The days following Finn's discovery in the library passed in a blur of lessons and sleepless nights. He carried his mother's journal everywhere, reading and rereading each entry until the words were burned into his memory. He learned about her childhood in Lumina, her friendship with a young Serafina, her first encounters with the man who would become his father. He learned about the war, the battles, the slow corruption of the man she loved. And he learned about the night she fled Lumina, heavy with child, knowing that if she stayed, her son would be used as a weapon.
But one entry haunted him more than all the others. It was dated just days before she was taken:
I dream of fire. Every night, the same dream: Finn, grown tall and strong, standing before a man whose face I cannot see. They speak, but I cannot hear the words. Then fire explodes between them, and when the flames clear, only one remains standing. I never know which one. I wake each time before the smoke clears.
Is it a vision or a fear? I cannot tell anymore. The lines blur. But one thing I know with certainty: my son will face his father. And when he does, everything will change.
Finn closed the journal each night with those words echoing in his mind. His mother had dreamed of this. Had known it would come. And now it was his burden to carry.
On the first day of his second month at Lumina, Finn woke to find his window looking out over the Ember district. Red light from the furnaces below painted his room in warm colours, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch. The Ember quarter was always active, always burning, its forges working day and night to create the tools and treasures that Lumina needed.
A knock at his door interrupted his reverie. Before he could respond, the door burst open and Theo tumbled in, his grey robes askew, his face pale.
"Something's happened," Theo gasped. "In the city. People are hurt. The healers are—" He stopped, struggling to catch his breath. "Finn, you need to come."
Finn was already pulling on his robes. "What happened? Was it an attack?"
"I don't know. No one knows. There was an explosion in the Tide quarter. Near the canals. Elara's already there—she ran when she heard." Theo's eyes were wide, frightened. "I can feel the thoughts of the injured. They're in pain, Finn. So much pain."
They ran.
The Tide quarter was chaos.
Canals that usually flowed with peaceful, luminescent water were choked with debris. Buildings that had stood for centuries were shattered, their crystal walls cracked and crumbling. People lay on the banks of the canals, some moaning, some silent, as healers in blue and white robes moved among them, their hands glowing with soft light.
Finn pushed through the crowd, searching for Elara. He found her kneeling beside an old woman, her hands pressed to a wound on the woman's arm, her face streaked with tears and canal water.
"Elara!"
She looked up, and for a moment, her ocean-coloured eyes were blank with shock. Then recognition flooded back, and she nodded toward a nearby building that had partially collapsed. "Briar's in there. She went in to help people trapped under the rubble. She won't come out."
Finn's heart clenched. "How long ago?"
"Twenty minutes. The Stones are trying to shore up the building, but it's unstable. Every time they move something, more falls." Elara's voice cracked. "Finn, she's going to die in there."
Finn didn't hesitate. He ran toward the collapsed building, pushing past workers who tried to stop him. He could feel the earth beneath his feet—not as solid ground, but as something alive, something wounded. The building groaned above him, its remaining walls trembling.
"Finn!" Theo's voice behind him. "You can't go in there!"
But Finn was already inside.
The darkness was absolute. Dust filled his lungs, making him cough. Somewhere above, stone grated against stone, a sound that promised death. He reached into his pocket and grasped the crystal. It pulsed warmly, and a soft light spread from it, illuminating the wreckage.
"Briar!" he called. "Briar, where are you?"
A sound to his left—a moan, barely audible. He scrambled toward it, climbing over broken beams and shattered crystal. And there, pinned beneath a massive slab of stone, was Briar.
Her face was pale, her brown robes soaked with blood. But her eyes were open, and when she saw Finn, she smiled weakly.
"You're an idiot," she whispered. "The whole building's going to fall."
"Then we'd better hurry." Finn dropped to his knees beside her and examined the slab. It was enormous—far too heavy for any ordinary person to lift. But Finn was not ordinary.
He closed his eyes and reached for the earth.
At first, nothing happened. The stone beneath him was cold, unresponsive, wounded by the violence of the collapse. He felt its pain, its confusion, its desire to simply stop, to crumble into dust and be done.
I know how you feel, he thought. But please. My friend is under you. She's going to die. Help me save her.
The stone did not respond.
Finn tried again, pushing harder, demanding. Still nothing. Desperation clawed at him. He could hear the building groaning above, feel the vibrations of its impending collapse. He had minutes, maybe seconds.
And then he remembered Master Thorne's words: You do not command a friend. You ask. You listen. You trust.
He stopped trying to control the stone. Instead, he opened himself to it—truly opened, without fear, without desperation, without demand. He felt its ancient patience, its deep memory, its connection to every stone that had ever existed in Lumina. He felt the mountain from which it had been cut, the hands that had shaped it, the centuries it had stood as part of this building.
