Aria's POV
The scream woke me up.
I bolted upright on my thin mattress, heart pounding. Someone was outside my tower, crying for help. I grabbed my cloak and ran down the creaky stairs, my bare feet slapping against cold stone.
A man stood at my door, tears streaming down his weathered face. He held a small girl in his arms. She couldn't have been more than six years old. Her skin looked gray, and black veins spread across her neck like spider webs.
Poison. Dark magic poison.
The farmer's eyes met mine, desperate and pleading. Please, he choked out. Everyone says you're cursed, but you're my last hope. The village healer said she'll die by sunset. Please.
I nodded once and gestured for him to follow me inside.
My hands shook as I cleared space on my worktable. Three years of living in exile, and I still wasn't used to people looking at me with hope instead of disgust. The farmer laid his daughter down gently, and I got to work.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't sing the healing spells I once used to save hundreds of lives. But I'd learned new magic in these three years dangerous, ancient magic that didn't need a voice.
I dipped my fingers in silver powder and drew glowing symbols in the air above the girl's chest. The marks hung there, shimmering, while I traced a second pattern with my other hand. Sweat dripped down my back. This kind of magic hurt. It pulled from my own life force, my own blood, my own soul.
But I refused to let another innocent person die because of someone else's cruelty.
The symbols flared bright white. The girl gasped. The black veins began to fade, slowly retreating back to wherever the poison had come from. After five agonizing minutes, her skin returned to a healthy pink. She opened her eyes and smiled at her father.
The farmer sobbed with relief. He tried to hug me, but I stepped back. I wasn't good with touching anymore.
He pressed half a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese into my hands. It's all I have. Thank you. Thank you so much.
I nodded and wrote quickly on the small chalkboard I kept by the door: Keep her warm. Give her lots of water. She'll be fine.
They left, and I was alone again.
I climbed back up to my room and stood in front of my cracked mirror. The woman staring back at me looked nothing like the girl I used to be. My silver-blonde hair was tangled and dirty. My violet eyes had dark circles underneath. My once-beautiful hands were scarred from three years of blood magic.
You used to be High Mage Aria Silvane, I thought bitterly. Now you're just the cursed girl in the tower.
I couldn't help it. The memories came flooding back, like they did every single day.
Three Years Ago
The Grand Hall sparkled with a thousand candles. I wore a white silk dress that cost more than most people earned in a year. Everyone was celebrating because tomorrow, I would officially become the youngest Head Mage in the kingdom's history.
I was twenty-three and at the top of the world.
My younger sister Lyra found me by the champagne table. She looked beautiful in her green dress, smiling that sweet smile she always wore.
Congratulations, big sister, she said, handing me a crystal glass filled with golden wine. You've earned this. You're so talented, so powerful. I'm so proud of you.
I should have seen the lie in her eyes. I should have noticed the way her hand trembled slightly. I should have known.
But I loved her. I trusted her.
I drank the wine.
The pain hit immediately. My throat felt like someone had poured liquid fire down it. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. Panic seized me. I tried to sing a healing spell my magic always came through my voice, through song.
Nothing.
Instead, my magic exploded out of me, wild and uncontrolled. The ceiling cracked. Chunks of stone fell. People screamed and ran. I heard bones breaking. Saw blood. Counted twelve bodies when the dust finally settled.
My fiancé, Lord Kaelis Thorne, stood on the other side of the ruined hall. He pointed at me with shaking hands.
She's cursed! He shouted. She killed them! She's dangerous!
I reached for my parents, silently begging them to help me, to believe me.
My mother turned her face away.
My father said, we have no cursed daughter.
The Mage Council dragged me to trial. They stripped away my title, my money, my home. They took everything and threw me into the Whispering Wastes to die alone.
Lyra visited me once before I left. She leaned close and whispered in my ear, I'm not sorry. You had everything, and I had nothing. Now I'll have everything, and you'll have nothing. That's fair, don't you think?
Present Day
I shook my head, forcing the memories away. That was the past. I survived. I learned new magic. I was stronger now.
I ate my bread and cheese, then went downstairs to practice. I drew symbols in the air, making them brighter, faster, more powerful. I'd discovered something amazing during my exile: silent magic was actually stronger than voice magic. The old mages had lied about voice being the only true power. They'd kept the ancient ways secret.
But I'd found their hidden texts. I'd taught myself.
I was about to start a new practice pattern when the tower shook violently. The walls cracked. My papers flew everywhere.
What was happening?
White light exploded through every window. I threw my arms up to shield my eyes. The light wrapped around me like chains, pulling me off my feet.
I tried to fight it, tried to draw a symbol to break free.
But the magic was too strong.
The last thing I saw was my tower disappearing as I was yanked through space itself, falling through endless white light, unable to scream, unable to stop it.
And then everything went dark.