During my first couple of days in Astraera, it had seemed like I was only a passing visitor, and the castle and its sprawling city would never be my home. Too many stares and halted conversations had occurred when I wandered the castle halls. This changed as more time trickled by, as September flowed into October, and then it suddenly was November. My face became a common one to be seen around the castle and Academia, and soon, no one stared as I walked past. Some even waved and produced a greeting. Somehow, I had landed exactly where I needed to be.

My life kept some of the structure it had while I was incarcerated. For those three days a week I had my magic lessons with Professor Leander, I attempted to be focused and strived for excellency. He had me studying mica for three weeks, until even he had to express confusion and failure over the lack of sparks in his classroom. From mica, we progressed onto aerie. Where mica had plants and rocks, Leander had cleared the entire workstation for a single red-tail hawk feather that I was supposed to levitate. It was a complete joke, and I found I had difficulties focusing. My mind was scattered during those lessons, as half of it was wondering about the sanctuary and Hawk. Leander had to often remind me of the incantations and gestures for the aerie spells. The lessons for hali and pyra progressed in the same pathetic way.

There had been flickers of my magic that showed up here and there in my lessons with Leander. Yet, it was like a weak flame that was easily blown out, and it didn't reveal itself often. Yes, the first time I could make that damn die move by a slight tremble in the earth had been exciting, and I had jumped around Leander's gymnasium like I was a little girl again, my squeals echoing in the gym. I could never make any progress after it. Leander had me explain what it felt like to just produce that little shimmer of magic. He wanted me to write a report about it as well, though I never got around to it. His technique failed, and I spent weeks in between magical displays. A part of me wondered if the repeated failures were sabotaging my progress. Even though Leander always had me meditate in front of the amethyst after my lesson, a seed of doubt had taken root in my mind. That seed of doubt was impossible to dislodge. A part of me wondered if Galileo would have been a better instructor. After all, he had melded me into a decent spy. I never voiced that wonder to anyone.

Leander had me focusing on the same disciplined activity every lesson. I expected him to change the lesson since it was obviously so unsuccessful. He didn't, until one day, my emotions had boiled to the point that it forced some of the magic I had thus accumulated in my well to explode and destroy. It shattered the glass in his classroom doors; blasted holes in the ceiling while damaging the overhead lights and causing a blackout. The door into the gymnasium was yanked off its hinges. (When I told Cassiah and Macaila about what had happened, they stated they had wondered why Leander's classroom was in disarray. Macaila claimed it made the classroom more pleasingly rustic.)

Apparently, I had more magic to dispel that day. Somehow. The morning after, I woke up to feeling fatigued, weakened, and still in my clothes from the day before. None of my neurons hosted any memory of the previous afternoon. A pit of dread removed any appetite I had when I recognized that exhaustion. It was soon after that I witnessed myself destroy London on television. Like some possessed demon, I hovered yards off the ground. However, instead of destroying London with earthquakes, I used its most feared element against the city. Fire ravaged the city. London Bridge, Tower Bridge, St. Paul's Cathedral, Big Ben, and Buckingham Palace were destroyed by my wildfire. The death count for that massacre rested at four-hundred-fifty-seven poor souls.

Once again, I begged for Sebastien to turn me over to the mortals or at least restrict my powers. I became fearful that it would explode once more when my body could no longer contain it. I approached Sebastien about my fears and was inches away from requesting the insertion of the rasa once more, when he surprised me and said, "I was actually thinking about this issue recently."

"You were?" I perked up.

Sebastien was examining the paperwork on his desk. From where I was sitting, it appeared to be accounting ledgers. "It's obvious that there is some kind of block on your magic."

"What do you think it is?" I wondered.

"You still haven't accessed the sanctuary since you've been here?" he questioned.

"No."

"How much do you know about sanctuaries?"

I shrugged. "Not that much. Most of it was self-taught." Most of it was Hawk who trained me, I thought.

Sebastien stopped shuffling his paperwork around and let it sit in a neat stack on his desk. The chancellor leaned back in his seat and settled his hands into his lap. "The sanctuaries are untapped alternate universes, for a lack of any other explanation. It's a power that the mages haven't seen for a very long time, and the last person to have been known to have it was Zane Konstantinos, as we discussed previously. However, several mages with access to these sanctuaries went insane. They would create perfect little worlds for themselves, and then never wanted to return to the real world. As a result, they would become gods of some imaginary world while their bodies were wasting away into skeletons here. They spent so much of their power fueling these worlds that they never had any left over for reality."

I frowned, at once understanding what Sebastien to alluding to. He thought I was having issues with my magic now because it was being siphoned away by my sanctuary. "That is not what is happening with me."

"How do you know?" Sebastien challenged.

I bit my lip. I had to admit that I didn't know.

