"Well, lad, you're sure handy with a sword. I'll give you that. Better than most," Trendil said, appraising me with sharp eyes. "As you grow, I dare say you could become the best sword wielder there is. That is, if that’s what you want to do with your life. I know people—good people—that you could train with. I’m sure they’d welcome you, as long as certain… abilities remain secret."

He kept his gaze locked on me, searching for signs of what I wanted. But I wasn’t sure myself. Did I really want to live the same life over again? The life of a soldier, a sword for hire? No. There was something different about me now. I could feel it in everything I did. Villias had said I was needed—by him, by something greater than me—and if that was still true, then there was more to this than just wielding steel.

Trendil noticed the shift in my expression and nodded slightly, as though sensing my thoughts. "No, I suppose you don’t," he said. "I had planned on spending the next few months training you up while you researched the known Elithrias. You know, break the boredom of study up with a bit of swordplay. But now... well, I think you might be the one teaching me." He chuckled lightly. "Still, we can train if you like—keep those skills sharp—but as for anything else I can teach?"

He trailed off, gesturing with a wave toward the library. "The library we passed earlier has six volumes laid out on the desk for you: Bloodburning, Waterworking, Windstering, Bonebreaking, Elithria Damage, and The Laws of the Ministry Arcana. Read them all, front to back, and then read them again. They contain a lot of knowledge. See if any of it resonates with you, lad. The Laws of the Ministry Arcana will give you a sense of what not to do when you're out in the world."

I nodded but couldn’t help my curiosity. "The Ministry Arcana... they're the reason I was in the situation you found me in. What is it with those guys? Why hunt down people like us? Mu’s, as they call us?"

"Mu’s," he spat, his face darkening. "We don’t use that word. It’s a name coined by the first Lord Arcana, a label to belittle those with abilities. They say it’s to protect the world, to protect reality itself. They claim magic nearly destroyed the world during the Celestial Wars, back when gods walked among men. I’ll agree, magic had its part in those times, as did many of us. But it was also what ended the wars and saved the world."

He paused, his voice lowering, as if he was personally responsible as if it dragged his very soul down. "No, what the Arcana do—what the Ministry doesn’t want you to know—is that they use us. They abuse people like us in ways no man or woman should endure. I’ve seen children, barely five years old, taken by them. Carted off like livestock. The Ministry traps them, enslaves them, forces them to use their power to fortify the Ministry's grip on this world."

I could see the pain and anger etched deep into Trendil’s face. He had lost people too—people he cared about, people he loved. That much was clear. His voice had carried the weight of grief and bitterness, emotions I understood all too well. I’d thought I was alone in my suffering, but looking at him now, I knew that wasn’t true. Not by a long shot.

“I see,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I thought we were just hunted and killed, like animals. That’s what they did to everyone at the farm. The tax collectors... working for the Arcana. They burned the whole place to cinders just because they suspected magic was used. Suspected. They didn’t even know for sure.”

Trendil shook his head slowly, his eyes dimmed with sorrow. “We’ve all lost, lad,” he said softly. “And I’m sure a lot more will be lost before any real change is made in this world.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and grim. I had nothing to say to that. What could I say? He was right. And the truth of it settled in my bones like the cold had up on that mountain.

Trendil, sensing the conversation had run its course, stood up and brushed off his hands. “I’ve got my own work to do while I’m here,” he said, his tone shifting back to something lighter. “You read those books. You can read, right?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, glad for the change in subject.

“Good,” he replied. “I’ll be about. We can train a few times too, once I get my breath back.” He grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And once you know those books inside out, we’ll see what’s going on inside there.” He pointed a bony finger at my chest, his expression unreadable.

I nodded again, silently promising to do as he asked. Trendil gave me one last look before turning on his heel and leaving the room. I stayed behind, finishing the bread in thoughtful silence. He was right about the taste—it was better than anything I’d had in years. As I chewed, my mind wandered, trying to recall the last time I’d picked up a book. It had been a long time—maybe too long.

When I finally got up, I made my way to the library, eager to see what lay ahead. The room was even grander than I remembered, a vast, open space that must have taken years—decades, even—to carve out of the mountain. Every detail was meticulous, from the intricate stone carvings that framed the windows to the cylindrical columns that rose high into the ceiling, as though they were part of the mountain itself. Each one was adorned with depictions of animals and people, their features smoothed and worn by time, as though they had been touched by flowing water for centuries.

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Unlike before, the books were now neatly packed away on the shelves, which stretched fifteen feet into the air, covering every wall. It was like a fortress of knowledge, standing silent and tall around me. A ladder on wheels was connected to a rail running the length of the shelves, making it easy for someone to reach the highest tomes. I stared at it for a moment, puzzled. Why would Trendil need this, with all the wind manipulation he could do so effortlessly?