And he felt its sorrow. Its sorrow for the destruction, for the pain, for the lives threatened by its fall.
Help me, he whispered, not with words but with his whole being. Help me save her.
The stone shifted.
It was subtle at first—a slight tremor, a softening of the massive slab's weight. Then, slowly, impossibly, the slab began to rise. Not much—just enough to free Briar's legs—but enough.
Finn grabbed Briar under the arms and pulled. She cried out in pain, but she didn't stop moving. Together, they crawled out from under the slab, and the moment they were clear, the stone settled back to the ground with a dull thud.
The building groaned again, louder this time. Finn looked up and saw a crack spreading across the ceiling, growing wider by the second.
"We have to go," he gasped. "Now."
He half-carried, half-dragged Briar toward the opening they'd come through. Behind them, the building shuddered. Above them, chunks of stone began to fall. They were ten feet from the exit when the ceiling gave way.
Finn threw himself over Briar, covering her with his body, and reached for the elements with everything he had.
Fire answered first—a shield of heat that vaporized the smaller stones before they could touch him. Water followed, forming a cushion of liquid that caught the larger chunks and slowed their fall. Air swirled around them, deflecting debris. And earth—earth rose up, forming a dome of solid stone above their heads.
For three heartbeats, Finn held them all. The weight of the collapsing building pressed down on his shield. His body screamed in protest. His mind teetered on the edge of darkness.
And then it stopped.
The rubble settled. The dust began to clear. And Finn lay on top of Briar, his shield slowly fading, his entire body trembling with exhaustion.
"Finn?" Briar's voice was weak but alive. "Finn, you're crushing me."
He laughed—a broken, hysterical laugh—and rolled off her, collapsing onto his back. Above them, through a gap in the rubble, he could see the sky. Lumina's eternal twilight sky, soft and beautiful and completely indifferent to the chaos below.
"That was stupid," Briar said.
"Yeah," Finn agreed. "It was."
They lay there for a long moment, catching their breath. Then, from outside, they heard voices—shouting, calling their names. Hands began pulling at the rubble, clearing a path.
Finn turned his head to look at Briar. Her face was streaked with dust and blood and tears, but she was smiling.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Anytime."
The aftermath was a blur of healers and questions and officials who wanted to know how a first-year Luminaire had managed to do what trained Stones could not. Finn answered as vaguely as he could, deflecting, downplaying. He didn't want to talk about the elements responding to him, about the shield he'd somehow created, about the way the stone had listened when he'd asked for help.
But Serafina found him that evening, alone in his room, and he knew he couldn't deflect her.
"You saved a life today," she said, sitting on the edge of his bed. "More than one. The healers say at least a dozen people would have died if that building had collapsed completely. Your shield held long enough for them to escape."
Finn shook his head. "I didn't save anyone. I just got lucky."
Serafina's silver eyes held his. "You know that's not true. You felt the elements respond to you. You asked, and they answered. That's not luck, Finn. That's power."
"I don't want power." His voice cracked. "I just wanted to save my friend."
"And that," Serafina said softly, "is exactly why the elements answered. You weren't trying to prove anything. You weren't trying to control. You were trying to protect someone you love. That's the purest magic there is."
Finn stared at his hands. They were still shaking. "Was my mother like this? Did she feel like this after she used her power?"
Serafina was quiet for a moment. Then she reached out and took his hands in hers. "Your mother once held back a flood that would have drowned half of Lumina. When it was over, she collapsed and didn't wake for three days. She told me later that she'd felt every drop of water in that flood, every life it threatened, every stone it would have washed away. She said the weight of it nearly broke her."
She squeezed his hands gently. "Power has a cost, Finn. Every time you use it, you give something of yourself. That's why the elements respond to selflessness—because selfless acts cost the most. They prove that you're worthy."
Finn looked up at her. "What if I'm not worthy? What if next time, I can't—"
"Next time, you'll try anyway. That's what makes you worthy." Serafina released his hands and stood. "The officials want to talk to you tomorrow. They'll ask how you did what you did. They'll want to study you, test you, measure you. Be careful what you tell them."
"Why? Aren't they the leaders of Lumina?"
"They are." Serafina's expression darkened. "But not all of them are your friends. Some fear power they cannot control. Some would seek to limit it, contain it, bind it with rules and restrictions. And some..." She hesitated. "Some serve other masters."
Finn's blood chilled. "You think there are spies here? People working for Corvus?"
"I think Corvus has been searching for you for eleven years. I think he has eyes everywhere. And I think the explosion today was not an accident."