Sebastien posed another question. "In your experience, have you ever come across a praesidium in the sanctuary?" I had to shake my head. I didn't even know what he was talking about. Sebastien observed the confusion etched on my face, and explained, "Praesidiums are intrinsic to sanctuaries, created by sanctuary magic itself. It's involuntary from the individual, it just happens. The magic forms to become human-like, or in one case, it was a dog. They become companions to the individual, pretending to serve the companion's every need and desire. However, the praesidium's intentions are malevolent. Studies in the past have revealed that the subject can be the very thing siphoning off a mage's power to keep the sanctuary alive, and thus themselves. In one case, the praesidium attempted to suffocate the individual in the sanctuary and tried to take over the individual's real life. In a way, the sanctuary's praesidium becomes a parasite."

"And the praesidium is there every time the mage ventures to the sanctuary?"

Sebastien straightened and gave me an intense look. "You were meeting someone there?"

Suddenly, my neck became too stiff to nod. A clog materialized in my throat. Sebastien's reaction was unexpected. "He's been there since the beginning, guiding me."

"This is not good, Briara," Sebastien declared.

I took a deep breath. "And if he's my praesidium?"

"You're going to have to destroy him if you have any chance of controlling your power in this world."

"You're saying he's not real."

"No, he's not."

My body reacted to the declaration negatively. I felt my defenses activating. My body tensed and my jaw locked up. I could feel my fingers curling inward to form fists. My legs were prepared to flee or stand up and fight. I couldn't kill Hawk. He was the only person who had helped me through those four horrible years, who had helped me keep my sanity. My heart ached with just thinking about hurting him. "Briara," Sebastien's voice yanked me out of my thoughts. I reluctantly met his gaze when the pause went on for too long. He reached across and squeezed my knee. I felt a flare of his synthetic serenity melting into my skin. "I can tell that you formed a relationship with this man in your sanctuary. But I don't think he's real. I think he's something your mind created upon entering the sanctuary. From what you've told me, he fits all the components of a praesidium. I know it will be challenging for you. I think once you get past the emotions of it, you’ll realize it's the only way."

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"I can't even access the sanctuary right now to do what you’re asking," I muttered.

"That's right. You haven't been able to access it without the tranquilizers. I'll see what I can do to find some for you. I want you to have full control of your magic, and I feel like this is something that has to be done," Sebastien advised. "I'll be there every step of the way."

I sat back in my chair, still replaying everything that had taken place since that initial venture into the sanctuary. "Hawk said that he was instructed to train me. I thought it could have been you who delegated that task to him."

Sebastien, frowning, shook his head. "No, I don't know of any Hawks."

The synthetic calmness Sebastien gave me helped keep me numb. Even though it had been months since I had been to the sanctuary and seen Hawk, I still didn't want to terminate that friendship. To do what Sebastien was asking seemed like it was a distinct betrayal to Hawk. Still, if it meant that I could have full control over my magic and could prevent another massacre... it had to be done.

Conflicted with what I now had to do once Sebastien provided the ketamine, I procrastinated. I sought to distract myself from making that ultimate decision. I relied on my other friendships. Skye had finally written me back from the letter I'd sent her upon my initial arrival in Astraera. It was a simple, brief note, just as mine had been to her. Bria, you need to stay wherever you are. Don't you come out. Things are getting insane over here.

By that, she meant the movement Xavier was inspiring. His seemingly small statement during his latest interview was enough to initiate a blaze: In my research, I went into the core of the cell. Whatever this unique element is, it's in her DNA. It's a part of her. But it isn't... human. That statement had impassioned a small number of people. Their mutters about witchcraft spread like wildfire throughout the world. The mutters escalated to yelling, and then from there, to witch hunts. The international gang Xavier had unwittingly created became vigilantes intending to find every single magical being out there and destroy them.

I had thought Xavier was smart enough to resist being pulled into something as hysterical as this. Yet, one night in November, I saw him being interviewed yet again by the news. I was waiting for Jay to finish getting ready to go out; he started using my bathroom because he despised the communal ones at the barracks. Xavier's hair had grown longer, if a little disheveled. There was a frantic wildness in his eyes that was barely contained. He had transitioned from his button up shirts to a black leather coat and military-grade cargo pants. Frowning, I eyed him every single time the camera was zoomed in on him. I failed to find any hints of weapons concealed underneath his clothing and breathed a sigh of relief. "Are you saying that now you believe Briara Disraeli is a witch?" the unseen interviewer asked him.

Xavier nodded before he launched into a passionate rant. "Something to that effect, yes. My team and I have all the proof necessary to prove that these sorcerers walk amongst us. They are a part of our very population. If one girl could annihilate a thousand people in three incidents, then what can the others do? What if they are the reason our crime rates are so elevated right now? What's to stop them from infiltrating our governments and start trying to rule us? With as much magic as we've seen from Briara Disraeli, they can easily make us their slaves. Who's to say that this mysterious organization that has been attempting to unite our world isn't just a coalition of sorcerers and witches?"

"You make some excellent points," the interviewer said. Snorting, I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and stared at the erion screen. "What is your aim now?"

"Just to be heard. Just to open everyone's eyes to the potential of that enslaved future. I don't want humanity to be attacked by some monster we are too blinded to see. We've fought off this kind of threat before with the witch hunts in the seventeenth century. We can do it again," Xavier preached.

