." Elara stepped into the room and glanced at the parchment in Finn's hand. "What's that?"
"An invitation, I think. To my first lesson. Master Thorne."
Elara's expression flickered—something between surprise and concern. "Master Thorne is giving you private lessons? Already?"
"Is that bad?"
"No, it's just..." She hesitated. "Master Thorne doesn't teach first-years. He barely teaches anyone. He's the oldest Luminaire alive, older than the Ancient One herself, some say. He trained your mother." She met Finn's eyes. "If he's calling you to the spire alone, it means something. I just don't know what."
Finn looked down at the parchment. The words still shimmered, almost impatiently, as if urging him to hurry.
"I should go," he said.
"After breakfast," Elara insisted. "The ninth hour isn't for another two hours, and you haven't eaten since yesterday. Trust me, you don't want to face Master Thorne on an empty stomach. He's terrifying enough when you're full."
The Great Hall of the Lumina Academy was even more extraordinary than Finn had imagined. It occupied the entire base of the crystal tree, a vast circular chamber with a ceiling that opened to the sky—except the sky here was not the ordinary sky. It shimmered with colours Finn had never seen, purples and golds and silvers that shifted and swirled like living things. Long tables radiated from the centre like spokes on a wheel, each draped in the colour of its district: red for Embers, blue for Tides, grey for Zephyrs, brown for Stones, and white for Luminaires.
The white table was the smallest by far. Only a handful of students sat there, their white robes setting them apart from the colourful crowds around them. As Finn approached with Elara, Theo, and Briar, he felt the weight of dozens of eyes following him.
"That's the Luminaire table," Briar said quietly. "You should sit there. We'll sit with our own districts, but we'll be close. The Tide table is right next to it."
"The Stone table too," Briar added. "We'll be able to see you."
"And the Zephyr table is across from the Luminaires," Theo said, then winced. "Sorry, I wasn't reading your mind, I was just—everyone's thinking about you, it's hard not to—"
"It's okay," Finn said, though the thought made him uncomfortable. "I understand."
He left them and walked toward the white table. The few Luminaires already seated looked up as he approached—two older students, a boy and a girl, who regarded him with expressions he couldn't quite read. Not hostile, exactly. But not welcoming either.
"You're Merton," the boy said. He had sharp features and pale hair, and his voice was flat. "I'm Aldric. This is Vesper. We're the only other Luminaire students."
"Only?" Finn glanced at the empty seats. "There are only three of us?"
"In the entire Academy, yes." Vesper spoke softly, her dark eyes studying Finn with an intensity that made him want to look away. "Luminaires are rare. There haven't been more than five at any one time in centuries. Your mother was the last great Luminaire before she..." She trailed off.
"Before she disappeared," Aldric finished bluntly. "We heard about the sorting. White light. First time in living memory. The whole Academy's talking about it."
Finn sat down across from them, feeling suddenly exposed. "I don't know what it means. I don't even know how I did it."
"That's the thing about Luminaires," Vesper said. "We don't choose the elements. They choose us. And for you, all four chose at once. That's... unusual."
"Unprecedented," Aldric corrected. "Even your mother—" He stopped himself, exchanging a glance with Vesper.
"What about my mother?" Finn demanded.
Vesper hesitated, then said quietly, "Your mother was powerful. More powerful than anyone in living memory. But even she had an affinity—water, primarily. She could use all four, but water was her home. For you, the sorting showed no affinity. Just white. Pure balance."
"Is that bad?"
Neither of them answered immediately. Finally, Aldric shrugged. "It's not good or bad. It's just different. You'll have to learn control faster than most, that's all. Without an affinity to anchor you, the elements might be harder to master. Or easier. No one knows."
Before Finn could ask more, a bell chimed—the same deep, resonant note he'd heard at the sorting. All around the hall, students began rising from their tables, gathering books and bags, streaming toward the exits.
"First lesson," Vesper said, standing. "You'd better go. Master Thorne doesn't like to be kept waiting."
The Luminaire Spire was at the very top of the crystal tree, accessible only by a staircase that spiralled upward along the trunk, its steps made of translucent crystal that seemed to float in mid-air. Finn climbed for what felt like hours, his legs burning, his breath coming in gasps. Below him, the city shrank to a toy model, its lights twinkling like earthbound stars.
