5 years earlier

She woke early to find the boy trying to clean her face with a rag torn from his clothes. Her right eye was swollen shut. She couldn’t speak, her throat dry and aching. She spat out the grass stuck in her mouth.

“I thought you could make it,” the boy whispered. His voice was weak, trembling.

She felt nauseous. “I thought,” he continued, his eyes heavy with sadness, “I thought that without me, you’d have a chance.” He paused, glancing away. “They brought you back right after you went out. You were really unlucky, you know. The man had just stepped out to relieve himself. A minute later, and you would’ve made it.” He stopped as she hissed in pain, shifting uncomfortably.

“I thought you were stupid for staying. What’s your name?” Her voice came out harsh, her throat straining with each word.

“Jeremy.”

“Vira.”

Late that afternoon, they arrived at an estate. It loomed over the rural landscape like a monument to excess. A small village was visible in the distance, its blue roofs standing out against the grassy hills. To Vira, the estate was hideous. Gold-painted spikes adorned two small towers. Its walls were painted with geometric patterns in shades of blue, light beige, and green. The entrance was flanked by columns resembling drawings she’d once seen in an old, unreadable book buried in her grandmother’s attic.

A well-dressed servant greeted them at the door. “I’ll call for the master,” he said, disappearing inside.

As they walked through the estate, Vira was struck by its grandeur. The walls were lined with pink and blue marble, and golden lamps stood between furniture made of intricate wooden mosaics. Exotic vases, filled with fresh flowers, sat on ornate tables. Fabrics hung on the walls, depicting unfamiliar figures in elaborate poses. They passed an open door revealing a grand room with a mantelpiece, above which hung a gleaming blade—a sabre. It's pointy edge shone in the light of the candles with an ominous threat. Vira had never seen one before. In her tribe, men used spades or knives, and weapons like this were unheard of, reserved for the nobility.

She knew that in Aven, the nobility was sharply divided from the rest of the population. It wasn’t so different from her own tribe, where hierarchy was absolute.

The men led them into a smaller, far less adorned room. Its plain stone floors and bare gray walls were a stark contrast to the opulence they had passed.

A man entered. Handsome and in his early forties, he was dressed in garments dyed with colors Vira had never seen before—deep indigo with silver threads, and black patterned like butterfly wings. Silver buttons studded with aquamarine stones glittered on his jacket. He held a walking stick, more for style than need. He studied them with a sharp, scrutinizing gaze, saying nothing at first.

“Where did you get them?” he asked, still not looking at his men.

“We got the girl from the … tribe,” one replied. “They sold her for forty-five silver lumens.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. She seems old. Won’t be worth much. What color?”

“Blue.”

“Ah,” he said, his tone changing slightly. “Then you’ve done well.” He turned to Jeremy. “And the boy?”

“Southern lands, my lord,” another man, Bron, answered.

“Southern?” The man turned, his expression hardening. Bron faltered.

“Y-Yes, my lord. He has green magic.”

“And on which side of the border did you get him?”

Bron hesitated, then shrank under the man’s stare. “Aven,” he admitted.

“Did you pay for him?”

Bron paused, his face pale. “No. But he had no one!” he added hastily. “No one noticed him missing. I did him a favor! He would’ve died there anyway.”

The man’s expression darkened. He crossed to a window, opened it, and raised his hand. A faint orange ring glowed on his finger. Bron screamed, collapsing to the floor. Though Vira saw nothing between them, the smell of burned flesh filled the air. Bron writhed in agony, his cries echoing off the cold walls.

“Never steal children from Aven territory,” the man said coldly. “We are granted privileges to operate here, but only if we follow the rules. No stealing children on this side of the border. If this comes back to me, you’re dead, Bron. We have rules for a reason. Do you want to keep working?”

Bron nodded weakly, clutching his seared arm.

“Then stick to the rules,” the man snapped. Straightening, he addressed the room. “Pay Sevyn and Peter. Bron forfeits his payment this time. And next time, use the back entrance.” He turned to leave but paused. “Merron?”

The servant entered.

“Take our guests and make them presentable—as much as possible. They’re leaving tonight with Dale.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Merron closed the window and handed payment to the men. He then turned to Vira and Jeremy. “Come,” he ordered, leading them away.

They were taken to a neglected corner of the estate, a small, makeshift addition. “Clean yourselves. You have fifteen minutes,” Merron said, pointing to two separate bathrooms.

Vira entered one. The bath was already drawn, the water almost warm. She sank into it, letting the heat soothe her aching body. Her hands were filthy; her right one bore a deep cut from the roof splinters during her escape attempt. The wound would scar, she thought. She hoped it would.

The scar would be her punishment for being a mage.

Closing her eyes, she pretended she was back at the waterfall near her village. But the memory dissolved as warm hands grasped her. Startled, she opened her eyes. She was back in the cold, unfamiliar room. Fury burned in her chest. She hoped those hands would wither and rot.

Grabbing a towel, she hurled it at the wall.

A knock broke her thoughts. It was time to go.

In the courtyard, a small carriage waited. Merron spoke to a thin-haired man in a dark green cloak—Dale. He looked unremarkable, easy to overlook.

“Good, you’re here,” Merron said as Vira and Jeremy approached. “This is Dale. He’ll take you to your new residence. Make a good impression. Remember, you’ll be representing us, and we value good manners. Dale, they’re yours now.”

With that, Merron left.

