"The world will fear what you were always meant to be. Let them. Shadow burns long after the flame is gone."
The day the trial ended felt like the longest day of my life — but also the coldest.
The crowd that had gathered to watch the power stones awaken now dissolved like mist. The echoes of cheers and gasps faded into uneasy whispers and stares that burned hotter than any flame.
I should have felt the power. The stone should have ignited in my palm and blazed for all to see, but instead… it flickered, barely a spark, and died.
Entry One: The Fallout
I still remember the weight of the stone in my hand — rough, cold, ancient.
When I pressed my palm to its surface, I expected fire, light, energy. The crowd expected it too.
But all they got was a spark. A brief pulse. And then darkness.
The silence afterward was suffocating.
Even the instructors, who prided themselves on calm discipline, whispered in confusion. "A rare anomaly," they called it. "A misreading, perhaps."
I heard it all — the excuses they offered themselves so they wouldn't have to face the truth: I was powerless.
Or worse.
A mistake.
But the students had no such mercy. Behind closed doors, in crowded hallways, their words cut sharper than blades.
"She's a fraud."
"Cursed, maybe."
"Just wasting a slot someone else deserved."
Their eyes followed me with disdain and doubt, like I was some shadow they could ignore, but not erase.
I kept my chin high. I walked as if I belonged. But inside, a cold fire burned — anger, frustration, fear.
I wouldn't break. Not yet.
Entry Two: Joren's Smile, and Doubt
Joren was supposed to be different.
He was the first person who didn't look away when the stone failed me. The first to stand up for me before the trial — the one who believed, even when no one else did.
We trained at dusk, our breaths mingling in the cooling air, his smile always steady, like I was worth fighting for.
He was the first I trusted here. The first I cared for. The first I even loved.
That evening, I found him near the colonnades, the sun dipping behind the mountains and painting the sky in blood-orange and purple.
I leaned against the cold stone wall, fingers twisting my sleeve nervously.
"You okay?" he asked softly, stepping into the shadows beside me.
I forced a smile. "I'm fine."
He didn't believe me.
"Maybe the stone just misread you," he said quietly. "You've got something. I've seen it."
His voice was gentle, careful — as if pushing too hard would shatter me.
But in his eyes, I saw the doubt he wouldn't say aloud.
"You don't believe me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled, but it faltered. "I believe in you."
It wasn't the same.
He believed in me — the girl standing broken in front of him.
But he didn't believe in the power I needed to survive.
And that wasn't enough.
Entry Three: Kael's Silence
Kael didn't speak to me.
Not in the halls. Not in class. Not even during the brutal combat drills where the others either ignored me or sneered, expecting me to fail spectacularly.
But he saw me.
When I trained, I felt his eyes on me — steady, piercing, like a stone guardian carved from ice and flame.
One afternoon, after Malrik shoved me hard during a sparring match, sending me crashing to the ground, Kael appeared without a word.
He didn't glare at Malrik or raise his voice. He simply stepped between us, calm and dangerous, the air around him humming with blue fire.
Malrik backed off, scowling.
Kael looked over his shoulder at me, voice low and meant only for my ears.
"Next time, burn him."
Then he turned and walked away, like it was no big deal.
But it was.
Entry Four: In the Shadows
That night, I slipped outside to the courtyard behind the dorms, where the lamps didn't reach and the moon cast long, twisted shadows across the stone.
I knelt on the cold ground, pressing my hand to the earth as the chill seeped through my skin.
You were born in shadow, Elara, my sister's voice whispered from memory. Your magic won't come when the light is watching. It waits. It watches. It wants to be chosen.
I breathed deeply and reached inward, searching the dark corners of myself.
Something stirred beneath my skin — a flicker, a shift.
The shadows beneath my fingers curled upward, soft and slow, like smoke rising in still air.
They moved. Not with the wind, but with me.
Not enough to fight with yet. Not enough to prove.
But enough to know it was real.
Entry Five: Her Letter
Back in my room, I pulled out my sister's old journal, the one tucked beneath my cot since I arrived.
As I flipped through the fragile pages, something slipped free from the spine — a letter, yellowed with age, written in Seris' familiar handwriting.
Elara,
If you're reading this, you've already felt it — that gnawing feeling that you don't belong.
You don't.
The academy won't understand you. The instructors will try to fix you. Even those who love you might doubt you. But not him.
Kael's fire was born the same year your shadow was.
You're bound by something ancient.
When the bond reveals itself, the academy will tremble. Let it.
— Seris
My hands trembled as I stared at the words.
The bond. The shadows. Kael.
Was that why the stone failed me? Because I wasn't meant to be measured by their system?
Entry Six: Kael's Flame
Later, I found Kael sitting by the fire pits near the training yard.
Flames curled and danced across his palm like a wild creature he alone could tame.
"You knew," I said quietly, stepping closer.
He didn't look surprised. "I guessed."
"And you didn't tell anyone?"
His blue eyes locked on mine, sharp and steady.
"Because I didn't know what it meant. Still don't."
"I'm not weak," I whispered.
"I know."
His gaze didn't soften, didn't falter.
Then, slow and deliberate, he reached for my hand.
When our skin touched, the flames between us dimmed to smoldering cinders.
The shadows behind me stirred, curling upward like they were drawn to him — to us.
We stood in that silent moment, caught in something ancient and unspoken.
His fingers brushed mine again, then he let go.
"Let them think you're nothing," he murmured. "It'll make them slower to run."
Entry Seven: The Rankings
Morning came like a slow knife.
The rankings were posted.
Kael — Rank 1.
Joren — Rank 3.
Malrik — Rank 6.
Nia — Rank 575.
Elara — Unranked. Again.
No mistake. The system didn't understand me.
No—it feared me.
Crowds gathered, whispering behind cupped hands and exchanging glances. Joren searched the sea of faces for me, but he didn't approach.
Only Kael caught my eye across the courtyard and gave a single, firm nod.
It wasn't sympathy.
It was recognition.
They still didn't see me.
But Kael did.
And maybe—that was enough.
For now.