Page 40 of The Blood Rites

Broken. I want the word out of my head.

I wipe the sweat from my face and force myself upright, fumbling for my uniform. The fabric feels too tight today, as if I’ve outgrown it overnight.

As I dress, I catch a flash of myself in the polished metal plate by the door. The X from the Choosing is long gone, scrubbed away, but my face looks different, my eyes look too bright and my mouth is pinched as though smiling is a fading memory. I don’t recognise myself.

“What are you?” I mutter to the reflection.

It just stares back, empty.

I pull open the door, desperate to escape the question’s weight. The crack in the ceiling follows me all the same.

A warning.

I am not safe here.

The Dome is already alive with chatter by the time I arrive, Mana humming through the air in restless waves. Marissa is already there, sitting on a bench near the wall, hugging her knees as she watches Callen work through a set of practice swings on a dummy.

I walk in quietly, my boots soft against the stone. Marissa spots me first, waving me over with tired eyes and a nervous smile. Callen stops his swings and wipes the sweat from his brow. His face is set in the same grim concentration I've seen ever since the Choosing.

I slip onto the bench beside Marissa. She reaches for my hand, squeezing gently, and a faint scent of lavender follows the movement. She trembles slightly. Not as much as before, but the quiver is still present.

“Did you manage to sleep any?” she whispers. “You disappeared yesterday, and I was worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t be worrying about me,” I say. “But yes, barely. What about you?”

She shrugs, tucking her chin. “A little. But I see so many memories while I sleep here. It scares me.”

Callen glances over. “Are we training today, or are we just going to talk?” he asks, eyeing me before handing me a sword.

I shake my head. “I don’t think a sword is going to help. We need to channel shields.” I keep my voice low.

Marissa looks sheepish, though hope flickers in her eyes. Callen shrugs but nods, drying his hands on his uniform.

“Have either of you been able to channel anything?” I ask. “Even something small?”

Marissa shakes her head. Callen frowns. “Not really,” he says. “The bands always smothered it. I can feel something there now, but...” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to reach it.”

“Same,” I lie. “I used to watch the Senior Wardens train.”

I mimic the motion—hands at my sides, drawing them up as I inhale, then pressing my palms outwards as if pushing away an invisible wall.

“It always looked like breathing to me. Like pulling something up from deep inside yourself.”

Marissa watches in earnest, then copies the motion. Her hands shake with nerves.

“Now, close your eyes and breathe in deep,” I say. “Imagine the light beneath your skin.”

Callen’s expression tightens, while Marissa purses her lips, frustrated.

“Good,” I say. “Now push it outwards.”

For a moment, the only sound is breathing.

Then, a faint golden shimmer appears in front of Callen’s hands—a thin, translucent film, barely visible but still there. It flickers, then disappears.

Callen opens his eyes, stunned. “Was that—? Did I do it?”

I nod.