It's been a few months since the noble dinner.
Calden's still cold toward me—nothing new there—but he hasn't been pressing as hard lately. Fewer corrections, fewer loaded stares. I don't know if that's a good thing or if he's just waiting to see what I do next. Either way, I've kept my head down.
And I've kept learning.
Quietly. Carefully. Secretly.
Nareva still meets me at night when she can, always cautious, always watching for footsteps in the hall. She says I'm moving too fast. That I need to build control, discipline, foundation.
But tonight… I couldn't sit still. Something in me buzzed like a string pulled too tight. I slipped out of my room with the spellbook tucked beneath my cloak, heart racing like I was stealing from the gods.
Nareva said not to try elemental magic yet.
Said it was unstable. Dangerous.
Said I wasn't ready.
And maybe she's right.
But there's this itch under my skin.
A pressure. A pull.
Like something inside me wants out.
Like fire, waiting for a spark.
The east greenhouse was still half-choked in shadows when I arrived.
The moonlight hadn't even burned through the mist yet, and I could already feel it—the buzz in my chest, the itch in my fingertips. That hum under my skin. Restless. Waiting.
I shouldn't have been up this early. The house was still asleep, the servants too tired to notice I'd snuck out through the library's side window with a notebook under my arm and socks half-drenched from morning dew.
But I couldn't wait.
I hadn't been able to sleep anyway. Not after last night.
Not after what I saw in the margins of Nareva's spellbook—barely a sentence, tucked between clean diagrams and flowing incantations:
"Flow before form. Flame is not shaped. It's followed."
Fire.
It had been scratching at my mind for days now. Ever since I started threading mana through my palms with more precision. Ever since the Feather Drift spell started responding instantly. Ever since I felt that warmth in my hands that didn't come from the candle nearby.
Nareva wasn't supposed to teach me elemental spells yet. Not without structure. Not without mastery over form.
But something in me didn't care about "form."
Something wanted flame.
The greenhouse greeted me like always—quiet, damp, full of old ghosts and soft soil. My footprints trailed through the dried moss, toward the center circle I'd cleared weeks ago. The old stone bench was still there. The vines were thicker than I remembered. And the candle I left behind was gone.
Probably Nareva's doing.
I unwrapped the notebook, fingers clumsy with anticipation, and crouched in the center of the room.
I had copied the spell. Twice.
Ignis Vestral.
Basic ignition. Low-scale combustion. High risk of instability.
Three words. Just three.
And it burned a hole in my brain like it was daring me to say it out loud.
I closed my eyes.
Breathed.
Centered.
Then whispered it.
"Ignis… vestral."
A flicker.
Then a hiss.
And then—nothing.
The mana had responded. I felt it tighten under my skin, coil around my palm like a rope too thin to hold weight. But it didn't ignite.
Not yet.
I tried again.
"Ignis vestral."
This time, there was heat. A shimmer. A sharp crackle, like dry twigs underfoot.
Still—no fire.
I bit my lip and glanced at the dirt, pacing in a small circle. I wasn't doing something right. My flow was stuttering somewhere mid-channel. My intent was clear, my focus was sharp, but the spark wasn't catching.
"Focus on temperature," I muttered to myself. "Heat the mana, not the air."
I crouched again. Slower this time.
Pressed both hands to the soil.
"Ignis vestral."
A shimmer.
A glow.
Then—
"Are you trying to set the greenhouse on fire, or just your eyebrows?"
My head snapped up.
Nareva stood in the doorway. Pale hair pulled into a loose braid. Her apron half-dusted with flour. Arms crossed. One eyebrow raised with surgical precision.
I swallowed.
"You're early," I said, trying not to sound like a kid caught stealing from the pantry.
She stepped inside, boots barely making a sound over the soil. "You're lucky I am. That spell's above your tier. And you're channeling it like someone trying to pour soup through a strainer."
I flushed.
"Why didn't you tell me there were elemental spells in the back?"
"I didn't think you were ready for them."
"I am."
"Kaelen," she said. Calm. Measured. Like she already knew the next ten things I was going to say. "You just attempted a fire spell alone, without warning, in a structure made entirely of wood, glass, and dry leaves."
She looked around. "Tell me where the fire bucket is."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it again.
Her eyes softened a little. Not forgiving. Not indulgent. But understanding.
"You're not in trouble," she said. "But you are reckless. And I know why."
I frowned.
"Because it's not enough anymore," she said, stepping into the center of the circle beside me. "Feather Drift is too soft. Mana Thread too slow. You want something that makes you feel… real."
I didn't answer.
But gods, she was right.
I felt like I was slipping out of my own skin lately. Like I was still pretending to be Kaelen, when part of me was screaming for something else. Something louder. Brighter. Hotter.
Something alive.
Nareva crouched, drew a circle around us in the dirt with her fingertip, and tapped the space between us.
"Then we do it properly. Together."
After a few hours—though they passed like minutes—I failed the spell again. And again. Each attempt slipped through my fingers like ash.
The air still crackled from the failed spell. Ash dusted the soil where the flame had fizzled out—half-born, half-dead. My lungs felt hollow. My fingertips? Numb. I'd reached. I'd tried. And for a moment, I swore I had it.
