I found myself standing in Hana's kitchen.

  Morning sunlight washed the small space in golden light, shimmering almost unnaturally on the mismatched mugs and plates, the jars of spices, the kitchen utensils, and the flower vase on the table.

  And right in the middle of that idyllic scene—a short woman with wavy chocolate hair, tied loosely at the base of her neck.

  I didn't recognize her. She didn't have Mariel's curly hair or build. Didn't resemble Hana in any way. The woman didn't turn around, too focused on stirring something that smelled divine in a simmering pot.

  I stepped closer. Nothing about the woman seemed threatening. Quite the opposite. I felt drawn toward the stranger. The closer I got, the clearer a soft humming reached my ears.

  Tears filled my wide eyes as soon as I recognized the song. Soft, like a lullaby. I couldn't remember the words, but that melody had accompanied me often as a child. Bringing comfort and peace like a blanket. Faint memories resurfaced with that soft humming—gentle fingers caressing my hair, butterfly kisses landing softly on my nose and cheeks, a pair of warm arms cradling me. A sob formed in my chest.

  I forced my wobbly legs to move closer, chills covering my arms.

  "Mama?" My voice cracked.

  The woman turned with raised eyebrows. As soon as her gaze fell on me, she beamed. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Radiant.

  "Alya!" She looked delighted to see me. Joy lit her face with a tenderness that pulled at my heart.

  My eyes darted around the room, trying to make sense of the impossible.

  But did it need to make sense?

  I rushed toward my mother, yearning to hug her. To cling and never let go. To tell her all the things I'd been longing to share, to try and explain how much I missed her, to just stare at her in silence, tattooing her lovely face into my memory.

  But before I could reach her, a booming sound shook the house.

  I turned just in time to see shadowed figures flooding the small space, swallowing the light as they advanced shouting. Their heavy footsteps pounding like war drums.

  My head snapped toward my mother, only to see with horror she was being grabbed by the violent creatures.

  I lunged forward, my arms outstretched toward her—but my feet were glued to the floor.

  "Ma!" I screeched, reaching, straining, gasping with effort and terror.

  The figures dragged her into the darkness, leaving chaos and cold behind.

  I continued thrashing against the force nailing my feet to the ground.

  "No! No!" I howled. "Mama!"

  I jerked awake with a sharp inhale.

  My heart hammered against my ribs. Too fast, too loud.

  Faint light pressed weakly against the curtains. Not quite morning but no longer night.

  Long enough before sunrise that the world felt suspended, holding its breath with me.

  My cheeks were wet.

  I touched them slowly, as if the tears might not be real.

  I hadn't cried in my sleep since the days after my mother's death. When I'd been brought to the manor, small and overwhelmed with grief, hoping someone might notice the way I trembled into the night. That someone would comfort me when I cried.

  No one had then.

  And no one would now.

  I wiped my tears away with the heel of my palm. Once, firmly. Leaving my face cold but dry.

  The ache in my chest lingered, raw and familiar, but I pushed air into my lungs until it no longer stole my breath.

  I wasn't a child anymore.

  I didn't need anyone to comfort me.

  I slid out of bed. The floor chilled my feet as I crossed to the tea table and poured myself a glass of water.

  The coolness steadied me, helping seal away the lingering tremor in my hands.

  Another breath. Then another.

  Little by little, the shaking inside me quieted.

  The nightmare receded. Not forgotten but placed neatly where it could no longer trip me.

  My expression settled into composure, smooth and controlled. The version of myself I'd require to get my freedom.

  And then I began my morning.

  When I entered the training hall, the sun was already shining through the window.

  Valdosta was already waiting, arms crossed, posture severe but... normal.

  He did not inquire about my absence.

  "We continue."

  And so we did.

  Shockwave crest training left my arms aching and sweat stinging my eyes. But I forced my focus to sharpen. My thoughts didn't wander—not toward Hana, who was safe with her mother; not toward my family, nor the nightmare still echoing in my bones.

