A soft knock came at her door just as the first light of Zoel's twin suns painted the ceiling gold. Arianda was already awake, Zariel curled in a silver crescent against her side. She opened the door to find Sage, his robe the color of dawn, leaning on his staff.

"Good morning, child. I trust you slept?" His eyes were kind, but they held a new focus. "Come. We'll break our fast, and I will explain the day."

She had dressed with care that morning, though she told herself it was only practicality. A tunic of soft grey linen, close at the wrists, over dark leggings that would not snag on anything. Her hair she had bound back with a strip of leather, the way her mother used to do before sitting down at the loom. The ink-stained thumb found the seam of her sleeve and traced it once, twice, as if checking that the day was real.

Sage led her through the winding streets of Zoel, past stalls just beginning to open their shutters. A woman with copper bracelets stacked to her elbows called out a greeting to him in a language Arianda did not know. He answered without slowing, his staff tapping a rhythm against the cobbles. The path curled uphill, away from the market's noise, and the buildings grew older here — stone worn smooth by centuries of hands and weather, doorways carved with symbols that reminded her, strangely, of the marks on Marlena Vance's cane.

They ate in the same quiet square, bowls of warm porridge sweetened with honey. Sage spoke between measured spoonfuls. "Your attunement is unknown. We begin with fire, as it is my specialty. I will guide you myself. After, I will take you to Balor Grimfoot, who will test for earth. It is best not to overload you." He wiped his mouth neatly. "I will collect you after. Then, we begin your true education about this world."

Sage got up and began to lead Arianda through the town. Her eyes fixated on the different fixtures on the buildings, the structural design, somewhat reminiscent of architecture from those medieval movies her older brother used to watch.

"The training halls are kept apart from the living quarters," Sage said, gesturing ahead. "Fire needs distance from the young and the careless. Earth needs weight beneath it. Water needs stillness. Air needs sky." He glanced at her. "Your attunement may not be any of these. We will learn what it is by what responds to you."

She nodded, but her eyes kept drifting to the frost-metal building rising before them like a shard of frozen night. Its surface was black and impossibly smooth, drinking the morning light. Arianda, out of habit, reached out and traced its surface with her thumb. It was ice-cold, so sharp it almost burned.

"Frost-metal," Sage said, noting her reaction. "It drinks heat. Ideal for containing the enthusiasm of new flame-wielders." He said it with the same calm he used for everything, but his staff tapped twice against the stone before he continued, a small tell she filed away.

Inside, the air changed. The hallway stretched long before them, lined with windows on either side. Behind each pane, a child no older than she worked with a dragon whelp and a stern-faced warden. The air thrummed with concentrated energy, a low vibration she felt in her teeth. In the third room, she saw Simon. He held a practice sword out before him, his brow furrowed in fierce focus. The blade's silver edge glowed a faint, cherry red.

"He learns the heating edge," Sage murmured. "Enough flame to sear through armor, not enough to melt the steel. A precise art."

“Is it difficult to do?”

“If your attuned with fire, no, though it does require focus for the precision.”

As if sensing her gaze, Simon's eyes flicked open. A wide, Cheshire grin split his face. The red glow on his blade flared wildly, and a bolt of fire shot from its tip, splashing harmlessly against the frost-metal wall behind him. His warden threw up his hands.

Sage chuckled softly. "And that is the precise reason for the building's construction."

Through the window, Simon gave her a last, grimacing smile before turning back to his scolding. Arianda smiled back, a real one, and waved before following Sage into an empty, identical room.

Her first attempts were nothing. She stood, hand outstretched, and willed a flame. Nothing. At her failure, a low groan escapes her throat.

"Relax your muscles. Let the breath flow, don't force it." She tried to go limp. A faint warmth prickled in her palm, then vanished. A slight gasp of excitement escapes her, realizing she does have an affinity.

"Concentrate on your heartbeat. Follow its rhythm." Sage could sense the manipulation, sense something was affected, Good, we now know she has fire in her.

"Feel your frustration," Sage said, his voice dropping. "That heat in your emotions. That tightness. Don't fight it. Use it."

Arianda clenched her jaw. She thoughts of the fear in her mother's eyes, the silent counting of days, the terrifying unknown of this place. The frustration she just felt at not getting a reaction from her attempts. A spark, bright and gold, snapped into life above her palm. It hovered, a single, perfect ember.

Zariel, in his corner, easily burns a small flame. This, too, Sage notices, seems to be perfectly controlled.

Sage's composure cracked for a second, his eyes widening. "Good. Now, the excitement you feel—that is also fuel. Gently, now."

