Page 68 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

“Maybe that’s enough for today.” Raiden started forward, unfurling from his post by the windows.

“No!” Kora barked, as she pushed against Aryn’s weight. “I need . . .” she darted around Aryn, her leg sweeping to catch his, “to be stronger! I’m going to get him this time!”

Aryn jumped, and Kora flailed as her leg met air. Before she knew what was happening, Aryn became a blur, his speed increasing as he appeared behind her within a blink, holding a dagger to her throat.

“You’re fighting enemies with powers now, Kora. Mages with strength, or speed. Some may be from the illusion faction, and can bend your reality. A battle you already have from within. You need more than strength,” Aryn spoke harshly as Aerion approached from the weaponry wall.

“Oh, and which faction do you fall under?” Kora pried his arm away from her neck.

Aerion had discovered an old tome from his collection about the history of Devanian magic a few nights ago, and her throat had closed as she’d instantly recognised it. The same golden, embossed letters, the same iron-covered corners. Except this leather-bound tome was an iridescent grey compared to the blue and green ones from beneath Agatha’s floorboards in the Silvermaid’s Emporium.

As per her previous teachings, the mage system had indeed been split into five factions, but from the little Devanian language Kora knew, she’d only grasped a light understanding from Aerion’s book. Each one called a magoire, and only four existed in this world. How Agatha had two was beyond Kora’s comprehension, and something she wished she could ask her wise old friend.

“It’s best if no one knows,” Aryn replied as Raiden stepped into the ring, his stony face setting Kora on edge.

“Are factions supposed to be secret?”

From what she’d gathered, the physical faction was pretty straight forward. Heightened strength and speed, rivalling that of the gods. It explained the Flint twins, and how they’d overpowered her crew. There were some indications towards advanced agility, and potential manipulation of weapons, but the scripture had become too complicated for her to comprehend. Even Aerion’s understanding of the language didn’t stretch far enough to help.

“No, it’s a mage’s choice,” Raiden answered. “There’d once been a dispute between factions, back when the gods still ruled the lands. Early days of Devania. Mages had once lived peacefully, but rulers at that time wanted to seek out whose power had potential, who could be overthrown, who could best them in a war. Borders were drawn, and the elementals had to work together to achieve unity. It’s better to see all magic as equal, rather than who fits in which box. Those borders are now the noble’s territories.”

Shock rippled through Kora. These islands were infused with such history, and Barron and the empire had simply built on top of it, erasing the past as best they could. It felt wholly familiar.

“But elementals are the most powerful?” Kora supplied.

“They used to be.” Raiden’s gaze darkened, sliding to Aryn briefly. “Until Barron showed up.”

Aerion appeared next to Aryn. “Personally, I think the divine faction is the most powerful. Having the ability to manipulate life and death tops creating some wind. Anyone can do that if they eat enough cabbage.”

Aryn’s nose wrinkled. “The scriptures on the divine are lost, no one knows the full extent of their abilities. No one has met a divine since the early years of the Devanian Conquest. The Stagharts targeted them first.”

Kora’s mouth soured. Such cruel injustice. Such cold hearts that reigned. But not all of them were cold . . . there was at least one decent royal.

“Theron must be in the physical faction.” Kora’s thoughts raced. “It’s the easiest to hide, and he was skilled in the desert. Someone in his family must’ve hidden their power.”

Raiden shook his head. “He’s in illusion.” He dragged his fingers under his dimmer-than-usual eyes. “Those black veins around his eyes are a sign of magical fatigue commonly known with the illusions.”

Kora was at a loss for words. Theron . . . an illusion. She was learning so much in the short time she’d been in Mistros City. The abundance of Devanian history and magical knowledge astounded her after a decade of it being feared and outlawed.

The illusion faction was also shrouded in mystery, much like the Mist. The scripture from Aerion had torn pages, as though someone had gone through it and removed certain passages. All she knew so far was that illusions had a mental gift, they could manipulate what others could see, as well as their mind, some even as far as being able to see the truth. Peeling back the layers of their victim’s skin to see everything they tried to hide.

It would explain what was happening in her mind, if Raiden believed Barron possessed a touch of illusion.

“Theron never displayed such a gift,” Kora mumbled, her body aching from sparring.

“Illusions are the hardest to detect,” Aerion added. “Their only giveaway are their eyes, and it takes great feats of magic to cause it. Like Leto. His eyes mimic his power.”

Was Aryn an illusion? His eyes glowed when his power was used. But he’d just used speed to surprise her, meaning he had to be in physical? Kora internally groaned for not reading Agatha’s tomes. Perhaps they had more answers. They were hidden away in her chamber somewhere in Aldara, lost to Barron’s army. Her pulse spiked as she pictured her previously safe space invaded by him, tainted by his touch.

“I have two magoires back . . . home. What if Barron finds them?”

“Where did you get two magoires?” Raiden stepped forward.

Kora stiffened, blinking quickly to stop the images of Agatha’s blood coating Raiden. He hadn’t shaved recently, and a dark beard coated his jaw, flecked with silver hairs.

“None of your business,” she retorted.

“It’s my business if Barron has two magoires.”