Finally, he reached a door—a simple wooden door set into the crystal, so out of place it looked like a mistake. He knocked.
"Enter."
The voice was old. Older than old. It creaked like ancient wood in a wind, and yet there was strength in it, power that hadn't faded with the centuries.
Finn pushed open the door.
The room beyond was circular, its walls made entirely of crystal that pulsed with a soft, steady light. In the centre stood a figure so ancient he seemed almost to be made of the same crystal as the tree—skin like weathered stone, eyes like chips of ice, robes of white so pure they hurt to look at. He sat cross-legged on a simple cushion, his hands resting on his knees, and as Finn entered, those ice-chip eyes fixed on him with an intensity that stopped him in his tracks.
"Finn Merton," Master Thorne said. His voice was like stones grinding together. "Elena's son. Come. Sit."
Finn crossed the room and sat on the cushion opposite the ancient man. Up close, he could see that Master Thorne's eyes were not merely ice-coloured—they held depths, swirls of light that moved and shifted, as if the elements themselves lived behind them.
"You have questions," Master Thorne said. It was not a question.
"I have many questions," Finn agreed.
"Good. Questions are the beginning of wisdom. But first, you must understand what you are." The old man leaned forward slightly, and the light in the room seemed to dim, focusing on them alone. "You are a Luminaire. That means the five elements live in your blood—fire, water, air, earth, and the fifth element, the one that binds them all. Lumina. Light. The power of creation itself."
Finn frowned. "The fifth element? I thought there were only four."
"There are always four," Master Thorne said. "Earth, air, fire, water. The physical world. But magic is not physical. Magic is the force that moves between them, that connects them, that gives them meaning. That is the fifth element. That is Lumina. And you, boy, have more of it in your little finger than most Luminaires possess in their entire being."
The words hung in the air between them. Finn stared at the ancient man, trying to understand, trying to process.
"Is that why Malachai Corvus wants me?" he asked. "Because of this... fifth element?"
Something flickered in Master Thorne's eyes—the first emotion Finn had seen there. "You know that name already. Good. Knowledge of the enemy is the first step to defeating him." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. "Yes. Corvus wants you because you are the key. Not to power—he already has power. To something greater. To the Source itself."
"The Source?"
"The origin of all magic in Lumina. The heart of the fifth element. It is hidden, protected, inaccessible to anyone who seeks it for selfish purposes. But you, Finn Merton—you are pure. Untainted. The crystal you carry chose you, and it does not choose lightly. If anyone can find the Source, it is you."
Finn's hand went to his pocket, where the crystal pulsed warmly against his thigh. "The letter said my mother is alive. That she was taken. Is she at the Source?"
Master Thorne was silent for a long moment. Then he shook his head slowly. "No. Your mother is in the Shadow Mountain, the fortress of Malachai Corvus. She is alive, but she suffers. Corvus believes she knows the location of the Source, and he has spent eleven years trying to extract that knowledge from her."
The words hit Finn like a physical blow. His mother was suffering. Had been suffering for eleven years. Because of him. Because Corvus wanted him.
"Can we save her?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"In time. When you are ready." Master Thorne's eyes softened, just slightly. "But you are not ready yet. You cannot even control the power that already lives in you. If you go to the Shadow Mountain now, you will die—and your mother's suffering will have been for nothing."
Finn wanted to argue, to scream, to demand that they leave immediately. But somewhere beneath the rage and grief, he knew the old man was right. He had no idea how to use his power. He couldn't even make it appear on command.
"How do I learn?" he asked. "How do I become ready?"
Master Thorne smiled—a thin, ancient smile that transformed his weathered face. "That is why you are here. That is the first lesson." He raised his hand, and a ball of light appeared in his palm—white, pure, pulsing with the same energy Finn had felt in the crystal. "Close your eyes. Feel the elements around you. Not with your mind—with your blood. They are there, always. Waiting."
Finn closed his eyes. For a moment, he felt nothing—just the ordinary darkness of his own eyelids. Then, slowly, he became aware of sensations he couldn't name. Warmth, deep in his chest. A tingling in his fingers. A pressure behind his eyes.
"Good," Master Thorne's voice came from far away. "Now reach for them. Not to grasp—to invite. The elements are not tools. They are companions. Ask them to come to you."