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Dale, the man in the green cape, led them to the carriage, which was little more than a wooden cart drawn by a single horse. The road ahead was uneven, and the air turned colder as they left the estate behind. From a distance, they passed a village, its faint lights glimmering in the distance. Soon, they entered a dense forest, where shadows grew thicker and the world seemed to quiet.

The underbrush was dense, and no wildlife stirred along their path. The rustling of the trees and the sound of the cart wheels creaking over uneven ground were their only companions. The path narrowed, lit faintly by the glow of pellax ferns. Their greenish light shimmered softly in the darkness, an eerie sight. These plants were steeped in legend, said to mislead travelers by mimicking the light of distant villages. Here, their glow was abundant, casting strange shadows as the cart passed.

Hours later, fires appeared in the distance. Vira leaned forward, straining her eyes to make out the shapes ahead. She couldn’t tell if it was another village or an estate, but wooden constructions loomed out of the darkness. They looked like a blend of crude fortifications and simple swings, the kind she’d built with Aden for the youngest children in her tribe.

The cart slowed as they approached a tall iron gate crowned with spikes. Vira thought she saw writing etched onto it, but the dim light made it impossible to read. Inside the gate, the pellax ferns and dense trees gave way to open ground.

A large, dark building emerged from the shadows. The cart came to a stop in front of it, where a stern-faced woman stood waiting.

“New recruits,” Dale announced, climbing down from the cart. He motioned impatiently for Vira and Jeremy to follow.

The woman grimaced as her eyes swept over them. “Couldn’t you bring them in better condition?”

“Say they’ve been through training,” Dale replied casually. “Besides, that one’s a blue mage.” He nodded toward Vira.

The woman’s gaze lingered on Vira, skeptical. “Well, we need them all.” She handed Dale a sack of coins, which he swiftly counted. The sack appeared heavier than one worth 45 silver lumens.

“Much obliged,” Dale said with a satisfied bow. Without another word, he climbed back onto the cart and drove away, leaving Vira and Jeremy behind.

The woman stepped closer, her sharp eyes fixed on them. “No matter where you’re from or what you’ve been through, keep it to yourselves. No one here wants to hear it. You are now part of Aven’s magical military training. Follow orders, work hard, and you’ll be fine.”

She straightened her posture, her voice turning brisk. “My name is Ms. Herrington. I oversee the dormitories and enforce order. Any disturbances in the sleeping area, and you answer to me. Now, follow me.”

She turned on her heel and led them inside. The building was cold and unwelcoming, with narrow corridors lit by flickering lamps. They were taken to a small, bare room.

“This is temporary,” Ms. Herrington said. “Tomorrow, you’ll join the dormitories.” Without leaving them so much as a lamp, she turned and left, plunging the room into darkness.

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The next morning, sunlight revealed more of their surroundings. They had spent the night in a small wooden barrack. The landscape outside was vast and barren, shrouded in mist. The grounds were treeless, dominated by a massive fortress in the center. Built of dark stone and timber, it looked ancient but had clearly been adapted for military use. Rows of similar barracks lined the open space, and an area farther off held what appeared to be training equipment.

At dawn, Ms. Herrington appeared to escort them to breakfast. The meal was held in a large hall with long, communal tables. The room was crowded with students of varying ages, though Vira quickly realized none of them appeared older than twenty. Most were younger—closer to Jeremy’s age.

As they entered, heads turned. Whispers rippled through the hall, and eyes followed them. Some gazes were curious, others indifferent, but a few were openly hostile. The sneering stares were mostly directed at Vira. She noted with unease that no one else at the first-year table seemed to be her age.

Suppressing her discomfort, she sat down, determined to remain calm. She refused to make herself a target on her first day.

The food was simple but filling: porridge, eggs, and a small piece of fried meat. Her stomach growled, but she ate with restraint, though Jeremy devoured his meal without hesitation. Days of hunger had clearly taken their toll.

The students around her looked different—cleaner, their clothes tailored and their hair styled in unfamiliar ways. Vira tugged at her sleeves, concealing the tribal tattoos on her arms. Though she found them beautiful, she knew they marked her as an outsider. And if there was one lesson her life had taught her, it was that people hated outsiders.

After breakfast, the students dispersed to their classes. Ms. Herrington led Vira and Jeremy to a waiting man. He was tall and imposing, with the bearing of someone used to command. His sharp eyes assessed them with cool precision.

“These two?” he asked curtly.

“Yes,” Ms. Herrington replied. “The girl’s a blue mage, though she’s older. The boy’s a green mage.”

The man leaned in, studying Vira’s face. “A blue mage?” he murmured. “I can see the rings around your eyes. How long have you been practicing light magic?”

“I haven’t,” Vira said, her voice steady.

“Don’t lie unless you want to be punished,” Ms. Herrington snapped.

The man’s piercing gaze lingered on Vira. She met his eyes, unflinching. Years of standing before her tribe’s elders had taught her not to waver under scrutiny.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Wilcrest Tribe,” Vira answered reluctantly.

“Ah, that explains it,” he said, straightening. “They forbid magic and sell their mages to us. Did you know they used to kill children with magical abilities?”

Vira’s heart pounded. That was a lie.

“Oh yes,” he said, catching her disbelief. “You’re lucky to be born now, in a time when prosperity outweighs superstition. Your abilities must have only recently shown themselves—otherwise, they’d have dealt with you earlier.”

He turned to Ms. Herrington. “She’s old for a first year, but blue mages are in demand. Put her with the first years. The boy, too.”

He glanced at Jeremy briefly but said nothing more before walking away.