Chapter 28

  The Fire Behind Her Eyes

  The sun rose somewhere above the world, spilling light across the lava pits of Alsamar—though Freya would never have known it. Down here, daylight was a rumour. Only a thin beam slipped through the cave roof, just enough to kiss the little patch of green Blanche coaxed into life. The rest of the cavern lived in heat and shadow, the air forever warm and metallic, the lava’s glow painting everything in restless orange.

  Blanche knocked on Freya’s door.

  “Morning, Freya. Training begins today.”

  She eased the door open, expecting to see a sleepy girl tangled in blankets, staff propped nearby like a faithful companion.

  The room was empty.

  For a heartbeat Blanche simply stood there, staring, the quiet suddenly too loud. Then panic bit sharp at her ribs.

  “Freya?”

  No answer.

  Blanche moved quickly down the narrow steps, the stone cold beneath her bare feet despite the heat rising from below. She checked the kitchen—empty. The mugs sat untouched. The little hearth was cold.

  “Freya??!!”

  Blanche crossed to the window and looked out into the cavern.

  A large blue dome glowed in the dark like a second moon.

  Blanche’s breath caught. She shoved the door open and stepped outside, the warmth of the cave wrapping around her, and hurried toward the light. Freya stood beneath the dome, staff raised, jaw clenched, her hair damp with sweat. The force field trembled—holding, but only just—its surface rippling as if the air itself pressed back.

  Blanche slowed as she neared, voice gentler now.

  “Good morning, Freya. Already training without me?”

  Freya’s shoulders dropped like she’d been carrying a mountain. She lowered the staff and the dome flickered… then collapsed in a soft shimmer, dissolving into nothing. Freya sank to the ground with it, sitting hard, staring at the staff in her lap as if it had betrayed her.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “I kept thinking about yesterday… and failing you.”

  Blanche studied her, then nodded slowly, as if recognising a familiar bruise.

  “You know I wasn’t born with these powers either?”

  Freya’s grip tightened around the staff. “No… I know.”

  A pause hung between them, heavy, but not cruel.

  “Soooo,” Blanche said, forcing a brightness into her tone, clapping her hands once like a curtain call. “Let’s get training. Let’s start with what you can do.”

  Freya inhaled. Something steadied in her face, determination hardening like cooling stone.

  “Okay. I’m ready.” She stood, planting her boots on the cave floor, staff in hand. Her eyes lifted to Blanche. “Let’s do this.”

  Blanche raised her hands and whispered a spell.

  Five Shoven spirits appeared—blue shapes wrapped in white, whip-like light. They moved with the same heavy menace as the real thing, shoulders hunched, heads tilted, as if even a phantom could hate. Their steps made no sound, but Freya felt them all the same, like pressure in the air.

  Freya braced.

  The crystal atop her staff began to glow, deep red at first, then brighter, as flames gathered around it as though drawn into a vortex. The fire didn’t appear so much as arrive, hungry and eager, swirling in tight spirals until the crystal shone like a coal fresh from the forge.

  She thrust the staff forward.

  An almighty fireball tore out of the tip and slammed into the nearest spirit.

  The phantom shattered into nothingness.

  Freya didn’t pause to admire it. She lifted the staff overhead and drew in a breath.

  Above her, a small storm cloud formed, dark and compact, crackling with contained violence. Lightning lanced down, striking the staff and running through it in bright veins. The runes along the shaft flared blue, pulsing like a heartbeat.

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  Freya tore the staff downward and snapped it forward.

  Bolts of lightning crackled along the runes, surged into the crystal, and exploded out, striking another spirit squarely.

  It dissolved.

  Freya pivoted, slammed the base of her staff into the ground.

  The cave floor cracked with a sharp crunch. Lumps of earth broke loose, and with a curl of her fingers Freya lifted the rocks as if they weighed nothing. They hovered for a split second, then she flung them across the cavern.

  Stone struck spirit.

  A third phantom burst apart in flickering blue mist.

  Freya’s breath hitched. She swayed, then dropped into a heap, drained so suddenly it was like someone had pulled the plug on her body. The staff clattered beside her.

  Blanche clicked her fingers. The remaining spirits vanished at once, the cave returning to its uneasy quiet.

  “Very good, Freya,” Blanche said, clapping softly. “For someone untrained… you have some strong abilities.”

  Freya looked up, chest rising and falling fast. A smile tugged at her mouth, small, proud, relieved. She’d missed this feeling. Magic was terrifying, yes, but it was also alive. It made her feel bright inside, like she could burn away the world’s fear if she just tried hard enough.

  She pushed herself upright, turning to Blanche with eyes shining.

  “Bring the spirits back,” Freya said. “I can do more.”