The spark bloomed. Not a wild sputter, but a small, steady flame, dancing obediently above her hand. It was controlled. Already tame. Sage stared. "More," he said. "Try for more." She strained, her face tightening, but the flame remained the same—a polite, unwavering candle. After several attempts, he nodded slowly, a theory settling behind his eyes. "You have the access," he said. "But the output… it is modest. A gentle spring, not a geyser. This is rare."

“That is enough for today with Flames.” Sage says, beginning to lead Arianda out of the room. “Let us go take you to Balor and see how you perform.”

They crossed the center of the town, morning breeze passing over them. Arianda’s hair was waving in the wind as they approached another monumental building. “You will now be training with Balor. She is a stout and tough trainer if you show that you require it, but very knowledgeable in techniques involving the earth.”

The earth-training hall felt like the inside of a mountain. The outer shell was steel, but within, every surface was raw stone and packed earth. The woman waiting for them was short and powerfully built, her red hair streaked with silver and woven into a thick braid that hit her hips. Her green eyes missed nothing.

She stands shorter than me, Arianda thinks to herself looking the short woman up and down. She could see the dirt Balor had under her finger nails, the spots that stained her brown tunic. Those secure green eyes that she could almost see her own reflection in.

“Good Morning Balor.” Sage quickly stated with a wiry smile. He waves his hand toward Arianda, ”This is Arianda, the student I spoke with you about.” He nods at Balor, "She has already manifested fire."

Balor's keen eyes flicked to Arianda. "You think she holds two?" Her face seemed to give a look of doubt. “You know thats extremely rare?”

"So is a Silver Dragon” Sage points at Zariel whose prideful tiny stance barely reaches to Arianda’s knees. “Better to know than to have a surprise landslide later," Sage replied. He gives Arianda a light push towards Balor. “I’ll leave her in your care. I shall return in a few hours after dealing with these pesky Kingdom Elder duties.”

Balor nods, “Thank you, Elder Sage, I will make sure that if she can manipulate earth, I will show her how to manifest it.” She smiles at Arianda before bowing to Sage.

“Then I shall take leave.” bowing slightly before exiting the room.

Balor gives Arianda a wicked smile, cracks a few knuckles, and proceeds, “Well let’s get started, shall we!”

Arianda gulped.

Balor's teaching was opposite to Sage's fluidity. "Earth is will," she said, her voice like grinding stones. "It is solid. Forceful." She demonstrated a sharp, pushing motion with her hands. A section of the dirt floor rippled like water. "You. Try."

Arianda mimicked the stance. She pushed with her mind, feeling clumsy. A few specks of dust lifted, swirling lazily. Balor said nothing, just nodded. "Again. Stances first. Feel the ground through your feet." For hours, they moved through rigid poses. Arianda's muscles burned. Each time, Balor's eyes darted to some subtle shift—a pebble vibrating, a patch of dirt darkening—that Arianda couldn't see.

Zariel in the corner of the room, was making his own attempts, standing rigidly, tense, the scales on his back prickling as he attempted to focus his own magic. He successfully lifts multiple rocks.

A baby dragon does this better than me.. how frustrating, Arianda thinks to herself.

Seeing Zariel’s effort and success, Arianda redoubles her efforts. The connection felt different from fire. It was a low, resonant hum in her bones, not a spark in her blood. On her sixth attempt, focusing on that hum, she lifted a clump of earth the size of her fist. It rose four feet and hung, trembling. It was pitifully small.

Balor smiled, a rare crack in her stony face. She definitely has the attunement, though her connection seems weaker than what I expect a new person to have, most would have shot a rocket out of the room by now with that effort. "A start. Less than average, but a start." She then taught her to shape it, to form the dirt into a crude, toothed disk and will it to spin. It rotated slowly, like a tired wheel.

When Sage returned, Arianda was drenched in sweat, every muscle trembling. Balor clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder. "She holds two. The girl is stubborn. I like it."

Arianda, breathless, looked at Sage. The question in her mind immediately sprang up to the forefront of her thoughts, Sage said it was rare for more than two, but what if… "What if… what if there are more than two?"

Balor's smile vanished. It was replaced with a look of awe, and she and Sage shared a glance. "It has never been seen," Balor said, her wonder plain. "The cause, the limits… unknown."

“Since a silver dragon whelp has never been seen before,” Sage continues, “we can't know what your limitations are currently. The very heavens may be your limit; only time will reveal. I have my thoughts, but currently, I am not certain if it is temporary or something that will continue forever.”

Sage then turns to face Balor and inquires, “Would you be willing to take her as your student Earth-warden? I’m sure your expertise and experience would grow this seedling to a full-grown, powerful redwood.”