  By the fifth attempt, I dismantled the crest with clean precision.

  Valdosta's approving nod was minuscule, but I always caught them.

  "We'll continue tomorrow." He dismissed me, already turning away to reset the runic markers for our next session.

  I nodded, catching my breath.

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  I'd noticed the pattern—he never dismissed me until he was satisfied with the result. In the beginning, when I could barely hold a shockwave without flinching, he kept me in the training hall, or the woodlands, well past sunset. Drilling me until my arms trembled and my eyes burned.

  But lately...

  Lately I was being dismissed by early evening.

  A small, quiet triumph warmed my chest.

  I dipped my head in a respectful bow, the movement steady despite the ache running through my shoulders.

  "Until tomorrow, Magister."

  Valdosta only grunted—a sign, I'd learned, not of displeasure but of approval—before vanishing behind a wall of shifting runes.

  My steps were lighter despite the ache in my muscles.

  Progress was progress.

  And I'd need every scrap of it.

  I stopped before the corridor that would take me to my room.

  I pondered for a second before turning and walking toward Father's study, hoping I'd find him there.

  If I wanted an advantage in this house, I'd have to carve it out myself.

  I knocked twice on the tall double doors and waited.

  The soft hum of magic unlocked the door from inside.

  "Enter."

  I waited until the doors opened fully, taking that time to straighten my posture.

  Father's study greeted me with its familiar, curated coldness—the gleam of polished wood, the perfectly spaced books, the faint scent of cedar. Father sat at his desk, pen poised above a document, though he wasn't writing. He looked up only when the door clicked shut behind me.

  "Alya." His voice revealed no surprise at finding me standing there. "I assume your training has concluded for the day."

  "Yes, Father." Obviously.

  His eyes flicked briefly over my appearance—sweat-damp hair at my temples, the faint redness on my knuckles from repeated shockwave guards.

  He said nothing about it.

  "What do you need?"

  I swallowed, clasping my hands neatly behind my back.

  "I'd like access to your private library, Father."

  That got a reaction. Small, but unmistakable. His eyes narrowed slightly.

  "For what purpose?"

  "For studying protection runes and theory advancements in crest manipulation. My training with Magister Valdosta would greatly benefit from it. I intend to improve."

  Father leaned back in his chair, the black leather creaking softly.

  "You've never requested access before."

  I hardly request anything, Father.

  "I've never needed it until now. My... failure made me realize I must train harder. Gain more knowledge."

  His eyes didn't lose the suspicion.

  "Why?" He pressed.

  My mind rushed for a plausible motive.

  "I saw how outnumbered we are outside the manor. It's clear I need competence, not only appearances."

  Silence stretched between us. I kept my gaze steady.

  At last, Father set down the silver fountain pen with slow precision.

  "Very well. You may use the library."

  I swallowed the sigh of relief threatening to escape.

  "Thank you, Father."

  He closed the ledger before him, aligning its edges with the corner of the desk blotter. "I'll inform the staff and send you the key."

  I bowed my head and waited for his dismissal. It came with a quiet, "You may go."

  Two days later, as I was descending the grand staircase on my way to the training hall, I stopped short.

  Magister Valdosta was waiting at the bottom of the steps, checking the clock on his wrist with a slight scowl that made the wrinkles between his eyebrows appear deeper.

  He raised his eyes when he heard my steps approaching.

  "I've been informed that you requested training in healing magic."

  I stiffened. I wasn't sure how he'd take it—offended? Irritated? As if I were abandoning his discipline?

  I opened my mouth to explain. "Magister, I only meant to—"

  "Smart." Valdosta interrupted.

  I blinked and closed my mouth.

  He tilted his head a fraction, his version of a pleased expression. "If you expect to excel in combat wards or crest manipulation, you'll need grounding in life-essence balance. Most students only realize this after they've blown something up."

  I tried very hard not to show how relieved I was.

