And then it all freezes.
Wind howls as Professor Stroud steps forward, eyes sharp as a knife’s edge. With a single flick of his wrist, a gale-force burst slams into Jin, sending her skidding back across the dueling arena. She braces, but the wind coils around her, tight as chains, locking her arms into place. Her body jerks, suspended in the air like a puppet caught mid-strike.
Before she can even blink, Kael strides in from the edge of the quad. His palm ignites with a low, burning roar. Flames snake outward in a controlled stream, striking the length of Jin’s metal whip. The searing heat warps and melts it instantly,droplets of liquefied steel hissing as they hit the stone beneath them.
Jin is bound. Disarmed. Held still by wind and fire.
The crowd stares—shocked into silence.
The duel is over.
Teo is finally able to draw a breath, letting out a sharp exhale, chest heaving. Blood drips in pools around him as others rush toward him to try to help.
Jin doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look sorry.
Tension spills over the watching crowd like a flood. Gavrail pushes through to Teo’s side, but Rozsen gets there first, using her jacket to try to stop the flow of blood. She murmurs something to him that I can’t hear, but I see the fear in her eyes.
“I think she broke my favorite rock shield,” Teo jokes weakly, then catches Rozsen’s eye. “But your concern makes it all worth it.”
Rozsen rolls her eyes, but her fingers linger on his cheek a moment longer than they need to. Finn watches from across the quad, stone-faced, unmoving.
As Jin disappears into the crowd, flanked by professors and still trembling with restrained fury, I realize something that sinks in my gut like a stone:
These duels aren’t just about strength.
They’re echoes—of old wars. Of buried grudges. Of legacies none of us asked for, but all of us carry.
Jin wasn’t just fighting Teo. She was fighting a past she couldn’t outrun.
And maybe… she wanted him to bleed for it.
It’s only later that Gavrail tells me why, and the knowledge settles under my skin like a splinter I can’t pull out: Jin’s parents were recruited into Krovya when she was just a little girl. She was raised by her grandmother while her parents disappeared into missions and silence. Years without a visit. Years without achoice. Krovya keeps its Magickteers on a tight leash—and their families learn to live with the scars it leaves behind.
CHAPTER 42
Not all come to watch. Some come to weave.
—Magicks and Power: The Political Structures of the Elemental World
With April’s arrival, Whittaker becomes a flurry of activity, preparing for Parents’ Week—the time of year when the esteemed parents of the student body descend upon campus, filling the air with polished smiles and eager greetings. The quad fills with students who look like they’ve never had to sprint for a bell in their lives. Faculty appear in pressed robes. Even the wards along the outer gates hum a little brighter, like the school is trying to impress.
I tell myself I’m fine. But when I’m waiting at the carriage house and the line of arriving cars begins to crawl through the gates, my palms are damp and my heartbeat feels too loud in my chest.
This is the first time my mother will get to see my world. The world that swallowed me whole the moment I stepped into Whittaker’s halls.
A black town car pulls up near the curb, tires crunching gravel.
The back door opens.
For a moment, she’s only a silhouette—then she steps out into the thin April sun and the entire campus seems to shift, like spring itself decided to take human form and walk across Whittaker’s gray stone.
“Mom,” I breathe.
Rosalind Farris turns, and her face lights up with a brilliant smile. Her dark-brown hair is pulled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She moves like rain—unhurried, inevitable, carrying a calm that makes everything around her slow down.
Her eyes meet mine. Green like a forest after a storm. And something in my chest gives, the tension snapping like a cord I didn’t realize I’d been holding all year.
“Celeste,” she says, and my name sounds like a prayer in her mouth.
