Celeste

  He didn’t answer right away.

  For a moment, I thought he hadn’t heard me. But then his gaze lifted from the smoldering fire beneath the pot and settled on me – steady and unreadable. The silence stretched just long enough to make me question whether asking had been a mistake.

  Then he spoke.

  “For what reason?”

  The question was quiet. Not dismissive. Not even surprised. Just… calm. Like he was weighing something I couldn’t see.

  I hesitated. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because saying it out loud would make it real. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

  Still, I managed. “Because I don’t want to be powerless anymore.”

  His head tilted slightly, as if that answer wasn’t quite enough.

  I swallowed. “Because there are others still trapped. I got out, but they didn’t. And I can’t go back unless I can fight.”

  He nodded and looked down at his hands.

  His sigh was heavy. “I figured there were more,” he said quietly, almost mournful. “Since you said others might be chasing you, I assumed you weren’t the only one held there.”

  Just as I thought he was about to agree, his eyes met mine – and he shattered that hope.

  “I can’t, in good conscience, teach you how to use your power if it means you’ll just throw your life away on a suicide mission.”

  The only sound was the stream behind us, the same one we’d bathed in earlier.

  I stared at him, at a loss for words.

  I knew he was right. Even if he did teach me, even if I learned quickly, I couldn’t storm that place on my own. The compound I escaped from was guarded by at least a dozen men. Maybe more.

  But I couldn’t forget the only friend I had in there. I couldn’t enjoy my freedom knowing she was still rotting away in that place.

  Just as I opened my mouth to try and convince him, he spoke first.

  “I’m not saying no,” he said gently. “Not completely.”

  “But if I’m going to teach you the way I learned, there can’t be any half-truths between us. That kind of training requires trust. I’ll need to know things about you that’ll leave you feeling exposed. There are things about casting, especially your casting, that can’t be taught without that level of honesty.”

  He studied me for a moment, quiet and unreadable.

  “You’ve been through an ordeal that would’ve broken most people. What you endured wasn’t just survival, it changed you. But what comes next will test you in new ways, both physically and mentally. If you want to learn what I know, you’ll have to share parts of yourself that may be hard to face. And in return, you’ll learn things about me that no one else knows.”

  The creek murmured in the distance, but the silence between us felt louder.

  “This isn’t just about saving your friends,” he continued. “If we do this, if I train you, then this is only the beginning.”

  I barely paused before saying yes.

  There was nothing left to think about. I couldn’t keep hesitating – not anymore. I had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to.

  And maybe it was selfish of me to ask more of him after everything he’d already done…

  But if he was willing to train me after we saved her, then that meant he was coming with me. He wasn’t just helping me survive. He was helping me fight. I wouldn’t pretend I could do this alone. I wasn’t na?ve enough to believe that.

  I’d seen what he could do. And I knew he was powerful.

  “Good,” he said, nodding approvingly. “Let’s get started. How much do you know about casting? Not just your special casting abilities, but casting in general?”

  I took a moment to think before answering.

  “I’m from the peasantry. What I learned wasn’t from a book. I can read, but we could never afford anything worth reading. Most of what I know came from my parents, things they heard or passed down, but neither of them were Casters, so a lot of it might be wrong.”

  I paused, then added, “There was one person I met who could cast Fire. He was a boy who visited our village each spring. His family traveled for the festival on their way to Vitel – the large city north of us. Every year, when they stopped to rest and resupply, we’d play together.”

  A faint smile pulled at my lips. “One year, he told me he’d become a Fire Caster. Showing off, he made flames dance in the palm of his hand. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone cast Fire, but it was the first time it felt real. Knowing the person who could do it. Seeing it up close.”

  “He said it happened a few months after their last visit. He’d gotten angry one day, and it just… happened.”

  I let out a soft laugh. “He tried to shoot the flame at a stump, but it didn’t go anywhere. It just flared up, grew too fast, and nearly swallowed his whole arm. I had to throw a bucket of water on him.”

  Art smiled, amusement flickering in his voice. “It was his mixed emotions. Fire is a raw and powerful elemental affinity that requires discipline to wield. It’s also one of the more emotion-driven elementals. He couldn’t control it the way he wanted because of his overexcitement – his nerves…” He paused, a spark of teasing in his eyes.

  “And if I had to guess, there was some infatuation in there. That kind of emotional cocktail? Fire doesn’t like that. When feelings get tangled, without focus, it turns wild. That’s why it lashed out the way it did.”

  I smiled back. “I already knew he liked me. His little sister once told me her brother had secret plans to marry me when we grew up,” I said, teasing. “But over time, he stopped showing off his casting. The following year, he told me his family had hired a Warden to help him control it better. Not long after, they stopped visiting the village altogether.”

  I paused for a beat, the smile fading. “I never saw him again.”

  Art didn’t speak right away. When he finally did, his voice was calm and even.

  “Wardens can be expensive. They’re skilled Casters – masters of their element – who usually have their own school or will travel for the right amount of coin. Did you know what a Warden was?”

