The morning sun barely crested the horizon when Cyrus found himself trudging toward the village square, the weight of sleeplessness pressing against his skull. The events of the previous night lingered in his mind, twisting into uneasy knots. The whispers in the trees, the flashes of cloaked figures—he couldn't dismiss them as mere tricks of the night.
Mira Durand, already waiting by the well, smirked at him as he approached. "You look terrible. Rough night?"
Cyrus ran a hand through his hair. "Something like that. Did you see anything strange last night?"
Mira frowned. "Define strange."
Before he could elaborate, the village elder, a stooped man with piercing eyes, called for silence. The gathered villagers quieted as he cleared his throat. "We have guests," he announced, gesturing toward two figures who stepped forward from the shade of a nearby building. "Seraphine and Kaelen."
Cyrus felt his pulse quicken. He hadn't expected them to come so soon.
The woman, regal and composed, scanned the crowd with an unreadable expression. Her dark eyes glinted as if she could see beyond the people before her. The man beside her, draped in dark armor, had a quiet ferocity about him that set the crowd on edge.
"We come on behalf of the Black Crown," Seraphine spoke, her voice smooth yet firm, carrying easily to every corner of the square. "We seek those with the potential to walk the path of magic. Those who show promise will be given an opportunity to train within the towers."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. The Black Crown rarely ventured to villages as remote as Ashmere.
Mira nudged Cyrus. "Looks like your chance to escape this place."
Cyrus barely heard her. His mind was already racing, recalling the strange sigils woven into Seraphine's presence, the sensation of something ancient and familiar lingering in the air around her. The feeling that he had met her—or someone like her—before.
Seraphine's gaze flicked over the villagers, her eyes briefly landing on him. There was something calculating in her look, a recognition or perhaps an interest. The moment was fleeting, but it lingered in Cyrus's mind like the taste of ash.
He watched as Seraphine made a subtle motion with her fingers, and a wave of heat rippled through the air around her. It wasn't like the magic he had seen before—no crude incantations or flashy explosions, just a quiet, controlled power that made his skin prickle.
"Step forward if you wish to be tested," Seraphine called, her voice clear and unwavering. The warmth of her magic faded, but the lingering sense of something far beyond his understanding remained.
Cyrus hesitated for a moment, unsure. He had never been one to attract attention, especially not like this. But something about her presence—the way she made the impossible seem natural—pulled at him. Something deep inside him stirred, as though a part of him was waking from a long sleep.