Finn stared at her. "You think someone caused it? Deliberately?"
Serafina moved to the window and looked out at the lights of Lumina. "The Tide quarter was targeted. The canals were poisoned—not enough to kill, but enough to distract. And while everyone was focused on the water, someone set charges in that building. The timing was too precise. Too perfect."
She turned back to face him. "Someone wanted chaos. Someone wanted the healers occupied, the Stones distracted. And I think—" She paused. "I think they wanted to see what you would do."
Finn's mind raced. The explosion. The building. Briar trapped. And he had run in, had used his power in full view of everyone. If Serafina was right, if there were spies watching—
"They know," he whispered. "If there's a spy, they know what I can do."
"They know what you did today. They don't know what you're capable of becoming." Serafina crossed back to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "That's why you must be careful. Train with Master Thorne. Learn control. And trust your instincts. The same instincts that told you to save Briar will tell you who to trust and who to fear."
She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, a gesture so intimate and maternal that Finn felt tears prick his eyes. "Your mother would be so proud of you, Finn Merton. So proud."
Then she was gone, and Finn sat alone in his room, her words echoing in his mind.
Someone wanted to see what he would do.
Someone had caused the explosion.
Someone in Lumina was working for Corvus.
The next morning, Finn was summoned to the Council Chamber.
It was located at the heart of the crystal tree, a vast circular room with walls that pulsed with soft light. In the centre, five figures sat on raised daises, each representing one of Lumina's districts. The Ember representative was a tall woman with flame-coloured hair and eyes that seemed to flicker with inner fire. The Tide representative was an older man with skin the colour of deep water and a serene expression that somehow managed to be unsettling. The Zephyr representative was young—barely older than Finn—but her grey eyes held a depth that suggested she saw far more than she revealed. The Stone representative was a massive man with shoulders like boulders and hands that looked capable of crushing rock.
And the Luminaire representative was Serafina.
Finn had not expected that. She met his eyes as he entered and gave the slightest nod—a warning, a reassurance, he wasn't sure which.
"Finn Merton." The Ember woman's voice crackled like a fire. "You have caused quite a stir."
"I didn't mean to," Finn said quietly. "I was trying to save my friend."
"We are aware." The Tide man's voice was calm, soothing, like water flowing over stones. "The healers report that your actions saved at least a dozen lives. For that, you have our gratitude."
"But?" Finn heard the unspoken question.
The Zephyr girl leaned forward, her grey eyes intense. "But how did you do it? You're a first-year student with barely two months of training. By all rights, you should have died in that building. Instead, you created a shield that held against tons of falling stone. That's not possible."
"Unless," the Stone man rumbled, "he's not what we thought he was."
Finn felt the weight of their stares. He thought of Serafina's warning. Be careful what you tell them.
"I don't know how I did it," he said truthfully. "I just... reached out. To the elements. And they answered."
"Elements?" The Ember woman's eyes narrowed. "You used more than one?"
"Yes." Finn saw no reason to lie about that. Everyone had seen the shield—the fire, the water, the air, the earth. "All four. At once."
The Council exchanged glances. The Tide man's serene expression flickered. The Zephyr girl's eyes widened slightly. The Stone man's massive hands clenched.
"That's not possible," the Ember woman said flatly. "No first-year can channel all four. No one except—" She stopped herself, but Finn knew what she'd been about to say.
Except his mother.
"Finn Merton is Elena's son," Serafina said quietly. "The sorting confirmed it. White light. Pure balance. He is a Luminaire in the truest sense."
"A Luminaire," the Ember woman repeated, her voice dripping with something that might have been suspicion. "Or something else?"
The words hung in the air like a challenge. Finn felt anger rise in his chest—anger at this woman who dared to question him, who dared to imply that he was something dangerous, something to be feared.
"I am what I am," he said, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. "I don't know what that means yet. But I know I used my power to save people, not to hurt them. Isn't that what matters?"
For a long moment, no one spoke. Then the Stone man—the massive, boulder-shouldered Stone man—smiled. It was a rare sight, Finn would later learn, and it transformed his craggy face.
"Well said, boy." He nodded approvingly. "Well said."
The Zephyr girl was studying Finn with new interest. "The explosion that caused the collapse—we're investigating it. Preliminary findings suggest it was not an accident."
Finn's heart lurched. Serafina had been right.
"Someone set explosives in that building," the Zephyr girl continued. "Someone who knew exactly when the Tide quarter would be most crowded. Someone who wanted maximum chaos and maximum casualties."
"Or," the Tide man said quietly, "someone who wanted to test someone's response."
All eyes turned to Finn. He felt the weight of their suspicion, their curiosity, their fear.