I heard Jay before I saw him. One floorboard croaked as he emerged from the master bedroom. "I don't know what you even saw in that ass," Jay criticized when he saw what I was watching. Looking at him now, I didn't either. Xavier had been conscious of his appearance, and while he never went overboard like other guys did with checking himself out in the mirror or spending thirty minutes on his hair, he did try to look presentable most of the time. However, it had been his keen intelligence, rather than his appearance, that had ensnared me in the first place. Our mental connection had been intense when we had watched the sunrise on the university hill together the first night we met.

"Briara Disraeli hasn't been seen or heard from since the London Massacre. Where do you think she is?" the interviewer asked.

I watched as Xavier shrugged. "I have no idea. But she's good at moving around, isn't she? We'll get her, I promise you that. She better hope law enforcement gets to her first, or we'll see if witches truly burn."

I shifted on my feet as I stared at the erion. "Do you think we should be concerned about him?" I asked Jay.

Jay snickered. "Absolutely not. I think you should turn that shit off, forget about him, and let's get going. I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry."

While my days revolved around studying magic, my nights were a juggle between my two new friends, Macaila and Cass, and my old one, Jay. There was a constant pressure to recreate the bond I once had with Jay. Jay was always waiting for me outside of my apartment door, inviting me to dinner at Hellions and Halos. My complaints about always going to Hellions and Halos fell on deaf ears. I had also mentioned that I wanted to spend time with him alone—without his peers (and Hellions' women) around. Despite his unusual dedication to being present in my life, I sensed that Jay's motives behind his invitations were not honorable. I could never kick the feeling that Jay was attempting to use me for prestige in the mage world. He would never admit this intention, though, and my speculation hovered around my thoughts without any evidence.

I much preferred the nights I spent with Macaila and Cass. Yes, I had been assigned to use them as tools to infiltrate the Resistance. They were much more than tools: they were my friends. Where the nights with Jay were awkward at the very least, as if both our minds were elsewhere, the nights with my new friends were easygoing and laid back, filled with the constant ramble of conversation and laughter. Such was our bond that when we all met up at Hellions and Halos, we knew that the three of us would disappear to go dancing or play a round of foosball. We spent the late evenings sitting on park benches or at the Milky Way’s tables, talking long into the night. I grew to feel like I could tell them everything and they wouldn’t turn their backs on me. Almost everything. They were still oblivious about the massacres.

In return, they steadily let me into their lives and revealed more of their personalities. Macaila was the hyper and optimistic one. It became a running joke between the three of us that Macaila's drug of choice was sugar. If she had even one spoonful of dessert, she would do laps around whatever establishment we were in. Cassiah was always the pensive and grounded one. He preferred to observe first and contribute second. He enjoyed lingering in libraries. They both had plans to disappear into the mortal world once they had graduated from the Academia, and they were eager for the opportunities that would provide. Both deplored the thought of staying in Astraera after they had graduated. Their opportunities were extremely limited, and both had not-so-good things to say about the mage government, especially when it concerned the magic crisis. Still, they were careful about their phrasing, and mentioned nothing about the Resistance or the Gates to the Heavenly Skies. I didn't think we were at that point for me to press for the information, either.

The closest we came to talking about the Resistance was when Macaila and I were walking down Ironton Street. I was accompanying her to one of her favorite apothecaries. As usual, my eyes had drifted over to where the Ironton Street Clocktower stood. The For Sale sign remained posted to the building. Frowning, I nodded towards its entrance. "It’s been on the market for a long time; I’m surprised no one has purchased it. It looks like a good piece of real estate."

Macaila saw where I was looking and then released a sigh. "No one will buy it."

My head tilted. "Why?"

"The previous owner was Carina Ironton," Macaila informed in a monotone. Perplexed, I waited for her to continue. "She was one of nine traitors the government hunted down and hung last February. Her family was one of the rich ones, if you couldn’t tell by the street name. They were at least philanthropic towards the arts. Carina Ironton’s ancestors vouched for the artists of their time to have their own area of the city, and that’s how Ironton Street was created. There are many people in this neighborhood who refuse to let the building go to some big exec who will ruin the street’s identity, people who cared for Carina Ironton and supported her cause. I’m actually surprised that they’ve been able to block the sale of it to someone who would just turn it into another club."

"And the clocktower?" I wondered.

"It was used for a different purpose a long time ago. I forget what, though. Carina was an ambitious socialite princess. She wanted to make her own money. She had a vision of transforming the clocktower into a hotel containing a place for social events and a kitchen for the culinary arts scene. I think she envisioned it as a place for the traveling dreamers and artists to retreat to after they enjoyed the summer festivals Ironton Street is well known for. It was about to open before her capture. It’s rather sad it never did," Macaila lamented.

I bit my bottom lip. Staring at the steampunk clock, I dared to ask, "Do you think she was a part of the Resistance?"

Macaila shrugged. "The government had their evidence. If she was, then that hotel could have been used for secret Resistance meetings." That was all Macaila would say on the subject, and I didn’t press for more.