“Of course,” Balor replies, her chin held high with pride and a confident smile on her face, “I’m curious to see the possibilities of what I could learn and teach a multi-manipulator. Though someone who can use 4 elements- that is unheard of, I’m Excited.”

With this, all three exchange their goodbyes, and Sage leads Arianda to lunch, explaining they will continue their studies after they eat.

They ate at the long table in the square—steak, steaming potatoes, rich gravy. Zariel scarfs down his steak and lets out an obnoxiously loud burp.

Simon finds them, plopping down with Raphaela not far from him. He lays down his plate, a roasted chicken with fried rice. A lock of his brown hair was sticking straight up, the ends visibly singed. "So, I may have gotten distracted and turned my training dummy into a charcoal briquette," he said, poking at his hair. "My warden’s got lungs on him, I’ll tell you that."

Arianda couldn't hold it in. "I did it. Fire and earth."

Simon's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "No way. I’m jelly! I mean—that's incredible!" The genuine awe in his voice made her face warm.

She told him about the failures, the spark, the controlled little flame. His perplexed look deepened. "Controlled? Right out of the gate? I nearly barbecued my own eyebrows."

Sage interposed gently. "It is my theory that her capacity, while diverse, may be limited in power. She may never overpower a specialist."

Simon considered this, then a competitive grin spread across his face. "So we duel. After you train up, see how it plays out for real."

Arianda met his challenge, her own tiredness burning away. Her hazel eyes held his, a spark of the flame she'd conjured alive in them. "Yes," she said, the word simple and sure. "We will."

"So what did the earth feel like?" Simon asked, leaning forward on his elbows. His singed hair still stuck up. "With fire, it's all... urgency. A spark catching. Was it like that?"

Arianda looked at her hands, still faintly gritty from the training hall. She traced a line in the wood grain of the table. "No. It was slow. Like a... hum. Deep in the ground. You have to listen for it. I managed to make a rotating disk."

"Listen, huh?" Simon's playful grin softened into something more thoughtful. "I just focus my emotions until it does what I want."

"That explains the explosion," Sage said mildly, not looking up from his plate. A faint smile touched his lips.

“Don’t remind me.” Simon flushed, but his eyes stayed on Arianda. "Could you make it do anything? Besides the little spinning saw thing?"

"It was a disk," she corrected, a defensive edge in her voice. Then it faded. "Not really. It was heavy. Even that little bit." She flexed her fingers, remembering the tremor in her muscles. "Balor said it was less than average."

"Balor's average is probably lifting a wagon," Simon scoffed. "Don't let her bum you out. Two elements, Ari. That's insane." The nickname slipped out. He didn't seem to notice, but Raphaela, perched on the bench beside him, chuffed a small, knowing puff of smoke.

Arianda did notice. A different kind of warmth spread through her chest, unrelated to magic. She focused on her potatoes. "Sage thinks my output is low. That I might never be... powerful."

Sage set his fork down carefully. "I said you may not overpower a specialist in their element. That is not the same as lacking power. A river carves a canyon not through force, but through persistence." His kind eyes held hers. "Your control is your strength. It is unprecedented."

Simon watched this exchange, his usual sarcasm absent. He saw the doubt in the set of Arianda's shoulders, the way her thumb rubbed against her forefinger. A protective urge, sharp and sudden, tightened his throat. He covered it with bravado. "So the duel's settled. Two weeks. You and me. We'll see what control really means."

"You just want an excuse to show off," Arianda said, but she was smiling now, the spark back in her hazel eyes.

"Obviously. But also, I want to see it. For real." His tone was lighter, but the statement was genuine. He wanted to see *her*, what she could do, who she was becoming here. The realization quieted him.

Sage stood, his robes whispering. "The afternoon is for knowledge, not combat. Come, Arianda. The archives await." He nodded to Simon. "Your warden expects you for remedial focus drills, I believe."

Simon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Ugh. Don't remind me." He stood as Arianda did. For a second, they were close in the crowded square. The scent of roasted spices and sun-baked stone hung between them. "Good luck in the library," he said, his voice lower.

"Good luck not setting anything else on fire," she chuckled out.

His grin returned, wide and crooked. "No promises."

He watched her walk away with Sage, the small silver dragon trotting at her heels. Raphaela nudged his hand with her snout. "I know," he muttered, his eyes still on Arianda's retreating form. "I'm being obvious."

