Chapter 3 Chapter 3: Veil of Thorns

The Masters' Hall was a temple to academic warfare, its walls lined with treatises on combat magic and tactical philosophy. Kaela sat in a chair that was too large for her, facing a panel of three instructors who studied her like she was a particularly interesting specimen they'd found under a rock.

"Veil magic is hereditary," said Master Corvina, a woman with silver hair and eyes like chips of winter sky. "It passes through bloodlines, usually manifesting in early childhood. Your family history shows no record of magical ability."

"My family history shows a lot of things that aren't true," Kaela replied. "We couldn't afford proper documentation."

Master Thorne leaned forward. "The girl has a point. Half the slum dwellers in this empire have powers they never report,can't afford the registration fees, don't trust the bureaucrats, or just don't want the attention."

The third instructor, a thin man named Master Aldric, tapped his fingers against the table. "Regardless of origin, raw veil magic is dangerous. Unpredictable. It could kill her as easily as protect her."

"Which is why she needs training," Corvina said. "The question is whether six months is enough time to teach her control."

They spoke about her as if she weren't sitting right there, which was probably intentional. Another test, another way to see how she'd react to being dismissed and diminished. Kaela kept her expression neutral and her hands folded in her lap, but inside, anger burned like a banked fire.

"I can learn," she said when they finally addressed her directly. "Whatever it takes."

Corvina's smile was thin as a blade. "We'll see. Report to the practice chambers at dawn. Private lessons, one hour before regular training begins. Don't be late,we won't wait for you."

Dismissed, Kaela made her way back through the academy's winding corridors, her mind churning with questions she couldn't answer. Veil magic. She'd heard of it in stories and legends, but she'd never imagined she might possess such a power. It explained the strange shimmer around her blade, the way light had bent and twisted to hide her movements.

But it also made her a target. Power drew attention, and attention was the last thing she needed if she was going to uncover the truth about the Reckoning.

Lost in thought, she almost walked straight into the group of students blocking her path.

There were five of them, all noble-born, all wearing the kind of casual arrogance that came with never having to question your place in the world. Selene stood at their center like a queen holding court, her silver hair catching the torchlight.

"Well, well," Selene said. "The slum rat thinks she's special now."

Kaela tried to step around them, but they shifted to block her path. The corridor was narrow, with nowhere to run and no one to call for help. Perfect for the kind of casual violence that left no witnesses.

"Excuse me," Kaela said quietly.

"Oh, she has manners," one of the boys laughed. "Did they teach you to curtsy in the gutters?"

"They taught me not to waste time on people who peaked in childhood," Kaela replied.

The insult hung in the air like smoke. Selene's eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement or fury,with girls like her, the two emotions were often identical.

"You know," Selene said conversationally, "your brother had the same smart mouth. Right up until the end."

The words hit like a physical blow. Kaela felt her carefully maintained composure crack, letting rage leak through like water through broken glass.

"Don't," she whispered.

"He begged, you know. At the very end, when the fire caught him. Begged and cried and called for his mommy." Selene's smile was razor-sharp. "Just like you'll do, when your time comes."

The lie was so obvious, so calculated to wound, that it might have been funny under other circumstances. But hearing her brother's memory twisted into something ugly and shameful made Kaela see red.

She lunged forward without thinking, her hands going for Selene's throat. But the noble girl was ready for her, stepping aside with fluid grace while her companions closed in from all sides.

The beating would have been quick and brutal if not for the voice that cut through the corridor like a blade.

"That's enough."

The students froze. Dagon Vale stepped out of the shadows at the far end of the hall, and even in the dim torchlight, his presence filled the space. The tattoos on his arms seemed to writhe in the flickering flames, and his gray eyes held a coldness that made the air feel ten degrees colder.

"Dagon," Selene breathed, her mask of perfect composure slipping for just a moment. "We were just,"

"You were just leaving," he said quietly. The words carried the kind of authority that came from generations of command, the expectation of immediate obedience.

