Shit.
“Steady,” Noa murmurs, his hand firm over mine as the water quivers, his gold heat caging my tide. “Don’t try to fight it, Cel. Guide it.”
Smoke curls sharp against my face as the fire goes out, and my chest seizes. Because in my head, it isn’t just a candle I’ve drowned—it’s him, smothered by my lack of control.
Right now, I can barely fill the bowl halfway on my own before the flame dies by an errant splash. But I keep practicing. Centering myself. Determined to prove to him that I can do this—even when the temptation of him makes me want to lose control entirely.
To distract me from my failures, Noa takes me to some of hisfavorite spots around campus: a picnic in a secluded bay by the lake, a hike through the winding trails of the Mirewyn Mountains, a secret party in the lantern-lit clearing of Ashfen Grove. It feels like our own little world—removed, suspended in time.
But by Sunday night the spell breaks and reality creeps in. I slip back to my dorm with Noa’s taste still on my mouth and a knot in my stomach—because tomorrow, Whittaker will ask me to prove I belong.
CHAPTER 9
Magick, like history itself, is never static. It evolves with the ambitions of those who wield it.
—A History of Magick, Vol. I
Monday arrives with a bite in the air. Whittaker feels sharpened, like a knife waiting for fresh blood. Around me, the campus buzzes with the bright, nervous energy of a new term.
I should feel intimidated, being around so many Magicks who have been practicing with their element for years. But instead, I just feel… ready.
I put on my uniform and walk with the rest of my squad as we make our way to the tall cream-colored building I saw during orientation. History of Magick is our first class, held on the ground floor of the Logistics building.
The auditorium unfolds in a graceful half-circle, with ten ascending rows of polished wooden chairs, each cushioned in deep-maroon fabric. Light filters in through high archedwindows, catching on the soft sheen of the lacquered floors and casting long shadows across the room. At its center, a modest stage rises just high enough to command attention without overpowering the space.
Professor Ella Straits looks like someone who does not like to dabble in theory and only enjoys cold, hard facts. Her short black hair curls just above her shoulders. Thick black-rimmed glasses balance precariously on a too-pointed nose that makes her look more like a hawk than a person. She taps a pen on the podium before directing our attention behind her.
A suspended projection screen loops through the centuries—a living timeline of magickal history counting down in slow, luminous increments.
“Welcome,” she says, her voice sharp enough to slice through the remaining whispers, “to your first History of Magick class.”
The room quiets instantly.
“Most of what you will learn in this course is common knowledge. The Primordial Shattering—when power first fractured into elemental strains. The classification of the elements. The moment humanity learned to harness those forces in service of society.”
Her gaze sweeps the rows—and pins a Blue Squad first-year caught mid-yawn.
The student jerks and tries to cover her mouth with her textbook.
Professor Straits doesn’t raise her voice. She simply stops speaking. And somehow that makes it worse.
The silence stretches until it becomes a weight on everyone’s tongue.
“Miss…?” Straits says at last, glancing down at her roster.
The girl swallows. “Eva Mitchel. Ma’am.”
“Miss Mitchel,” Straits says, voice devoid of emotion. “Can you please tell us what year the Shattering is commonly dated?”
Eva freezes. Her eyes flick wildly to the screen, to her notes,to her neighbors—who suddenly become very invested in not knowing her.
“I—” she starts.
Straits taps her pen once. The screen scrolls back to the top, the date hovering there like a trap. Eva has the self-preservation to at least duck her head as her cheeks blaze.
Straits’s mouth doesn’t change. Not quite a smile. Not quite a frown. “Perhaps, one’s time is better spent getting a good night’s sleep so that one can actuallypay attentionin class.” She raises one thin dark brow at Eva before returning to the lesson in a steady monotone.
She leads us through a quick recap of current magick powers and their somewhat contested histories. The Service, Europe’s Krovya, and the smaller foreign organizations that orbit them. The timeline behind her begins to move again.
