They didn’t hesitate. The moment Rob and Amelia held their soul weapons, they were already moving toward the training hall, as if the weight of what they’d been given had set their pace. I followed, watching them carry something that, for them, meant everything.

  The moment we stepped inside, Rob barely made it two strides before drawing Riftstride from the sheath Doyle had procured for him.

  The blade came free with a clean, hungry sound, flashing amethyst in the low light.

  “Sean,” he said, turning on the spot, eyes wide. “Thanks so much.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  He grinned as he swung it, feeling the weight and balance. The tip whistled through the air and his eyes went wide. After a few more practice cuts, he slowed, then reached for a wooden training blade from the rack, turning it in his hand as if weighing a private thought.

  He grinned again. The crooked one he wore when something wild had just occurred to him.

  Then he tossed the practice blade into the air.

  Rob stepped straight beneath it.

  Steel tapped wood with the flat of his sword.

  Not hard. Juste enough.

  It sprang back into the air. Rob slipped beneath it, shoulders rolling, angle changing mid-step as he caught it once, then twice, then a third time.

  The wooden blade stayed up, trembling, never quite falling. Each strike landed softer than the last, the sound thinning as the force bled away. The rune beneath the amethyst soaking the impact.

  I followed him through Lumi’s perception rune. The world narrowed to his motion. Faster. Tighter. Sharper.

  The training blade looked like it was simply hovering.

  Rob’s breath came quick, a grin breaking through.

  Amelia stepped closer, eyes on him. “That’s a new dance,” she said quietly.

  I grinned.

  “I’m guessing it’s some sort of self-control blessing,” she said lightly.

  I nodded, already familiar with the pull of a kinetic rune, but I still unsure of the difference between a rune and a blessing.

  Rob slowed and the training blade clattered across the floor.

  Amelia turned to me, unable to hold it in any longer.

  “Sean. These gifts…”

  I smiled before I could stop myself.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Her gaze dropped to the sceptre in her hands. “But…” Fine lines traced the length of it. A nymph, caught in flowing water, danced through the delicate etching.

  “I won’t forget this,” she whispered.

  Stillflow was small compared to Rob’s broadsword. Slender. Almost fragile in her grip. But I could feel it. The same strengthening rune slept deep inside its frame.

  Amelia stepped clear of the ring and drew a slow breath. She lifted Stillflow.

  The waterskin at her hip loosened with a soft pop.

  Water rose.

  No snap of effort. No sharp intake of breath. No tightening through her shoulders.

  It slid free in a smooth ribbon and gathered in front of her face, rounding into a perfect sphere. The surface stilled. Her reflection stared back at her, wide-eyed and bright.

  She smiled.

  Then she hesitated.

  Her eyes flicked to the edge of the ring, to the scattered practice stones she used to fumble with.

  Her free hand lifted.

  One stone stirred.

  They rose together, unsteady at first, hovering in front of her.

  Her breath caught as the water peeled away from the sphere and wrapped the stones in a slow, turning sheet. Two movements. One flow. Held together in the air.

  Amelia didn’t sway.

  Didn’t reach for the crust of bread tucked into her pocket.

  She only watched the shape she was holding.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Calm.

  Focused.

  “You didn’t struggle. Not even a little,” Rob said quietly.

  Amelia glanced at him.

  “I was wrong about you staying with the dagger,” she said, nodding toward the soul blade.

  He followed her look, then rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Only because I’m stubborn.”

  She smiled.

  For a heartbeat, her attention slipped.

  The stones dropped and skittered across the floor in a splash.

  “Sorry,” Rob said, a little red behind the ears.

  “It’s fine,” she said quickly, a shy smile tugging at her mouth.

  They laughed together, a little too quietly.

  After a moment, they both turned to me.

  “Seriously,” Rob said. “Thank you.”

  Amelia nodded beside him.

  For the first time since I’d met them, neither of them looked like they were wrestling their own blessings just to stay upright.

  “All right. Looks like you understand what you’re working with now,” Doyle said as he stepped into the training hall. His familiar expedition pack hung from one shoulder, nearly as large as he was.

  They nodded at him. Thanked him.

  “Don’t thank me,” he said, already waving it off. “It was all Sean’s doing.”

  Their eyes flicked to me again.

  I felt the heat crawl up my neck and shooed the moment away with a small, awkward gesture.

  “You’ll need your overnight packs. We’ve got ground to cover.”

  We moved without arguing.

  Straps bit into shoulders. Buckles clicked. Leather creaked as weapons were set and reset by habit more than thought. In less than twenty minutes we stood ready, packs on, armour snug, runes warm against skin.

  But Doyle did not turn for the front door.

  He stopped in the narrow corridor instead.

  “Where I’m taking you…” He hesitated, the words catching on his tongue. “We don’t usually let fresh aspirants take this particular test before they’ve completed their trials.”

  He fell quiet.

  “Not at your stage.”

  We glanced at one another, unsure.

  “Jerald’s orders,” Doyle said.

  He drew a slow breath. “Many don’t pass this test.”

  “Did Brent make it through?” Rob asked.

