The city of Emberfall hums with a quiet, golden energy as we step beyond the Trial grounds for the first time in days. It's a rest day before training resumes, and none of us waste the chance to get out. No looming Trial. No instructors barking orders. No one watching—except maybe each other.
Kadyn is the first to break the silence. "Alright, team. Where do we start?"
The cobbled streets stretch in all directions, lined with worn brick shops, lantern-lit cafés, and hawkers shouting about enchanted baubles and phoenix-feather ink. The breeze carries the scent of fire-baked bread and wild cinnamon from the market stalls.
Samora drapes her arm over my shoulder. "You're smiling. Like actually smiling. This is a miracle."
I laugh. "Don't get used to it."
Fynn keeps pace at my other side, his expression unreadable. He hasn't said much since the last Trial debrief, and even though we walk close, the space between us feels like a storm held barely at bay.
We wander through winding alleys and colorful plazas, stopping at a stall selling runed trinkets. Kadyn gets into a heated debate with a shopkeeper about the authenticity of a memory vial while Samora nearly buys a dagger shaped like a flame fang.
It's… nice.
The kind of moment we never get. No danger. No curses. Just us. Until a cold wind slips down the alley.
Fynn stiffens beside me. "Did you feel that?"
I turn. The light seems to dim around us. A shiver dances along my spine.
Then the shadows deepen.
From the far end of the street, figures emerge—cloaked in flame-charred armor, their eyes burning with molten fury.
Scorchburn.
Samora curses, drawing Flarefang to her side in a crackle of flame. The Inferno Drake growls low, smoke spilling from its nostrils.
Fynn's wyrm, Vexarion, slithers forward, its glimmering violet scales absorbing the ambient light. Kadyn raises his hands and Stonehart erupts from the street with a low rumble, massive and hulking.
I reach for Ashveil instinctively. The Mythfire Phoenix cries out, circling overhead.
From above, a shadow drops lightly onto a rooftop, one knee down, cloak fluttering.
Mais.
His face is unreadable, lips curled in a faint smirk. "Missed me, Elena?"
My heart stops.
Samora blinks. "That's your ex? That's Mais Adler?"
"I'll explain later," I mutter, stepping forward. "Why are you here?"
"To take you back," he says simply. "You've been off-leash too long."
Fynn moves before I can stop him, pulse surging in his arm. "She's not going anywhere with you."
Mais disappears in a blur.
Suddenly Fynn is flying back, slamming into a stone pillar with a grunt.
"Fynn!"
Chaos erupts.
The Scorchburn charge. Samora and Flarefang unleash twin jets of fire, illuminating the alley like a rising sun. Kadyn calls down boulders from nearby walls, slamming them into two soldiers as Stonehart crushes another beneath his rocky fist.
I lunge toward Fynn, who's already scrambling to his feet, blood on his lip.
"We can't hold them!" he growls. "There's too many!"
Ashveil streaks past overhead, wings trailing wildfire. She divebombs the enemy, scattering the front line.
Mais appears again, behind me—his blade at my neck.
"You always were the strongest piece, Elena. But even queens fall."
I elbow him hard, twist free. "Not today."
He vanishes into shadow.
My chest is tight. My vision is blurring.
"Elena!" Samora yells. "Do something!"
I drop to my knees.
There's a pull inside me—ancient, powerful, and terrifying. Not Ashveil. Not the phoenix's fire. This is something deeper.
A voice rises within me, one I don't understand but know.
My lips move on their own.
"Venari Umbrithar… Wyrd-born of storm and shadow… I call you."
The sky tears open.
From a rift in the clouds descends a creature unlike any I've ever seen.
A Veilshadow Lynx.
Its fur is midnight streaked with stars, its antlers glowing faintly with otherworldly power. It lands silently, its eyes locking with mine.
"Elena…" Samora breathes. "What is that?"
"My power," I whisper.
It brushes its head against my palm.
Then it leaps.
With unearthly grace and brutal precision, the Veilshadow Lynx dismantles the Scorchburn forces. One by one. Antlers flaring, claws flashing, silent and deadly. Ashveil lets out a shriek and rejoins the fight, fire ignited anew by the creature's arrival.
Fynn stares at me, mouth parted. Samora looks like she's watching a myth come to life. Kadyn exhales slowly, his expression a blend of shock and awe.