Finn focused on the warmth in his chest. He imagined it spreading, reaching outward, filling him completely. And then, without quite knowing how, he stopped trying and simply... opened.
Fire answered first—a surge of heat that raced through his veins, making him gasp. But before he could react, water followed, cooling the fire, balancing it. Then air, lifting him, making him feel as if he might float away. Then earth, grounding him, anchoring him to the present.
And finally, light.
It exploded behind his eyes, white and brilliant and overwhelming. He saw everything—the crystal walls of the spire, the city below, the faces of his friends eating breakfast, the dark shape of the Shadow Mountain far away. He saw his mother, pale and imprisoned, her silver eyes closed in pain. He saw Corvus, hooded and terrible, standing on a balcony of black stone, looking toward Lumina with hunger in his gaze.
And then he saw himself—not as he was, but as he could become. Powerful. Confident. A leader. A warrior. A saviour.
The vision shattered.
Finn's eyes flew open. He was on his hands and knees on the crystal floor, gasping for breath. Sweat poured down his face, and his whole body trembled with exhaustion.
Master Thorne sat where he had been, watching him with an expression that might have been satisfaction.
"You saw," the old man said. "The fifth element showed you truth."
"I saw..." Finn struggled to find words. "I saw my mother. I saw Corvus. I saw—" He stopped, not sure how to describe the vision of himself.
"You saw what you may become," Master Thorne finished. "Or what you may not. The future is not fixed. The elements show possibilities, not certainties. What you do with what you saw—that is what matters."
Finn pushed himself upright, still trembling. "How did I do that? I wasn't even trying to—"
"You were open. That is all the fifth element asks. Openness. Willingness. Trust." Master Thorne rose, moving with surprising grace for one so ancient. "That is enough for today. You have taken the first step. Tomorrow, we begin the real work."
He turned away, dismissing Finn without another word.
Finn stumbled to his feet, still shaking, and made his way to the door. As he reached for the handle, Master Thorne's voice stopped him.
"Finn." The old man's back was still turned. "Your mother loved you more than anything. She gave up everything—her freedom, her life—to keep you safe. Remember that when the path grows dark."
Finn stood in the doorway, tears burning in his eyes. "I will," he whispered.
Then he stepped through the door and began the long descent down the crystal stairs, carrying with him the weight of vision and the first, fragile seeds of hope.
That evening, Finn sat with his friends on a platform high in the crystal tree, watching the lights of Lumina flicker to life below them. Theo had brought a bag of pastries from the kitchen. Elara had conjured a small fountain of water that danced in the air between them. Briar had made the stone beneath them warm and comfortable.
They didn't ask about his lesson. They didn't push. They simply sat with him, their presence a comfort he hadn't known he needed.
Finally, Finn spoke. "I saw my mother. In a vision. She's alive, but she's suffering. Corvus is torturing her, trying to get her to tell him where the Source is."
The others fell silent. Then Elara reached out and took his hand. "We'll help you save her. When you're ready."
"How do you know I'll ever be ready?" Finn's voice cracked. "Master Thorne says I have power, but I can't control it. I don't even understand it."
"You will," Theo said quietly. "I've seen it. Not in your mind—you keep your thoughts locked up tight, which is actually impressive—but in the way people look at you. The way the elements responded to you at the sorting. You're meant for something big, Finn. I don't know what, but it's big."
Briar nodded. "My grandmother served your mother. She says Elena was the kindest person she ever knew, and the strongest. You have her eyes. You have her heart. That's more important than power."
Finn looked at them—these three strangers who had become friends in a single day—and felt something loosen in his chest. He wasn't alone. Whatever came, whatever trials awaited, he wouldn't face them by himself.
"Thank you," he said. "For being here. For believing in me."
"That's what friends do," Elara said simply.
They sat together in the gathering darkness, watching the lights of Lumina spread out below them like a sea of stars. And for the first time since arriving in this strange, wonderful city, Finn allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right.
Far away, in the Shadow Mountain, his mother closed her eyes and smiled, as if she sensed his hope across the impossible distance.
And deeper still, in the darkness beyond the veil, something waited. Something patient. Something hungry.
But tonight, in the light of Lumina, surrounded by friendship, Finn was not afraid.
End of Chapter Five