“By order of the most esteemed council of Firelands, your presence is requested!” Ahira Mansen declares dramatically as he gestures towards the imposing door of the Firelands’ council chamber with such a flourish that one might think he is summoning forth a three-headed dog, not a young sorceress, to a gathering of ancient sorcerers.

Time to remember how to breathe!

In, out, in, out…

I feel like I’m about to be examined on the intricacies of siege weaponry, but realizing that the only lesson I’ve prepared for involves lutes and songs about rainbows. To put it simply, I find myself ill-prepared. This audience, this moment, I’ve both dreamed of and dreaded it for years. And finally, here I am, ready to face the Firelands’ council to reveal my grand life plan. It is a rare chance for someone of my lowly status, and the gravity of the moment hit me like a falling anvil. Lips pressed together in a silent plea for composure, I battle the urge to bolt.

Deep breaths, Arien. You got this… Probably… Maybe…

I open the massive oaken door and enter a round, gleaming white room that serves as the sacred meeting place where some of the continent’s most powerful leaders, Firelands’ council, gather to deliberate matters of state and destiny.

Being a young, low-level sorceress with the social standing of a dung beetle, it’s my first time stepping into this chamber. I’m only here because I earned my fourth ring of sorcery nine days ago, the first among my age group, which granted me the honor of attending the council meeting with a promise of a wish granted. Immediately, the room’s grandeur engulfs me, but instead of soothing my nerves, it intensifies my growing unease, sending my heart into a furious sprint.

I have to squint my eyes against the blinding whiteness of the chamber, which is surrounded by massive windows. The chamber feels ethereal, almost otherworldly. It feels like no shadows can linger here. The walls themselves are sleek and flawless, made from a unique, radiant stone that seems to shine with its own inner glow.

The floor is a mosaic of white marble tiles arranged in concentric half-circles that lead to a majestic half-circle table carved from the finest white marble. Each council member’s seat is a throne of its own, carved directly from the marble where the nine members of the Firelands’ council sit, all clad in white—the color of nine-ringed Ahiras. The only splash of color in this white scene is a grand tapestry depicting the founding of Firelands on the wall behind the council members.

Positioned at the central seat of the table, Ahira Emenshah, the head of Firelands’ council, wears a genial smile. His snowy beard and hair frame a pair of twinkling blue eyes, wise as an owl and twice as cheerful. I have never seen him without his signature calm smile, which is as rare in Firelands as a sunny day in Eyria. We Ahiras aren’t precisely known for our sunny dispositions; we prefer to save our facial muscles for scowling at those we deem unworthy.

Speaking of lesser beings, the other eight council members are giving me the stink-eye. They are lined up like grumpy pigeons on a fencepost along the curved table, four on each side of Ahira Emenshah. Hard to say what’s got their feathers ruffled more: the fact that none of them had a clue about me until nine days ago, or that the youngest Ahira to earn a fourth ring since Ahira Emenshah himself is a nobody orphan and – gasp! – a girl. The horror!

“Arien,” Ahira Emenshah greets me as if we’re old chums sharing an ale. As if this isn’t the first time he has ever uttered my name. “It feels like just yesterday you arrived at Firelands as a young, uneducated pupil. Many doubted your ability even to complete the first year, let alone the entire nine years of training, and earn your three rings of sorcery. And yet, here you stand before us, the first Ahira of your age to achieve a fourth ring, a mere two winters after finishing the Academy.”

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I’m surprised he even knows me, let alone remembering a scrawny kid who arrived here eleven years ago. Unlike the other high-ranking Ahiras, there’s a hint of warmth, perhaps even admiration, in his voice. He’s never spoken to me directly, but I’ve always sensed a kindness about him, far from the icy demeanor of other senior Ahiras. He doesn’t seem bothered that a young sorceress has achieved the same glory as him to earn the fourth ring of sorcery at the ripe old age of only twenty.

“It is an honor to be in the council’s presence,” I declare dramatically, bowing my head so low that I almost trip over my own feet. I might as well butter them up before dropping the shocking news. “Indeed, when I arrived here eleven years ago, I was naive and uneducated. Firelands gave me a home, safety, and an education, allowing me to stand here today.”

There’s a kernel of truth to my gratitude. Firelands offered me sanctuary and education, especially compared to the precarious existence I knew before. While the isolation and strict rules weren’t exactly thrilling, at least I didn’t have to fight rats for crumbs under the stairs as I did back in Myrielfort, where I grew up.

“Your remarkable achievements speak to your natural talent and tireless work ethic. Although you came to the Fire Temple Academy without the advantage of early training that many others had, you never gave up. In Firelands, merit, not lineage, distinguishes Ahiras, and you exemplify this truth.”

I am experiencing a blend of conflicting emotions at the same time. Part of me appreciates the crusty compliment and the nod to all the sweat and burnt fingertips I’ve sacrificed. The other, more cynical part wants to roll my eyes so hard they’d escape my skull and find better work elsewhere.

In Firelands, one’s magical ability is supposed to be the only factor determining rank, making lineage seem unimportant. Yet, those born into nobility enjoy a significant advantage, with resources and opportunities that far surpass what commoners like me can access. They have specialized tutors and access to rare sorcerous artifacts, allowing them to hone their skills while the rest of us are left to struggle for scraps.

However, arguing with the council is a losing proposition. So I do what any sane person would do in this situation – I bob my head like an extremely enthusiastic pigeon and mumble something about being honored.

“Arien, you now have the opportunity to request a reward for your diligent efforts. I’m sure you are aware of all the options available to you. Knowing your talent and wit, I trust that you have carefully considered them and have chosen the best course for you. Rest assured that it will be granted. Tell us, child, what do you wish from us?”

Despite practicing my little speech a thousand times, my heart thunders. I take a few deep breaths, trying to steady my breathing and avoid squeezing myself into the floor.

Because that’s all that matters here. Strength, composure, and stoicism are the pillars of Firelands’ society. From the moment we arrive here at the tender age of nine, we are molded into unbreakable sorcerers, trained to conceal any vulnerability. In our world, where sorcerers are a minority, emotions are a liability we cannot afford. Kindness and compassion are often seen as weaknesses, and we are taught to suppress them lest we become targets in a world that fears our power.

Firelands is the smallest province on the Asyrion continent, inhabited and governed solely by sorcerers. We call ourselves Ahiras. Despite being at peace with the other eight provinces that form the Union, populated by non-sorcerers, we are vastly outnumbered, with thousands of men for every sorcerer.

Children across the continent who manifest sorcerous abilities, typically between the ages of three and eight, are sent to Firelands upon reaching nine years of age. This marks the beginning of nine years of training at Fire Temple Academy, where we strive to earn a sorcery ring every three years by passing rigorous examinations. Upon reaching eighteen, those who have successfully earned all three rings complete their formal training. Subsequently, the council determines our future path and how we will serve Firelands.

For sorceresses, our options are, well, limited. Sorcery is rare in boys, as one in a thousand children is born as a sorcerer. Girls? Even rarer. Much, much rarer. There are hundreds of sorcerers for one sorceress. So, after nine glorious years of schooling, guess where they stuck me? Back in the Fire Temple, a place I’d already spent nine years as a trainee, to toil away in the alchemy hall, probably by Ahira Brutus’ recommendation, the grumpy old coot who is my mentor.

The silence stretches for a long moment, and I can feel the heavy gaze of the councilmen on me. I take a final deep inhale and open my mouth.

“I wish to be the Firelands’ prospect to join Martysh.”