  Doyle shook his head.

  “This is something everyone who lives in Trond Cottage faces,” he said quietly. “It’s… tradition.”

  His gaze moved across the three of us.

  “But tradition assumes time. And options.”

  He adjusted the strap on his shoulder.

  “We don’t have either. So, we take what we’ve got, and we push through.”

  I hesitated. The words packed tight behind my ribs before I could stop them.

  “But if we fail… do we just waste time we could have spent training properly?”

  Rob’s jaw set beside me.

  Doyle lifted both hands in surrender and let out a low, rough chuckle.

  “Trust me. Succeed or not, no one comes back from this the same.”

  His eyes stayed on mine. Steady. Unblinking.

  “Every teacher worth listening to knows this... Failure teaches better than anything else.”

  Amelia nodded once.

  “Then lead the way.”

  Doyle returned the nod and turned down the narrow side passage I had seen him use the other day. The one he had said led toward town.

  We squeezed in after him.

  Barely.

  Our packs scraped ahead of us. Cloth rasped. Buckles knocked. Cold grit slipped down my sleeve and bit into my skin.

  Then the passage broke open, not into one tunnel, but a knot of them, narrow forks vanishing into the rock.

  After a few yards of swearing and shuffling boots, we spilled into a wider run, almost identical to the one below the training rooms.

  Thin lines of light stirred along the walls as our boots touched stone, chasing our steps and pooling into a pale glow across the floor.

  The sight tugged at something old in my chest.

  When I first arrived, Doyle had told me the whole town was threaded with buried passages like this, cut by hands no one remembered.

  We followed the quiet rhythm of his footsteps without speaking.

  After a while, Doyle broke the silence.

  Not casually.

  Carefully. As if the words had been shaped long ago.

  “Deep beneath the earth,” he said, “Energy rises from the land itself. The elder ones were the first to recognise it. They walked this land long before us.”

  A name stirred faintly in my mind. Half-buried. The Tuatha Dé Danann.

  “They helped shape what this place became. But the blessings you feel now are bound to the Land of Mist. To spirits. To this territory.”

  His steps slowed.

  “Their power,” he said quietly. “The power the elder ones used to shape reality came from somewhere else.”

  The light along the walls crept forward with us.

  “That power travels.”

  We moved quickly through the tunnel, spiralling lower as Doyle spoke. The air cooled with every turn, thin and sharp in my lungs.

  “Mortals with authority don’t like this kind of knowledge being widespread,” he said. “They call it dangerous. But it’s just the natural order of things. And it challenges their control.”

  The floor dipped.

  We crossed a narrow threshold and stepped into a wide, domed chamber.

  The smell of damp earth closed around us. As our boots touched the stone, pale light rippled out across the curved walls, revealing the full sweep of the room.

  A gate stood at its centre.

  It was not like the one I had seen before. The one I had passed through with Jerald. This one was older. Bare of runes.

  It felt different.

  I turned to the others.

  Their faces held the same tight uncertainty knotting my chest.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  Doyle did not answer right away.

  He carefully walked to the gate and stopped beside it.

  “All who pass through here are tested… And no test is the same.”

  He set his pack down and opened it. Small clay pots clinked as he lifted them free, pressing one into each of our hands.

  Healing elixirs.

  Strong ones, by the weight of them.

  “I shall wait for you here.”

  Then, without explanation, he slid a tightly wrapped bundle into each of our packs. The smell of it told me enough. Food. Enough to last.

  “Now. You will go in. One at a time.”

  He pointed at Rob.

  “Since you were the first to enter Trond Cottage, you will go first.”

  Rob nodded. He hauled his pack onto his shoulder and closed his hand around Riftstride’s grip.

  “Are you ready?”

  Rob drew one slow breath. He glanced back at us and set his jaw.

  Then he stepped forward.

  The gate didn’t react.

  No flare of light. No surge. Only the dull glow of the stone walls pressing in around us.

  For a single heartbeat, he was still there.

  Then the space where he had stood was empty.

  It took a moment for it to settle that he was truly gone.

  Then Doyle turned to Amelia.

  She was already standing straight, shoulders set, Stillflow held tight against her side. He smiled at her.

  Not a warm one.

  Not a reassuring one.

  It was a smile that looked carefully rationed.

  She seemed to understand.

  Amelia stepped forward and crossed the threshold.

  She vanished just as quietly.

  Then there were only the two of us.

  The chamber felt larger without them.

  Hollow.

  Doyle turned to me and let out a long, slow breath.

  “Remove the disguise.”

  I nodded.

  The borrowed shape loosened its grip and slid free, leaving my face raw in the cold air. Narrower. Too sharp through the cheeks. Old scars caught the light where the glamour had softened them before.

  Dark hair slipped into my eyes.

  I looked up at Doyle.

  His large brown eyes held mine.

  Something stirred there.

  Concern.

  Maybe hope.

  It did not matter.

  He said nothing. He only lifted his hand and gestured toward the gate.

  My gaze slipped to the empty space where Rob and Amelia had just vanished.

  I drew in a slow breath.

  Then I stepped through.