Long rows of bleached wood desks with matching chairs take up the bottom floor of the house. In front of each student stands two glass cups, one empty and the other full of water.
“We start simple today.” Her voice is melodic, like the sound of a river moving over stones. “Move the water from one cup to the other without spilling a drop,” she commands. “Second-years, this should be review from last year, but a good way to wake up your magick if you haven’t been practicing over summer.” Her pale eyes sweep across the classroom as more than a few students look down at their desks. “You may begin.”
Okay,I think.This is easy. Just focus, Celeste.
Gavrail’s face instantly comes to my mind.“See, it’s just like breathing, Cel. The water? It’s an extension of you. You and it are the same. See what you want in your mind, then make it happen.”
The water in the cup starts to tremble and a thin stream of it stretches out from the glass, reaching toward the empty one as if in question. Waiting for me.
Okay.Nowmove,I tell it.
Crashes of glass sound all around me as students scramble away from their desks, stepping over broken shards and slipping on the now-spilled water that’s pooling across the classroom floor.
A boy in the row behind me was crossing the aisle when mymagick flared. I wince as I watch his heel skid and see him go down—hard. There’s a sharp hiss of pain as his palm slices open on a jagged shard of glass. Crimson blooms bright, carried outward by the water in silent streams.
Shit.Not the impression I wanted to make. I casually knock over my glass so that it can join all the others in their sad, broken forms. I feign a look of surprise to Nate on my left so as not to draw attention to myself.
Professor Neris raises a single eyebrow, her expression unreadable. With a flick of her fingers, she calls the scattered water to gracefully sweep up the broken crystal, collecting it all into a waiting bucket at the edge of the room. She calls the injured student forward, inspecting his palm. “It’s not too deep. But it will need tending.” She waves to the door. “Head to Madame Ching at the infirmary.”
The boy cradles his bleeding hand against his chest and slips out of the room, his shoes squeaking on the damp floor. The door shuts with a hollow click. The sound reverberates in me longer than it should.
Professor Neris watches him leave before her eyes focus on me, lingering a heartbeat too long. “We are teaching precision here,” she says, her voice cool and crisp. “Not party tricks.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. The guilt pools deeper than the spilled water. I glance toward the boy’s now-empty seat.My fault.The words land heavy in my chest as I send a silent apology his way, but I keep my focus on my desk.
Neris hands out more glasses and pitchers of water. By the end of class, I have mastered the task. The water obeys—smooth, clean, controlled—but my head throbs from the effort of concentrating so hard.
I need to learn better control.
My power is now too tangled in warnings and restraint. With Gavrail, my magick used to be pure instinct and surrender. Now it feels like walking a tightrope over water—onemisstep, and I’m drowning. Every moment demands discipline. Precision. It’s a constant balancing act—holding the line between focus and flooding, control versus complete and utter chaos.
My father’s fears and Gavrail’s warnings echo in my head as I leave the classroom.
Professor Neris’s pale eyes follow me—too sharply to be merely coincidence. But all I keep seeing is the water I spilled, dragging the blood after it like a trophy it wanted to keep.
CHAPTER 14
Mastery may tame the flame, but never its nature. Sooner or later, all fire consumes.
—Elemental Mastery IV: The Covenant of Fire
The rest of the month goes by uneventfully for the most part, at least by Whittaker standards.
We nearly lost a Black Squad fire-wielder during the third week of classes. His attempt at fire basics backfired—literally—and the blast left his face and hands raw enough that his parents brought him home to recover. A second-year lost three toes in Elemental Dueling after his earth-wielding opponent dropped a boulder on his foot during a counterstrike.
My birthday passes at the end of September—I turn twenty-three, which feels both too old and not old enough for everything I’ve been through this past year. I haven’t told anyone in my squad—or Noa. I’m not big on birthdays and try not to draw attention to it. I celebrate it quietly with a phone call to my mom and an extra dessert from the mess hall that night.
Aside from the expected weekly run-ins with Stella during Potions—where she never misses a chance to roll her eyes or make a passive-aggressive comment about my work—she hasn’t challenged me on the sparring mat again. Whether that is her decision or someone else’s, I don’t know. And I don’t care enough to ask.
My control is improving. I can execute nearly every elemental task without flinching now. But I’m careful. I watch the others. Measure myself against them—not too fast, not too much. I’ve learned how to sand down the edges of my ability so it doesn’t cut too deep.
Because I’m quickly learning that attention at Whittaker is like currency, and I can’t afford to be expensive.
There was a time before all this when magick came to me as easily as breathing. When wonder was instinct and power wasn’t something to fear.
But now… I feel like a firehose learning how to turn on just a trickle. Or a volcano trying to simmer instead of erupt. Every drop feels like a battleground, every pulse a negotiation. It’s not just control I need.
It’s trust.
