DRAGONA

Aurelia

I tried to tell myself it didn't matter. That the way Elira had looked at me during the registration—like she already knew she would win—was just another trick she'd learned to get under my skin.

But even hours later, long after we'd left the Hall, the memory burned in the back of my mind.

The palace felt too quiet when I returned. A hush had settled over everything, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for me to become whoever I was supposed to be.

I went straight to the training hall.

Didn't even change out of my uniform, which still smelled faintly of smoke.

My palms itched with the need to do something, anything that would remind me who I was. What I could do.

The flame came easily, as it always did.

All I had to do was reach in—take a little, or let it consume me.

It flared bright and strong, a bonfire of power coiled in my chest like a second heartbeat. My fingers glowed, flickering orange.

By now, I knew the color of my eyes had changed too—bright and golden, like I'd seen in the mirror too many times.

I pressed my hand against the training dummy.

The fire leapt out in a rush, scorching the fabric.

The smell of burned canvas curled around me, too close, too sharp.

I welcomed the scent, the warmth.

Like family. Like my child.

But despite the heat, something inside me stayed cold.

There was still a hollow space in my chest.

And every time I tried to fill it, all I found was sadness… and confusion.

I sat down on the edge of the sparring mat, breathing in the charred air.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

For a moment, I considered ignoring it.

Then I pulled it out and saw Aric's name.

Aric: You okay?

I stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

What was I supposed to say? That I'd been trying to burn the doubt out of myself and it hadn't worked?

That I kept thinking about Elira and wishing I didn't care?

Me: Fine.

The lie tasted like ash.

A beat passed.

Then another message blinked onto the screen.

Aric: Really?

I swallowed, pressing my palm against my knee.

My skin was still warm.

I shifted the phone in my hand.

Me: Not really. You?

A minute crawled by before his reply came.

Aric: Also not really.

That was as close as he ever came to admitting anything.

I closed my eyes for a second, picturing him back in his suite—probably sitting on the end of his bed with that same tired look he'd worn for weeks.

The one that said he was trying to stay hopeful, even if it was costing him everything.

Me: I'm going to burn this place down one day.

Aric: Please wait until after the Trials.

A smile flickered. Small, but real.

My chest ached a little less.

Me: Deal.

Aric: Rest, Aurelia.

Me: You too.

I let the phone fall onto the mat beside me and sat there for another few breaths, letting the quiet stretch around me.

It wasn't much, but at least we were honest with each other—if only in fragments.

Back in my rooms, I showered and changed.

My hair fell damp around my shoulders as I curled up on my bed and scrolled through my feed.

Every other post was about the Convergence Trials.

Speculation. Predictions.

Lists of names—mine always at the top.

I almost laughed.

As if they knew me at all.

A new headline flickered across the screen:

"Noble Houses Prepare to Compete—Ferguson Heir Expected to Dominate."

I scrolled past it, but not before a picture of Elira popped up.

Smiling that perfect, polished smile.

The caption read: Elira Reynard: the Illusionist Prodigy.

I closed the app.

The phone screen reflected my face back at me—tired eyes, damp hair, a frown I couldn't seem to erase.

I didn't know who I was more angry with.

Elira, for being so certain of herself.

Or me, for caring so much.

I let the phone slip out of my hand onto the blankets.

The last thought before I finally lay back and closed my eyes was that tomorrow, it would start all over again.