I shook the thought off and headed to the desk. Sure enough, there were six large volumes waiting for me, their covers gleaming as though freshly inked and bound just that morning. They looked new, untouched, like no one had ever opened them before.

I picked up the first one—Waterworking—and ran my fingers over the smooth leather cover. The weight of it felt good in my hands, solid and full of promise. The pages were thick as I turned them, the smell of fresh ink rising up to greet me. And then, I dove straight in.

Months passed in the sanctuary, each day blending into the next as Trendil tested me on my knowledge of Elithria—life itself—and the intricacies of the Ministry of the Arcana. I had come to think of myself as an expert, but Trendil had a way of asking the one question I didn’t know, sending me back to the books with nothing more than a quirk of his brow. We would train every few days, and despite my initial dominance, Trendil was getting better, landing more than just a few blows.

Life in the sanctuary had settled into a dull, repetitive cycle. Peaceful, yes, but I grew bored. The thrill of life outside these walls tugged at me constantly. I found myself wishing for the simple chaos of the farm—mucking out pigs, listening to the stories Sophia would make up on the spot. My heart ached for Allensmore, for Myia. I even missed the cold steel of battle, the weight of command, the camaraderie forged through hardship. Those days, though filled with struggle, were at least alive.

I was slumped at a desk in the library, trying to fend off a deep sense of misery as I read the same text for what felt like the hundredth time. "The Second Lord Arcanist, Lord Avrivs Steadman, laid the foundation for the implementation of..." I cursed out loud, slamming the book shut. "Avrivs Steadman." It was the question I’d gotten wrong during our lesson the night before, the mistake that sent me back here again.

“Stupid books,” I muttered, pushing the heavy tome away. This was getting pointless. I had done everything Trendil asked—read the texts, trained diligently—but I was no closer to understanding what lay inside of me.

I could recite the names of all thirteen Lord Arcanists. I could recount the brutal details of the Culling of Settle and the Cleansing of Baarack. I knew more about Elithria than anyone could want to, but I still knew nothing about myself.

A sudden determination surged through me. Why was I just sitting here, waiting for answers to appear in the pages of old books? I had spent the better part of my life doing what I wanted, forging my own path. But now, in this younger body, people treated me like a child. And somewhere along the way, I had started to act like one. Seeking permission. Not talking back. Apologizing for things that weren’t even my fault.

Well, no more.

I reached deep within myself, feeling for the power that had been simmering there since the incident with the tax collectors. It felt the same as it had when I was up in the apple tree, Reece shouting at me from below—Shake it, shake it! But this time, I wasn’t just going to shake things up. I was going to unleash it.

I placed my hands on the book in front of me and pushed down. I could feel my blood heating, my veins widening as the hot current surged through them, pumping faster toward my heart. My chest grew heavy, like it might explode under the pressure, but I didn’t stop. The burning sensation traveled down my arms and into my hands. The book ignited, bursting into a roaring flame of orange and red.

The flames consumed the book in seconds, but the burning didn’t stop. My head swam, disoriented, as the fire leaped from the pages to the shelves. The flames were hungry, devouring everything they touched. My hands throbbed, the heat growing unbearable.

I cried out in pain.

Suddenly, a gust of wind slammed into me like an anvil. It lifted me off my feet and flung me across the room. I crashed into the bookshelves, ten feet off the ground, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. I tumbled to the floor, landing hard on my back.

I lay there, dazed, trying to piece together what had just happened. My body ached all over, my head spinning. Did I hit my head? Slowly, I managed to sit up, blinking away the haze. Trendil was across the room, slapping at a small fire on the desk with a towel.

“What...” The words felt thick and heavy, struggling to form as I gasped for air.

Trendil glanced at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Sorry about that, lad,” he said, smothering the last of the flames. “Maybe I hit you a bit too hard. So, you’re a Bloodburner, huh? Well, that’s the most—"

Still dazed, I instinctively thrust my hands forward, trying to defend myself. My lungs emptied in an instant, and a fierce gust of wind exploded from my palms, slamming into the shelves behind Trendil. Books flew everywhere, scattering like leaves in a storm.

I dropped to my knees, grasping at my throat, desperately trying to force air back into my lungs. I felt like I was suffocating, my chest heaving as I fought for breath.

"Interesting... very interesting indeed," Trendil said, watching me with a strange intensity. "I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it myself. Some people long ago could channel Elithria in more than one form. I thought those tales were just that—tales. But here you are, lad. You’ve got more than one gift." He paused, then added nonchalantly, “Oh, stop wheezing and just breathe. You’ll be fine.”

I inhaled sharply, finally drawing in a deep, shaky breath. My throat felt raw, my chest still tight, but at least I was breathing again. “I was... I—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Trendil interrupted with a chuckle, shaking his head. “I know what you were doing. Impatient, like all the rest.”

I let out a weak laugh, the absurdity of the situation not lost on me. Once again, I was like a young child, scolded for trying to reach beyond my limits.