Chapter 6

The Flame Within

I was up before the sun.

Not because I wanted to be. Sleep had never been a sanctuary for me, not really. Even now, in a bed that didn’t sag with broken springs and sheets that didn’t scratch, sleep remained a stranger. Too many memories lurked in the dark corners of my mind, waiting for me to let my guard down.

So I didn’t.

The moon still hovered low above the orchard, pale and watchful. A thin layer of frost coated the grass, crunching softly beneath my boots as I stepped out of the dormitory. My breath fogged in the crisp air, and I tightened the blue scarf around my neck, the fabric rough with dried sweat from yesterday’s combat class.

I walked alone.

The halls of Duskmoor were empty, save for the faint flicker of lavender light from the enchanted lanterns that lined the corridors. Magic whispered in every stone, humming faintly beneath my feet. It should have comforted me. But comfort was a luxury I hadn’t earned.

Why did I agree to this?

Because you have no choice, I answered myself. Because if you don’t learn control, you’ll be shipped off or locked away. Or worse.

Because you’ve survived too much to run now.

Commander Ashwin’s words from the day before echoed in my skull: “You’ll either kill someone or burn out.”

Maybe both, I thought.

When I reached the lower arena, the heavy stone doors were already open.

Ashwin stood in the center of the training floor like a statue carved from mountain granite. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. A single torch burned on the far wall, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts.

He didn’t speak at first.

He didn’t need to.

“You’re on time,” he finally said.

“I didn’t sleep.”

“Good. Sleep makes you soft.”

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. What was the point? He wasn’t here to coddle me. He was here to see if I could be turned into something usable—or discarded.

“Step into the circle,” he ordered, motioning toward a set of runes carved into the stone.

The moment I crossed the boundary, the floor beneath me thrummed with latent energy. The runes pulsed faintly, reacting to my presence.

“Channel your energy,” he said. “Don’t suppress it. Let it rise. Let it burn. But command it. Don’t let it control you.”

I looked at him. “And if it gets out?”

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile I’d ever seen from him. “Then I’ll stop you.”

Great.

I closed my eyes and reached inward. My magic coiled under my skin like a sleeping animal, restless and hot. My wolf stirred alongside it, uneasy. There was something older there, too—some deeper part of me that felt like a live wire, crackling with static.

I let it come.

The air shifted instantly.

Heat rose in waves from my skin. The runes glowed silver at my feet. A shimmer of light bloomed at my fingertips—slow, deliberate. Not the wild, uncontrollable burst from yesterday. This time, it moved like a dance. Like it belonged to me.

Ashwin circled me like a predator. He watched every flicker of flame, every rise and fall of energy.

Then, without warning, he tossed a compressed energy orb directly at my chest.

My instincts kicked in.

Flames burst outward, forming a barrier that caught the orb mid-flight and absorbed it. The resulting impact sent a tremor through the floor, but I didn’t flinch.

I opened my eyes and stared through the glowing barrier.

Ashwin’s expression didn’t change, but his voice was quieter when he spoke. “You didn’t explode.”

“Is that praise?”

He ignored the question.

The next hour was hell.

He threw more attacks—spells designed to disorient, disarm, even physically strike. I had to deflect, counter, and hold. My arms shook from the effort. My legs ached from the strain of holding ground.

But I didn’t break.

Not once.

When he finally called a stop, I was drenched in sweat, trembling, and nearly spent. Ashwin tossed me a potion bottle filled with dark blue liquid.

“Drink it.”

I chugged it without question. The taste was awful—bitter and metallic—but the relief was instant. The burning in my limbs cooled. My breathing steadied.

Ashwin stepped forward, for the first time not looming, but considering.

“There’s power in you, girl,” he said. “Not just magic. Fire like that doesn’t come from spells. It comes from pain. From purpose. And something else.”

I met his gaze. “Something else?”

“I don’t know what you are,” he admitted. “But you’re not just a hybrid.”

And then he turned and walked away.

Classes that day were a blur.

I moved through Spellcasting Fundamentals in a haze. The rune crystals sparked in my hands, refusing to obey, until I snapped one in half and scorched my desk. Professor Idrien didn’t yell—he just raised a single brow and handed me another.

In Magical Ethics, I couldn’t focus. The words blurred together. I could feel eyes on me the entire time. My classmates whispered behind books, behind hands. I heard pieces.

“…burned the practice floor…”

“…they let her stay?”

“…should’ve expelled her already…”

Naomi nudged me with her elbow.

“Hey. Earth to fire girl.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to combust again.”

I gave her a tired smile. “Only a little.”

She leaned closer. “You know I’ve got a charm that turns people’s hair green, right? Just say the word.”

Tempting.

It got worse in the halls.

Sienna—the platinum-blonde girl with the perfect braid and the voice like venom—cornered me outside the greenhouse.

“Careful, Bennett,” she said, her voice honey-sweet. “Wouldn’t want you to lose it and torch another student. Or is that part of the hybrid curriculum now?”

I didn’t answer. I just walked past her, keeping my fists clenched.

But the fire responded.

A flicker of heat danced across my palms. The runes on the back of my hands—ones I didn’t remember ever getting—briefly shimmered beneath my skin.

Not yet, I whispered to myself. Not yet.

That night, I didn’t go straight back to my room.

I needed air. I needed silence.

The orchard was quiet, bathed in moonlight. The silver-glowing trees shifted slightly in the wind, their branches humming with old, pulsing magic. I wandered until I found a tree that looked older than the rest, its roots wide and moss-covered, its trunk knotted like a fist.

I sat down, my back against the bark.

For a long time, I said nothing.

Then I whispered, “I’m trying.”

The wind stirred.

The leaves rustled.

You are becoming, the orchard whispered back. Or maybe I just wanted to believe it.

My wolf stirred, restless. Not afraid. Just… waiting.

And deep inside me, the flame pulsed. Not wild. Not chaotic.

Just awake.