Cassiel ducked low, throwing herself and pushing off with her wing at the same time to launch her body into a sideways roll. She came with her wing alight with orange-yellow fire, and in the same instant swept it across her body, launching a charged Sunray with as much power as she could muster.

The shrieking crescent seared through the air like a comet and crashed into its target with explosive, razor-sharp force.

Cassiel charged forward as it landed, teeth gritted, eyes narrowed, fists pumping, before crouching and pushing off with her wing again, soaring upward to hang, for a few weightless moments, in the sky.

There she spun, twisting her upper body to send another charged lash of suffused energy slicing from her crystal shards downward to the same target.

It whistled as it flew, before hitting with another, slightly more muted, burst of power.

She landed, barely stumbling, and panted, bringing her wing up to cover the side of her body facing the target, before locking focused eyes on the object of her fury.

The boulder, shattered and sheared to slightly less than two-thirds of its original mass, crumbled slightly as she watched, a small cascade of stones dropping from the uneven gouge carved through its centre.

Cassiel held her pose for a few moments longer, before rising to her full height and sighing. She stretched one wing out and reached over to massage her aching shoulder muscle, wincing slightly as she did so. The stress of performing these manoeuvres with half the necessary tools left half her body aching and sore.

Without Danion there to, if not supervise then at least provide guidance, she was reduced to running these trifling practise battles, trying to cement these exertions into her muscle memory. She had no real idea if she was even making progress, but… the Tournament was coming. If this helped give her even the slightest edge, she had to take it.

Cassiel hated to admit it, but Danion’s absence left her feeling stymied, stalling in her improvements after a few glorious weeks of progress.

She still hadn’t made any significant headway with Construction, either. No matter how much she layered suffusion at the surface of her skin - which was not exactly easy, either; gathering energy in her wings was one thing, but controlling it elsewhere was a whole different cluster of shards - it stubbornly refused to Crystallise.

The walk back to her room after her practise sessions no longer felt hopeful. Everything had gained a dull cast, even in spite of the hope for victory in the Tournament. Without Danion to help her, her chances would be less than nothing. Every other participant was receiving magnitudes greater aid than even Danion had been able to provide her.

Heavens above, who had she been kidding? She was the cripple, cast aside by everyone else, forced to beg for aid when everyone else simply expected it. Prianne had been right, no matter how much she hated to admit it. The Weathered Page was her future - she should just resign herself to being the pitiable, wretched oddity that everyone treated her like.

By the time Cassiel reached her miniscule housing, she was wiping furious tears from her eyes and forcing back disgusting sobs.

She opened her door, then paused as she stepped on something that crinkled beneath her feet. No, wait- two somethings.

Letters- the first bore the seal of the Ministry, and indeed its crisp, slightly crumpled paper. The other was unmarked.

She moved to sit on the bed as she brushed the door closed, legs and back dead tired. She fell backwards onto her bed, then winced as she landed on her dead Implant and a spike of agony seared into her spine.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

That nearly sent her over the edge - her eyes welled up and her mouth puckered at the surge of anguish and desperate, impotent anger. She sat up, hanging her head, and heaved several shaky breaths in a row. Then, after a moment to collect herself, she opened the first letter.

Dear Resident, the missive began, as you have received no offers of admission from Elites, Guardians, nor the Academy, your free housing will expire at the end of current term. If you do not vacate before then, Guardians will be dispatched to the premises.

It ran for another paragraph - some bullshit about ‘hoping you find accommodation swiftly,’ and ‘the need for all citizens to manage independently’ - but she didn’t care.

At the bottom, it was signed by some Ministry official, apparently bearing the rank of ‘Minister of Education.’ She couldn’t read the name through the blur of moisture.

Who is this bastard? She wondered, trying to find some well of fury within her. Who are you, you heavens-forsaken moron?!

A drop of water fell from her eye and smudged the ink into a messy blur before she could fully make it out. She rubbed at the tear stain frantically for a moment, trying futilely to make the name legible, only succeeding in smearing it further.

For some reason, that was the last straw.

Her course was set. She wouldn’t have anywhere to live after the Tournament, not even if she did put on a good enough showing for Juediel. She would have to commit to the Weathered Page. She would probably have to find another job, just to stay afloat, and the dream of one day rising to the status of an Elite would forever be unreachable.

Sobs wracked her body, loud and miserable, and she shoved her palms into her eyelids grinding the heels as deep as they would go. Brightly-coloured splotches danced in her vision. She welcomed the pain, embraced it, even contemplated for a moment pressing on the dead Implant to make it worse. That was the only thing that felt like a relief, in the dismal, pathetic pressure that was her future.

The other letter dropped from her lap onto the floor.

She blinked through the haze of tears, humming a few shuddering breaths as she frowned at it for a moment, the confusion breaking through the anguish.

Cassiel leaned down, lifted the paper in trembling fingers, and unfolded the page.

The paper was made of slightly finer material, and was written in a scrawling, messy script.

Cass,

One week’s time, the Valley’s Tournament delegation is joining a merchant caravan to the Inner Cities. Caravan starts in the market square, but gets loaded up the night before we leave. You can sneak in, hide at the back of one of the food wagons, and stay hidden until we’re too far from the Valley for it to be worth turning back.

See you soon.

  -D

She blinked at the page in surprise.

Despite everything… Danion hadn’t abandoned her. He had risked everything to send this letter - heavens, he had even risked her life, but she couldn’t bring herself to be angry at him for that. He knew, somehow, that this was important to her. They had only ever discussed it briefly, but… he wanted to help her.

He believes in me, she realised, feeling stunned at the revelation.

She looked down at the letter for a few moments more then crumpled it up in her fists and threw it into her fireplace, crouching down in front of it to begin stoking the thing.

Her mouth was set into a grim line of determination, and her body felt tense and excited.

Cassiel’s chances were no better than before, she knew, but… she had only ever wanted one thing of out life, and the fact there was someone else out there who was willing to help her get what she wanted meant everything.

She couldn’t let Danion down. She couldn’t let herself down.

She was going to be in that delegation.