For a heartbeat, Kaela thought Selene might defy him. The noble girl's hands clenched at her sides, and her eyes burned with frustrated rage. But even she wasn't stupid enough to directly challenge Dagon Vale in front of witnesses.

"Of course," she said finally, her voice sugar-sweet and poison-sharp. "Come along, everyone. I think we've seen enough."

They melted away into the shadows, leaving Kaela alone with the boy who had just saved her from a beating she couldn't have won. She should have been grateful. Instead, she felt humiliated.

"I didn't ask for your help," she said, not looking at him.

"No," he agreed. "You were about to get yourself killed instead. Very noble."

The mockery in his voice made her finally meet his eyes. "Why do you care what happens to me?"

"I don't." The answer was immediate and brutal in its honesty. "But I care about waste. You have potential,raw, unformed, probably useless, but potential nonetheless. Getting yourself beaten to death in a corridor is a waste of that potential."

She wanted to hit him. The casual way he dismissed her, the clinical assessment of her value, the assumption that she should be grateful for his intervention,all of it made her want to scream.

"I can take care of myself," she said instead.

"Can you?" He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes, she could even smell the subtle scent of smoke and steel that clung to his clothes. "Then why are you here, in this academy, surrounded by people who want you dead? If you could take care of yourself, you'd be safely at home, mourning your brother in private instead of volunteering for the same fate that killed him."

The words were cruel because they were true. Kaela felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.

"You don't know anything about why I'm here," she whispered.

"Don't I?" His voice was softer now, but no less dangerous. "You're here for revenge. You think if you can last long enough, if you can make it to the final rounds, you'll have a platform to expose the cruelty of the system. You think the truth will set you free."

Each word landed like a blow, accurate and devastating. Kaela stared at him in shock, wondering how he could read her so easily when she'd been so careful to hide her intentions.

"The problem with your plan," Dagon continued, "is that it assumes anyone in power wants to hear the truth. They don't. They want a good show, a few moments of drama before the killing begins. Your noble sacrifice will be forgotten before your body is cold."

"Then what would you suggest?" The question came out sharper than she'd intended.

"Survive," he said simply. "Long enough to matter. Long enough to make changes that last beyond a single dramatic gesture." He paused, studying her face in the torchlight. "Your brother understood that. It's why he was dangerous, and why they made sure he died early."

The casual way he spoke about Kieran's death,like it was just another tactical consideration,made something cold settle in Kaela's chest.

"You talk about him like you know him."

"I did." The admission was quiet, almost reluctant. "Not well, but enough to recognize the same fire in you. The same stubborn determination to fix a world that doesn't want to be fixed."

Before she could respond, he turned and began walking away, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. At the corner, he paused and looked back.

"Train hard, Kaela Varn. Learn to control that veil magic before it controls you. And try not to get yourself killed in the next few weeks,I'd hate to see potential wasted on pride."

Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the corridor with more questions than answers and the uncomfortable realization that Dagon Vale saw her more clearly than she saw herself.

That night, she practiced her veil magic in the privacy of her room, trying to understand the power that had manifested so suddenly. She held her hand up to the candlelight and concentrated, feeling for the strange shimmer that had hidden her blade during the sparring match.

Nothing happened.

She tried again, focusing harder, reaching for whatever instinct had guided her in the training yard. Still nothing.

It wasn't until she thought about Selene's cruel words, about the lie that painted her brother as a coward, that the power responded. Her hand seemed to blur at the edges, the candlelight bending around it like water around a stone.

Veil magic fed on emotion, she realized. On pain and anger and the need to hide from a world that wanted to hurt you. It was protection and camouflage all at once, the power to become invisible when visibility meant death.

But as she watched the light twist around her fingers, Kaela couldn't shake the feeling that this gift came with a price she didn't yet understand. Power always did, in the empire of Armathis.

Outside her window, snow began to fall, and somewhere in the academy's depths, she could hear the sound of steel against steel as the other students prepared for whatever tomorrow might bring.

The Reckoning was still months away, but already, she could feel its shadow growing longer.