  Blanche hesitated only a fraction, then nodded. She had seen that fire before—behind her own eyes, years ago—when power felt like purpose.

  The five spirits returned, trudging forward, menacing and silent.

  Freya raised her staff.

  The crystal changed colour, shifting from red to a clean, harsh white.

  The temperature plummeted.

  Even Blanche felt it, sudden and biting. Breath fogged in front of her face. Ice crystals crawled along the crystal’s surface, blooming in jagged patterns like frost on glass.

  Freya snapped the staff forward.

  Shards of ice screamed through the air and struck every single spirit at once. The phantoms shattered in a spray of blue light, gone before they even had time to reach her.

  Freya’s face lit with something fierce.

  “Again!” she shouted.

  Blanche’s hands rose, spell forming. Five more spirits appeared.

  Freya spun her staff in a circle, dragging its tip along the floor.

  Green life tore up from the stone, vines, thick and twisting, impossibly alive in a place of lava and heat. They wrapped around Freya’s waist, lifting her up as if the cave itself wanted her elevated. The vines wound around her staff, then lashed outward like whips, snapping across the cavern.

  Each spirit was struck.

  Each spirit perished.

  Freya landed lightly, barely seeming to notice the exhaustion creeping at her edges.

  “More!!”

  Blanche’s stomach tightened.

  Still, she obeyed.

  Five more spirits appeared.

  Freya didn’t even wait for them to move. Her staff glowed, red-hot now, flames spiralling inward as if sucked into the crystal. She stepped forward, hunger in her expression.

  “Are you sure?” Blanche asked, voice cautious. “Freya—”

  “Don't stop!!!” Freya snapped her head toward Blanche.

  Her eyes were glowing red.

  Not reflecting fire.

  Holding it.

  Blanche felt the shift instantly, the subtle wrongness in the air, like a storm changing direction.

  “No,” Blanche said, firmer now. “You are losing yourself.”

  Freya stared at her, eyes like burning stones, and took a step forward.

  “No, I am not finished!!!” she yelled, voice raw, staff ready, glowing, flames coiling as if eager to devour.

  Blanche didn’t move back.

  “I think that’s enough training for one day,” she said calmly, though her heart thudded hard. Calm was a weapon too.

  She reached her arm out.

  Her staff appeared in her hand as if pulled from thin air, solid and familiar. Its crystal glowed red as well, heat radiating from it in warning.

  “I think, Freya,” Blanche repeated, voice low but absolute, “that is enough training for one day.”

  Freya kept marching, like something else wore her body now.

  Blanche struck. The crack of staff against ribs echoed through the cavern.

  Her staff hit Freya with a clean, controlled force, enough to send her flying without breaking her. Freya crashed back, skidded, then sprang up with a snarl.

  She charged.

  A massive ball of flame roared from her staff, bright enough to bleach the shadows from the walls.

  Blanche generated a shield in an instant, a shimmering barrier that caught the fireball and deflected it sideways. Heat washed over them, the lava below answering with an eager hiss.

  Blanche dropped the shield and retaliated without hesitation.

  She flung a giant fireball back at Freya.

  It struck true.

  Flames engulfed Freya, orange swallowing her whole.

  Freya staggered, then fell, rolling once before landing still. The red glow drained from her eyes as quickly as it had come. Her face went pale, colour leaching out like the fight had been poured from her and left behind on the floor.

  For a moment Blanche just stood there, staff raised, breathing hard.

  Then she exhaled.

  Freya’s eyes were normal again.

  Freya collapsed completely.

  Blanche hurried forward, slipping an arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her with surprising strength for someone who lived alone in a cave beneath a lava lake. Freya was limp, drained down to the bone, and Blanche felt it, the weight of power that didn’t know when to stop.

  “Well,” Blanche murmured, voice quieter now, “I think that’s enough for one day.”

  She carried Freya back inside, up the steps, into the small room. Blanche laid her carefully on the bed, pulling the blanket up over her. Freya’s face looked too still, too drained, like someone had blown out the candle inside her.

  Blanche stood over her, worry tightening her throat.

  “Maybe…” she whispered, barely audible. “Maybe they made her too strong.”

  Her eyes flicked away, haunted for a second by an old memory—another student, another moment when magic stopped being a tool and became a tide.

  “I don’t want the magic to consume her,” Blanche said softly, voice breaking just a little, “like it did to…”

  She didn’t finish the sentence.

  She simply sighed, turned away, and left Freya to rest, alone with the quiet crackle of distant lava, and the faint echo of power still lingering in the air.

  Thanks for reading!

  Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.

  If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.

  A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.

  No pressure at all though—reading the story is already huge support.

  Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?

  See you in the next chapter.

  — Matthew Cooke-Sumner