  "I... thank you, Magister."

  "Mm." He gestured for me to walk beside him.

  "Follow me. I'll introduce you to Magister Crowold."

  We strode through the hallways, marble echoing beneath our steps. Valdosta glanced my way as we turned around a corner.

  "You may consider your healing-magic days... break days."

  I blinked, amused. "Break days?"

  Valdosta's lips twitched into the ghost of a smile.

  "Compared to me, everyone is a break."

  I couldn't help the small smile that stretched my lips. "I see."

  He led me to a smaller annex of the training wing—a room I'd never entered before.

  When Valdosta opened the door, a wave of herbal scent washed over me: mint, juniper, and something sharp, like crushed minerals.

  Magister Crowold whirled toward us as soon as he heard us entering.

  A tall, bony man with white textured hair and a drooping mustache that somehow made him look perpetually worried.

  He looked older than Grandfather, but his hazel eyes shone behind his large round glasses in a way Grandfather's never could.

  "Ah! Lady Velmire!" His voice carried the enthusiasm of someone who did not realize mornings existed. "A pleasure, an honor, a delight. Magister Alfard Crowold, at your service."

  I bowed my head in respect, analyzing the man and the materials on the table before me.

  I reached for a silver liquid inside a bowl.

  "Oh, don't touch that, it's corrosive."

  My eyes snapped to him, my hand jerking away from the table. Why would they need corrosive liquid for a healing lesson?

  He beamed. "Splendid reflexes."

  Valdosta, who had stayed silent beside me, pinched the bridge of his nose, gave me a brief look, and left without a word.

  Crowold watched Valdosta leave, then exhaled with exaggerated relief. "I swear he siphons warmth out of a room. A fascinating man. Terrifying. I like him."

  I wasn't sure how to answer, so I simply inclined my head.

  Magister Crowold clapped his hands together, startling a small cloud of glowing dust from a shelf of gemstones.

  "Now! Lady Velmire, before we begin—have you any experience with biomantic manipulation?"

  "Like the one used to stabilize a high fever?"

  He nodded enthusiastically.

  "I've... received it. I don't know how to perform it. I only know thermoregulation on objects. I don't know if the same principle is applied to living beings."

  "Oh, no. Not at all," he replied with a smile, "unless you want to set your patient on fire. Let's start with the basics. Healing magic is not glamorous. Mostly it is anatomy, discipline, and trying not to explode the patient."

  I inhaled. "...explode?"

  "Figuratively! Mostly. Rarely. Extremely rarely. In theory."

  I stared.

  "You'll do wonderfully."

  He moved quickly—faster than I thought possible for someone his age—gathering items from the nearby table: a bowl of enchanted water, three polished stones, and a tiny figurine shaped like a person.

  He placed the figurine at the center of the table with great solemnity.

  "For today, we heal her."

  "A figurine?" My eyebrow rose.

  "Of course, the figurine!" Crowold gasped. "I'm not giving a human being to a beginner. I value my life." He added in a lower voice, "And my freedom."

  He tapped the figurine. It glowed faintly red.

  "This is an advanced piece of technology and magic! She's been created to work and react to magic the same way a human being would. In my time, we'd use toads and rabbits to do it... But she works just as well."

  He pointed to it.

  "Before we get to the fun part, Lady Velmire, we must discuss theory."

  He snatched a stick of charcoal and drew a quick diagram on the slate board behind him: a simple human silhouette with swirling lines drawn across it like currents.

  "This," he declared, tapping the chalky figure, "is the etheric flow network. Every living being has one—mage, non-mage, even cats. Though cats are very rude about letting us study theirs."

  I very nearly smiled.

  "Healing magic does not force the body to mend. Forcing causes backlash—overheating, ruptures, fainting, or in the worst case, a loud messy boom followed by paperwork."

  He shuddered at the last part. I wondered if the problem for him was the boom or the paperwork.