Mais growls, retreating into shadow, his voice distant and bitter.
"This isn't over."
But for now, it is.
Ashveil circles above. The Lynx pads to my side, ever silent.
They all stare
"That…" Kadyn says, eyes wide. "That wasn't just a creature. That was a myth."
"I thought you could call Phoenixes and maybe, like, storm deer or something," Samora says, running a hand through her tangled hair. "Not Veilshadow Lynxes."
"You said your power was rare," Fynn murmurs. "You didn't say it was that rare."
"I didn't know," I admit, still feeling the echo of the Lynx's voice in my mind—its will bending to mine, its shadow coiled around my presence like loyalty born of ancient blood. "I've never called something like that before. It just… happened."
Samora looks at me like she's trying to decide if she should be impressed or slightly terrified. "You spoke to it. And it bowed, Elena. That thing obeyed you like you were some lost queen of monsters."
"They called me a Wyrdcaller for a reason," I say shrugging, "Back in the Skyglass dome, they told me that my power was passed down generations. I never knew because I was put into the system after my parents died. I had to survive on my own with my sister for 8 years of my life. The first time I ever called a rare creature was when I was 9."
"Wow," Samora says, "You are not as ordinary as we thought you were. Are you!" she says brushing her fingers over Flarefangs scaled snout.
"So what now?" Kadyn asks. "You've got creatures literally kneeling before you. Are you going to build an army?"
I huff a breath, half-laughing. "I'm just trying to survive the next trial without ending up in another infirmary."
"That makes two of us," Samora mutters.
We fall into a quiet rhythm again. The chaos is over, for now. The danger passed—but something has shifted between us. It's not fear, exactly. But awe. And maybe a little wariness.
For the first time, they've seen what Wyrdcall really is.
Not just a rare magic.
Not just a trick of voice or beast.
But something ancient. Something alive.
And it lives in me.
True to her word, Samora takes me to the training grounds later that evening. She grabs two wooden practice staffs and looks back towards me with a wicked grin.
"You said you wanted to learn how to fight," she says, tossing one to me. "Lesson one: don't hold it like a mop."
I fumble, catching it awkwardly. "Gee, thanks. Great start."
The rooftop courtyard of the Emberfall compound is quiet, drenched in golden light. Ashveil perches on a stone ledge nearby, preening in the sun. Flarefang lounges a few feet away, smoke drifting lazily from his nostrils.
Samora circles me, correcting my stance. "You've got instincts, Elena, but instincts aren't enough. You've got power, yes, but you need control. Precision. Muscle memory."
She moves fast—faster than I expect—and taps my shoulder with the tip of her staff.
"You're dead," she says simply.
I glare at her.
"You hesitated," she adds. "Again."
We go through the motions. Blocks. Swings. Sidesteps. My arms start to ache. My grip slips. But she doesn't let up.
"You're stronger than you think," she mutters, knocking my staff aside. "But you flinch. Every time. Don't flinch."
I grit my teeth and plant my feet. We lock staffs, and this time, I don't flinch.
Her eyes flicker with approval. "Better."
We go again. And again. Until sweat slicks my back and my lungs burn.
Then—mid-swing—I pause.
I don't know why, but something makes me glance over my shoulder.
and there he was. Caelen.
Leaning against the frame, arms crossed, dark hair tousled, the light catching in the sharp angles of his face. His black tunic was simple, but tailored close, revealing the lean muscle underneath. There was something unsettlingly calm about him, like he was carved from still shadow.
And he was watching me like he could see right through my skin.
I faltered.
Samora's next strike grazed my arm, just enough to sting.
"Ow—okay!" I yelped, stumbling back. "Break. I need a break."
Samora blinked, surprised by the sudden retreat, but nodded. "Yeah, alright. You good?"
I waved her off and wiped the sweat from my brow, eyes darting to the doorway again.
Still there.
Heart thudding, I crossed the floor slowly, each step echoing louder than the last. I didn't even know what I was going to say—but I had to say something. There was a gravity to him I couldn't ignore anymore.
I took one more step.
And just like that, he turned and disappeared down the hall.
Gone.
Like a shadow swallowed by deeper dark.
I stood there for a beat too long, pulse still racing. Part of me was relieved—another part, strangely disappointed that he walked away.
"Elena?" Samora called.
I turned back toward her. "Yeah. Coming."
But my mind was still lingering at that doorway.