  “I did,” I replied. “I knew they were teachers, and they’d come to your home if you could afford them. But not everyone has that kind of privilege.”

  He nodded faintly. “Were you also aware you can’t just hire any Warden? Each one only teaches their own element. A good Warden won’t take on a student who casts something different.”

  He studied me for a moment before continuing. “Do you know why that is?”

  I considered it, then shook my head. “I always assumed any Warden could teach any type of Caster.”

  He shook his head. “No. A Warden might master their own craft, but that doesn’t make them suited to teach other affinities. Sure, they can teach the basics. Things like breathing and focus. But paying a Warden just for that would leave most people feeling cheated.”

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  We began walking back toward the creek.

  “Every element has its own temperament,” he said. “If a Warden doesn’t understand the true nature of a Caster’s affinity, they’re no better than a Non-Caster giving advice. Teaching with the wrong mindset can do more harm than good. It can stunt a Caster’s growth, maybe even push them backward.”

  I stared at the ground shifting beneath my steps. “So… if someone has to have the same affinity to teach properly, does that mean you’ll only be able to teach me the basics?”

  He gave me a mischievous grin.

  “I picked up a lot from that other Ardor Caster I told you about. He wasn’t exactly a master, but he’d been Light Casting for a few years and managed to teach himself most of the fundamentals, and then some,” he said. “You don’t always need a teacher to learn how to cast. But it makes things a lot easier. And it helps keep you from getting hurt by blowbacks.” He raised an eyebrow. “Just like your friend.”

  Art’s grin lingered. “Also…” he murmured, stopping mid-step.

  I paused beside him, uncertain. He didn’t say anything more. Instead, he lifted his hand and slowly reached toward me.

  Instinctively, I flinched. Every part of me wanted to pull back. But I stopped myself. I had agreed to trust him. I told him I would.

  So I stayed still.

  His hand remained suspended, steady – not waiting for the right moment, but for silent permission. Then, without a word, he closed the space between us.

  The oversized shirt I’d borrowed from him slipped slightly off my shoulder, exposing the place where Jacque had left his mark. Art’s hand found it without hesitation, his palm settling directly against my skin.

  His touch was warm. In that quiet moment, a soft glow rose between his fingers and began to sink into me. The light pulsed gently, folding into my skin with quiet purpose.

  Neither of us moved.

  The warmth spread, slow and steady, not only across the wound but somewhere deeper. A calming hum radiated from his touch, easing something tight inside me. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until it escaped, slow and quiet.

  After a minute, the glow faded. He lifted his hand, careful and slow.

  Where the scar had once carved a leathery mark into my skin, there remained only a faint impression – a pale pink shadow of what was.

  Almost gone.

  Healing? He can cast Healing, too?

  “So… you’re a Healer as well,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Can you cast every element there is?”

  He chuckled. “No. Healing was the only one you hadn’t seen yet. I’m out of tricks, I promise.”

  His expression shifted, quieter now. Thoughtful.

  “But if I’m being honest… being a Healer is the reason I was able to grow at all.”

  I gave him a questioning look, unsure what he meant.

  He caught it and offered a small shrug. “It’s a little long to explain,” he said. “We’ll get to it eventually. For now, I’ve still got a few more questions.”

  We began walking again, heading back toward the creek. My clothes were still laid out to dry, stretched across a flat stone warmed by the sun. His hung nearby, slung over the branch of a tree.

  I touched my shirt. It was mostly dry now.

  When I looked up, I saw Art had already taken his clothes from the branch and was walking back toward the trail. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t look over his shoulder.

  It must have been his way of giving me space to change.

  A small gesture, but one I was deeply grateful for. After everything, it was the first time in a long while that I’d been allowed to change alone.

  I quickly slipped out of the oversized clothes and back into my own. After folding the shirt and pants he’d lent me, I gathered my things and followed the trail.

  He was standing a short distance ahead, arms loosely crossed, facing the trees like he had all the time in the world.

  I watched him as I walked.

  He hadn’t asked for thanks. Hadn’t pushed. He just kept giving me space, again and again.

  And yet… I couldn’t shake the feeling that a debt was quietly growing between us.

  I pushed the thought aside.

  “So,” I said as I reached him, “what am I supposed to learn first?”

  “First,” he said, “you’ll need to understand what casting really is. Without that, I can’t truly teach you how to wield it.”

  He adjusted the pack on his back and started walking again. I fell into step beside him.

  “But that conversation,” he added, glancing over with a small smile, “can happen while we’re on the move.”

  I blinked. “Wait… you mean we’re heading straight to the compound? What about learning to control my abilities first?”

  Art glanced at me, his expression calm but resolute.

  “Mastering what I have to teach can’t be done in a day. Not even in a week. And we don’t have the luxury of waiting until you’re ready.”

  “But–”

  “You said yourself they rode for nearly a day before they caught you. That means the compound is less than three days from here on foot. If we wait until you’re ready…” he paused. “They’ll be long gone. Or worse.”

  I didn’t answer right away. Just the thought of that place, and of Faylen still locked away, tightened something in my chest.