The dragon whelp just blinked her blue eyes, as if to say, *Painfully.*

Simon returned to the frost-metal hall, the scolding from his warden a dull buzz in his ears. He took his stance, Raphaela coiled at his feet, and tried to focus on the training sword in his hands. He needed to make the blade glow, not melt. But all he could see was Arianda’s hazel eyes, wide with surprise as he’d lost control earlier. The warmth in her face when she’d told him about her magic. The way she’d said “We will” to his challenge, simple and sure. His cheeks burned with a fresh wave of embarrassment. He was being an idiot.

He left the hall an hour later, his focus shattered. The sun was a hammer on the plaza stones. That’s when he saw them: Kira and Lillith, leaning against a shaded archway. Their dragons, Raltz and Moss, were twice the size of Raphaela, a fact they never let anyone forget.

“Look who it is,” Kira said, a lazy smirk on his face. “The human torch. Heard you nearly redecorated your training room.”

“Leave it, Kira,” Lillith sighed, though her eyes were amused.

“What’s the matter, Wells?” Kira pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. “Still distracted by the silver mutant?”

The words hit Simon like a physical slap. “Don’t call her that.” His voice was low, tight.

Kira reached out, pretending to brush cinders from Simon’s shoulder. “Touchy.”

Simon’s hand snapped up, slapping Kira’s away. “I said don’t.”

Kira’s smirk vanished. His fist came up in a clumsy, angry arc. Simon ducked right on instinct—his father’s voice in his head, *move your feet, kid*—but the punch wasn’t just a punch. A gout of fire, uncontrolled and hot, spurted from Kira’s knuckles. It licked across Simon’s cheek. The pain was a sharp, sudden sizzle.

He winced, the smell of his own singed skin filling his nose. Then the training took over. He used his momentum, spinning with the dodge. His right leg came up in a high arc, and he willed fire down the length of it, a burst of propulsion. The accelerated kick slammed down onto Kira’s shoulder with a sickening *thud-crack*.

Kira cried out, buckling to his knees. Before Simon could even think to pull back, his own panic and power surged. An explosion of raw force erupted from the point of impact, throwing them apart. Simon landed hard on his back, the air knocked from his lungs.

Silence, for a heartbeat. Then dust, and screaming. Kira was on the ground, writhing. The shoulder of his tunic was blackened and smoking, the skin beneath an angry, blistering red. Lillith was at his side, her hands fluttering uselessly. “Kira! Oh, flames, Kira!”

Simon scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribs. “I need a medic!” he yelled, his voice cracking. He didn’t wait. He just ran, Raphaela streaking beside him, a red blur of alarm.

He found the man in blue robes near the infirmary fountain, a healer named Lance Bruin with kind, tired eyes and silver hair that defied order. Simon’s explanation was a frantic, gasping mess. Lance listened, his expression turning grave, and grabbed a folded stretcher from a nearby alcove. “Lead the way, son.”

When they returned, Kira was sobbing, cradled in Lillith’s lap. He pointed a trembling finger at Simon the moment he saw him. “He attacked me! He just attacked me!”

Lance didn’t pause. He knelt, his hands moving with practiced calm. Water coalesced from the humid air, glowing a soft, sky blue. He guided it over the burns. The water seemed to sink into the ruined skin, soothing the angry red, leaving behind pink, tender flesh. “The burns are superficial now. The collarbone is another matter.” He glanced at Lillith. “Help me get him on this.”

As they maneuvered the whimpering Kira onto the stretcher, Lance looked at Simon. His gaze was not unkind, but it was heavy. “There will be a review. Tomorrow. For today, your classes are canceled. Return to your quarters.”

The walk back was a blur of heat and echoing footsteps. Simon’s room was small, stone, silent. He sat on the edge of his cot, Raphaela curling anxiously around his ankles. He stared at his hands. They were shaking.

His father’s face swam in his memory, sweaty and stern in a boxing ring. *If you have to fight, you make sure they can’t get back up. You hear me?* Then his mother’s voice, gentle, smoothing his hair after a schoolyard scrap. *Just walk away, Simon. Never throw the first punch.*

He looked down at his palms, the skin still smudged with soot from the morning’s mishaps. He had walked away from the taunt. He hadn’t thrown the first punch. He’d defended himself. Exactly as they’d both told him, in their contradictory ways.

The confusion curdled into a hard, cold lump in his stomach. He lay back on the thin mattress, an arm thrown over his eyes. The phantom smell of burnt cloth and skin clung to him. “I did exactly as you both told me,” he whispered to the empty room. “Why am I in trouble?”

Raphaela rested her head on his chest, a warm, solid weight. Her blue eyes watched him, holding a wisdom her playful nature usually masked. Simon closed his eyes, the image waiting for him behind his lids not of Kira’s screams, but of Arianda’s smile across the lunch table, and the terrifying thought of what she would see when she looked at him now.