"You think I was the target?" he asked.
"We think it's possible." The Ember woman's voice had lost some of its sharpness. "Your arrival in Lumina was... dramatic. The sorting. The white light. And now this. It's possible that forces beyond our walls have taken notice."
"Corvus," Finn said.
The name fell into the silence like a stone into still water. The Council stiffened. The Ember woman's flame-coloured hair seemed to flicker with sudden heat.
"You know that name," she said carefully.
"I know he took my mother. I know he's been hunting me since I was born. I know—" Finn hesitated, then decided to trust his instincts. "I know there may be people in Lumina who serve him. People who would do anything to help him find me."
The silence that followed was absolute. Finn could feel the tension in the room, the sudden sharpening of attention, the way the Council members' eyes flickered toward each other and away.
"That is a serious accusation," the Tide man said softly.
"It's not an accusation. It's a warning." Finn met his eyes, refusing to look away. "Serafina told me to trust my instincts. My instincts say someone caused that explosion. My instincts say they're still here, still watching. And my instincts say that if we don't find them before Corvus makes his next move, a lot more people are going to die."
The Council exchanged glances again. Then the Stone man spoke, his voice a low rumble.
"The boy has courage. He also has power. And he has more reason than any of us to hate Corvus." He looked at Finn with something like respect. "I say we listen to him."
"As do I," the Zephyr girl added.
The Tide man nodded slowly. "Caution is wise. But so is investigation. We will look into the explosion. We will search for those responsible. And we will increase security throughout the city." He paused, his serene eyes meeting Finn's. "But you, Finn Merton, must be careful. If you are indeed the target, you cannot afford to be exposed. From now on, you will have protection. A guard, assigned to watch over you."
"I don't need a guard," Finn protested.
"You need to stay alive," the Ember woman said bluntly. "That's not optional."
Finn looked at Serafina. She gave him a small nod—acceptance, he realized. Acceptance that this was the price of being who he was.
"Fine," he said. "But I choose who guards me."
The Council exchanged glances again. Then the Stone man laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to shake the room.
"The boy has spirit," he said. "I like him."
That evening, Finn sat with his friends on their usual platform, watching the lights of Lumina flicker to life below. The guard assigned to him—a Stone woman named Petra—stood at a respectful distance, her craggy face expressionless, her eyes missing nothing.
"A guard," Theo said, shaking his head. "You have a personal guard. That's insane."
"It's protection," Elara corrected, though her voice was troubled. "After what happened, it makes sense."
"It makes sense if someone's trying to kill him," Briar said quietly. "Which apparently someone is."
Finn looked at her. She was pale, still recovering from her injuries, but her eyes were clear and steady. "How are you feeling?"
"Alive." She smiled—a small, genuine smile. "Thanks to you."
"You'd do the same for me."
"Of course. But I can't lift buildings." Her smile faded. "Finn, what the Council said about spies—do you really think there are people here working for Corvus?"
Finn thought of Serafina's warning, of the Council's reactions, of the way the Zephyr girl had looked at him when he'd spoken Corvus's name.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But someone caused that explosion. Someone wanted to hurt people. And if they're still here, if they're watching—" He looked out at the city below, at the lights that seemed so peaceful, so safe. "Then none of us are safe."
They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of his words settling over them.
Then Theo spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "I've been feeling something. In people's thoughts. A shadow. A coldness. I thought it was just me—my mind playing tricks. But what if it's not? What if there really is someone here, hiding, thinking terrible things?"
Elara reached out and took his hand. "If you feel it again, tell us. Tell Finn. We'll figure it out together."
Theo nodded, but his grey eyes were troubled.
They stayed on the platform until the lights of Lumina began to dim, signaling the approach of what passed for night in the crystal city. Then, one by one, they headed to their rooms, leaving Finn alone with his guard and his thoughts.
Petra said nothing as they walked back to the Luminaire spire. She simply followed, a silent shadow, her presence both comforting and unsettling.
As Finn climbed into bed that night, his mother's journal tucked under his pillow, the crystal warm against his chest, he thought about everything that had happened. The explosion. The rescue. The Council. The spy.
Somewhere in this beautiful city, an enemy was watching. Somewhere in the shadows, Corvus's servant waited.
And somewhere beyond the veil, his mother suffered.
Finn closed his eyes and made a silent promise to all of them—to his friends, to the city, to the mother who had given everything for him.
I will find you. I will stop them. And I will become what you always knew I could be.
Outside his window, the lights of Lumina pulsed softly, eternal and beautiful, hiding their secrets in the crystal depths.
And in the darkness beyond the veil, something smiled and began to move.
End of Chapter Seven