And then it slipped.
Nareva stood frozen across from me, one hand half-raised, like she couldn't decide if she was about to shield me or strike me down.
That's when I realized she wasn't looking at the spell.
She was looking at me.
Her expression wasn't confused.
It was terrified.
"Nareva?" My voice came out smaller than I meant. Shaky. "What is it?"
She didn't answer. Just stared—like something behind my skin had caught fire.
I followed her gaze, lowering my eyes to my hands.
That's when I saw it.
A faint shimmer in the air. Not light. Not heat.
Color.
Or… the absence of it?
No. Not absence. It was white—but not clean. Not the kind of white you see on snow or marble or parchment.
It was wrong.
Tainted.
Dense and too bright. Like it was trying to be something pure, but failed. Like something had stained it long before it ever reached me.
The shimmer clung to my skin like frostbite. It wasn't glowing. It was bleeding light—coiling off my arms in strands like fogged breath.
My heartbeat stuttered.
"What is this…" I whispered.
Nareva took a slow step forward. Her lips were parted, but no sound came out at first.
She stopped a few feet away. Her hands were shaking.
And she never shook.
"…I need you to sit," she said finally. Her voice was even, but her eyes betrayed her. Wide. Focused.
"Now, Kaelen."
I obeyed.
Not because I was afraid of her—but because I was afraid of myself.
I dropped to the greenhouse floor, sitting cross-legged on the packed dirt. The white shimmer pulsed once, as if agitated by the movement, then slowly began to recede—fading like steam after rain.
Nareva knelt in front of me. Still quiet. Still staring like she'd seen something ancient and forgotten etched into my skin.
"…what was that?" I asked.
She closed her eyes, breathed once, and then reached into her cloak.
When she pulled her hand back, it held a small, circular object—no larger than her palm. It looked like a mirror, but the surface wasn't glass. It rippled slightly, like a puddle of silver caught mid-drop. A single rune was carved along the edge in faint blue.
She held it toward me.
"This is an Aura Mirror," she said.
She placed it carefully on the ground between us.
"It doesn't just reflect your face. It reflects your presence. Your aura—what flows from you. Most mages use it during early training to identify their alignment. You won't find it in Ghostborn's homes because… well…"
She didn't finish that sentence.
Because we didn't need it.
I stared at the thing. My reflection in the liquid surface looked warped. Slanted.
"I've seen faint flickers from you before," she continued. "During Feather Drift. During Veilstep. But I assumed it was… stress. Residue. Mistakes."
She looked me in the eyes.
"But what I saw just now? That wasn't faint."
My mouth went dry.
"I didn't mean to—"
"I know," she said gently.
"But it happened."
She placed her fingers on the edge of the mirror.
"I want you to try again."
"What?"
"Just the spark. Just enough mana to make it flicker."
I hesitated.
"What if it hurts you?"
Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile.
"Then I'll shield. But I need to see it again, Kaelen. I need to understand."
I swallowed hard. My body still ached from the failed fire spell. But I reached.
Not for flame this time.
Not for Veilstep.
Just that core. That pressure under my ribs. The hum I always ignored.
I pulled on it.
Light shimmered on my skin again.
And the mirror—
It bloomed.
Color poured from its surface like an oil slick. Not rainbow. Not flame.
White.
Pure white.
But then… it bled.
Dark veins snaked through the color like cracks in glass. The white twisted. Grew heavy. Dense. Like light so packed it turned solid.
Nareva's eyes widened.
She didn't flinch—but I saw it in the way her hand shifted subtly toward her satchel. Just in case.
"That's…" she breathed. "Not possible."
I let the energy go.
The mirror dulled.
I slumped, heart pounding.
She didn't speak right away.
Instead, she leaned forward and touched the mirror's edge again.
"It's not just white," she said softly. "It's Tainted White. That shouldn't exist. Not in a living soul."
She glanced at me.
"White auras are rare. They're… purifying. Healing. They mean clarity of purpose. Spiritual harmony."
I blinked. "That doesn't sound so bad."
"It is when it's corrupted," she said. "What I saw wasn't balance. It was compression. Collapse. It's like your aura is trying to purify something that can't be purified. It's folding in on itself. Turning solid."
I didn't know what to say to that.
"How can that happen?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I don't know."
And Nareva never said that.
"You might be something else entirely."
I bit my lip.
Tried not to look at the mirror again.
"…am I still Kaelen?"
She looked at me sharply.
"You are," she said. "That's not a question."
"But—"
"No. You are still you. Whatever that shimmer was—whatever your aura's doing—it doesn't change who I saw that night in the attic. Or the boy who risked everything to learn. Or the boy who whispered the Feather Drift spell like it was a prayer."
I felt the burn behind my eyes before I realized I was crying.
Quiet. Unwanted.
But real.
She reached out and pulled me forward gently, letting my forehead rest against her shoulder.
No lecture.
No explanation.
Just warmth.
We sat like that for a long time.
The Aura Mirror lay quiet.
But its reflection had changed.
Because even if I didn't know what I was?
I knew who I wanted to be.
And somehow… that still mattered.