  "Instead, you coax the flow. Gently. You guide warmth, not heat—" He raised his eyebrows.

  "Back to where the body has grown cold from injury, fear, or exhaustion. Think of it like..." He frowned, searching for a comparison. "Like nudging a shy pet toward its food bowl. Patient. Encouraging. No shoving."

  I nodded slowly. "So I'm not healing the injury directly. I'm... restoring balance so the body can begin by itself?"

  Crowold nearly vibrated with delight. "YES! Exactly! A natural intuitive mind—Valdosta did not exaggerate."

  I flushed faintly. "I don't think he ever said that."

  "Oh, not aloud." He inclined his head toward me, as if about to share a secret. "He expresses admiration by not frowning at someone for more than three seconds."

  I huffed in amusement.

  Crowold straightened, pleased.

  "Now—" He pointed at the figurine. "Your task is to stabilize Luciel here. She has a minor etheric imbalance, hypothetically caused by emotional stress or overexertion. Your task is to stabilize her locus and restore proper warmth flow. Controlled warmth," he added, "not the stew-boiling catastrophe most apprentices attempt."

  I bit the inside of my cheek. "I'll... do my best."

  "Splendid! Begin."

  I wasn't sure I had enough information to begin...

  I held my hands over the figurine, in the same manner I'd seen medics do on me or Hana, letting my magic pick up the etheric flow. Strangely, what I noticed right away was the faint hum of energy the doll had been imbued with.

  Instinctively, I began to match my energy, preparing for extraction.

  No, not that.

  I closed my eyes and searched. I'd ask Magister Valdosta what the difference was between the energy he'd taught me to absorb and manipulate, and this etheric flow.

  I sighed but kept trying. I would not accept failure.

  I heard a soft sound like scratching nearby. I opened my eyes just as Crowold was lowering his hand from his messy hair.

  "Oh, keep trying, I'm sure you'll get there!"

  I closed my eyes again and focused. "What am I looking for?"

  "Ah... a river. A very calm river."

  I frowned and looked for the damn river.

  After what felt like my tenth sigh, I felt it. Faintly, but it was there. Where energy hummed with power and rhythm, etheric flow was indeed a calm river. I pushed a light stream of my magic into the doll—

  And jerked my hand away to avoid getting burned.

  "I barely touched it!" I stared at the red flames, astonished.

  "Oh, it's alright! Totally normal! That's why I kept the water nearby!" He used a pair of pliers to pick up the burning doll and drop it in the water bowl.

  "It's... it wasn't enchanted water?"

  Magister Crowold turned to look at me with raised eyebrows.

  "It's just water. Better to keep safety measures. But good job! Better too much than too little. When learning, that is. Not with a patient. Never with a patient!"

  I stared at him, dumbfounded.

  "It shows enthusiasm, spirit!" He insisted.

  On the second attempt, the figurine slipped off the table. I caught it mid-air.

  "Reflexes! Praise the ancients!"

  I struggled not to glare at the man.

  By my seventh attempt, I'd given up on trying to keep my frustration from my face.

  My hands hovered over the figurine, whose neutral expression at this point seemed to be mocking me.

  I turned to look at Magister Crowold, exasperated.

  "Well, your lack of natural compatibility with this discipline is... extraordinary." He nodded, sounding more fascinated than critical.

  My eyes doubled in size.

  "But worry not!" He scurried to pick a book from a small brown carrier bag on a chair. "This! This is a great book for beginners."

  He handed me a heavy blue book. I studied it. The title read: Principles of Etheric Restoration: A Foundational Guide.

  "How about you begin by getting a better understanding of the theory behind it, and then we move to the fun part?"

  I sighed and nodded. I wouldn't count this as defeat. I intended to read the whole book in one night, if necessary.

  By the time I closed the door behind me in my room, I felt tired.

  Not physically, but the weight of my future felt heavy on my shoulders.

  Ahead of me awaited a much longer road than I'd anticipated.

  Still, I opened the book.