  What if I didn’t make it back in time?

  He was right.

  I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  “We won’t be making the full journey today. For now, let’s find a good campsite so you can rest. We’ll strike out for Rodin tomorrow,” he said.

  As we began weaving our way through the forest, Artemis continued to ask about my past.

  “So,” he said, “when did you first learn to cast Healing?”

  It was an easy question. One I could never forget.

  “I was sixteen.

  “That year, raiders came through our village. My father had already died three years earlier from sickness, so it was just me, my mother, and my brother. He was three years older than me.

  “Normally, we had no trouble with raiders. Our village was small and tucked far enough from the main roads to be spared the worst of the war. But that autumn… things changed.

  “Most of the men had left on a long hunting party to prepare for winter – my brother among them. Any Casters we had went with them, tasked with protecting the group and preserving what they gathered.

  “The ones who raided us weren’t part of any kingdom. Not anymore. They were deserters. Former soldiers turned mercenaries. Drifting between frontlines with no allegiance, surviving off whatever they could take. The war had only begun the year before, but already it was leaving men like them broken. Dangerous.

  “They timed it well. They must’ve been watching.

  “They waited until our strongest were gone before they attacked.”

  I paused. The forest around us hummed softly, indifferent to the memory I was unraveling.

  “My mother told me to hide. She stuffed me beneath the floorboards of our pantry and told me not to make a sound, no matter what I heard.

  “I did as she said.”

  The next words came slower.

  “I heard them break down the door. Heard their boots on our floor. They wanted her. I didn’t understand at first – not fully. But then I heard her fight back. Screaming and kicking. She bit one of them.

  “That’s when he got angry.

  “That’s when he stabbed her, and I heard her fall.”

  My throat tightened.

  “They left not long after. I waited until everything was quiet. Then I crawled out.”

  A long breath escaped me.

  “She was lying on the kitchen floor – there was so much blood. I didn’t even know I was casting. I just kept begging for her to stay. I held pressure on her wound, pleading with her not to leave me. I couldn’t call for help. I could still hear screaming outside. I knew the raiders were still nearby.”

  I drew in a breath.

  “The only thing I could do was beg. Beg for her to stay with me. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. And then… it happened. Light poured from my hands – out of me and into her. I didn’t know how. I just didn’t want it to stop. Not until I was sure she’d be okay.”

  My voice softened.

  “The first time it happened, I felt completely drained. Like something inside me had been wrung out. But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop.”

  I glanced toward Artemis.

  “She survived. Just barely. And that was the first time I ever cast Healing.”

  “What about the others?” he asked. “Did you have enough strength to heal anyone else?”

  I shook my head.

  “By the time I finished healing her, I collapsed. When I came to, my mother was in tears. She was so relieved I was alive… but she was terrified. She didn’t want anyone in the village to know I’d awakened.”

  I paused, then continued more quietly.

  “Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have mattered. But everything was so chaotic. People were scared. Suspicious. She worried someone might think the raiders had come for me… or that, if they returned, the villagers might try to trade me to save themselves. Peasants are superstitious that way.”

  My eyes drifted to a large brown bird perched high in a tree.

  “When we finally stepped outside, the worst of the wounded had already been tended to. No one was in critical condition anymore. So… I kept my ability quiet. Just like she asked.”

  “It was a mixture of your emotions that allowed you to ignite,” Art said. “Fear and desperation, most likely. Those two are powerful catalysts for Healers. They were for me, and I’ve heard similar stories from others who awakened the same way.”

  He looked at me a moment, thoughtful.

  “They’re not the only emotions that can trigger it, but in your case, I’d wager those were the ones.”

  He paused. “My Healing ignited when I was eighteen,” he said. “It wasn’t noble. I wasn’t trying to save anyone. I was just trying to survive. Someone stabbed me – cut through my neck and left me for dead.”

  His tone stayed calm, but quieter now, like the memory didn’t get spoken aloud often.

  “My fear wasn’t for someone else. It was for me. I was desperate to stay alive. Desperate not to be forgotten. Desperate to get revenge.”

  He exhaled, almost a laugh, but not quite.

  “Healing like that… it wasn’t fast. I passed out more than once. It took the whole day before I could move again.”

  He said nothing more, and I didn’t push.

  We walked in silence for a while, side by side. That was the most I’d ever learned about him.

  I took a breath, then asked, “Did you get your revenge?”

  He smiled, but there was sadness in it.

  “Yes. I did. It took me several years to find the ones I wanted dead. But when I did, I killed them myself.”

  He looked ahead, his voice steady.

  “I nearly got myself killed doing it. Even after all that time, I still wasn’t strong enough. But I went anyway.”

  There was a pause before his eyes met mine.

  “I won’t let you make that same mistake. Not while you’re with me.”

  Something in his voice warmed something under my skin. It didn’t feel like a promise, it felt like a warning.

  But I didn’t respond.

  Because the truth was – I don’t care if it kills me.

  If it meant they suffered first… then it was worth it.