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Ravens were deemed ominous in Hamelin, and this one seemed bent on proving it true. The creature—a brutal, inky mass of feathers and beak—pecked and cawed incessantly at my windowsill until I relented and opened the shutters.

"Once I catch you, you'll be sorry," I muttered, as the little menace hopped to my desk. My nerves frayed, not from the bird's antics, but from the day ahead. The first rays of dawn crept over the Westshores their light barely touching the streets below, still cloaked in shadows. Only the pale moondrops blooming in the cracks of cobblestones gave any indication that the world was waking. I glanced at the brewing storm clouds above. "Raven stew does sound tempting."

It screeched back in indignation.

I shook my head, tying my cloak over my nightdress and moving to the washbasin. The bird, intent on examining my every step, inched closer for a better view. I shut the door and then my eyes. The Monastery bells had yet to ring, giving me a precious hour to prepare.

The cloak around my shoulders began to weigh me down- today was Choosing Day. The ceremonial passage of worthy apprentice to mages. There were worse fates than staying an apprentice forever, but not many. Those names whose magic wasn't strong enough to earn a place—haunted the list like shadows. Failed. Forgotten.

"It doesn't matter," I told myself, a mantra repeated too often. I plucked a leaf from a bold celosia vine that crept through the bathroom cracks and pressed it to my face; its essence bled warmth and guided a soft glow over the paleness of my cheeks. My affinity for plants had grown over the years. The choosing ceremony favored experience over strength, giving me a sliver of advantage over the others. I pleated my hair, each strand oiled and tamed, refusing to betray my nerves. My efforts preserved a fraction of my father's hope in me and I refused to let it go in vain.

I splashed cold water on my face, willing the weariness to flee, but doubt still lingered. Years of training had yielded little; I was no stronger than when I began. The thought of disappointing him stung more than the cold water. Tomorrow I will be a mage.

A glass shattered, then another.

"That ridiculous bird," I muttered, dropping the leaf in the sink. I could hear the frantic shuffling of feathers before I reached the knob. "How bothersome do you need to be this early..."

A sharp white whisper of fog rushed past my face, blinding my sight briefly. When my vision cleared, the room was empty, save for the window left ajar and a solitary feather resting peacefully on the sill. Before I could reach the window, a cold gust of wind swept through the room, swirling papers into a frenzy. "The next time we meet, it'll be on my breakfast plate," I muttered, glaring at the shards of a tipped clay vase-one that had been a gift from Father and the remnants of my bedside candle holder. I salvaged the pieces I could and gently stacked them on the shelf where they fell. My chambermaid would not be pleased at the sight of this mess.

The door creaked. "Was that vase your-."

"Yes." I cut her off, I didn't wish to be reminded of Father again, not after such an awful start to the day. "I hope I didn't wake the entire quarter."

Vae continued to stand by the door, brow arched in curiosity. "It didn't." Her words were short of reassurance. "Though you seem quite in the mood." She looked more polished than usual, her silk-like brown hair, of which I envied, neatly braided and her uniform crisp. The dark circles beneath her eyes, however, were still visible, betraying the late hours she had kept. I was slightly pleased that it wasn't just me who had a terrible night's rest.

"When am I not?" I attempted to jest but my usual humor had been exhausted. Vae noticed.

"I'm anxious too" she admitted. "But everything will turn for the best, for both of us. Head Mage Martha admires you. She'll know who is worthy before the ink dries on the scroll."

I tore my gaze from Vae, the Head Mage's judgment was final, merciless. If my name wasn't called, I might as well be invisible in her eyes. I didn't wish to dim her spirits with the grim truth of the alternative instead I allowed myself to share her optimism. "I know it will." I lied.

The morning bells would ring soon, and Vae's meticulous form reminded me of the lack of my own. I pulled on my green apprentice robes and rushed back to the basin. Vae took this as a sign to let herself in. I heard her stack the remainder of the broken shards on the carpet.

I assessed myself in the mirror, it had been a mere fifteen minutes and loose black strands had already formed wild curls around my ears. Terrific. I oiled them back again, muttering a silent prayer for them to stay in place till the end of the ceremony. Father would expect no less.

His portrait hung above my mirror, watching me with the same silent authority it had held since before he was enlisted. The years had not softened the stern set of his jaw, nor the piercing gaze we shared. Everyone had remarked I favored him—his dark curls, his amber-flecked eyes-but he would always call me "my mother's daughter," as if it were a prophecy. All I shared with my mother were our first names.

"The bells will ring soon." Vae's voice called beyond the door. "We must hurry before the rush settles."

You'll do well Aster. I stood in front of the sink and convinced myself of the better, the effects of the Celosia leaf weakened. I caught sight of the bags under my eyes and the scars tracing my cheeks-years of toil and training etched upon my skin. Father's eyes watched from the portrait. What would he say if he saw me now?

I plucked a second leaf from the vine, veiling the reminders of my worthlessness, hoping to silence their conviction. By tonight, I would either be a mage, or I would be nothing.

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The expected thrill of the morning was replaced with the reverberation of my boots as it struck the stone floors of the near-deserted hall. The muted murmur of scattered chambermaids and junior apprentices did little to suppress the lingering unease. I'd promised Vae to join her in the courtyard before she departed, I did not wish for her to worry about the unnerved state she saw me in. The edges of my cloak billowed behind me as I descended the stairs from the Healers' Quarters, toward the courtyard of the monasteries.

"Ms. Craft!" a pitched voice called, accompanied by breathless heaves. I turned to see my rather petite chambermaid Juniper chasing after me. Her red uniform and white laced apron melded seamlessly with the patterns of the walls and drapes. "Oh dear, I am dreadfully tardy today. Cora mislaid the spare keys, and we spent the dawn rifling through the closets. I only hope the Head Mage won't-"

A chuckle escaped my lips, though it quickly faded as I noticed her distressed demeanor drawing nearer. "Juniper, my chamber can survive a day without being dusted." The raven's mess would not matter after I transferred chambers with the mages. "Take rest, I am dismissing you from the day's work. Head Mage Martha will hardly take notice." A lie, she was known for her unyielding standards. It was said that even the most promising apprentices feared her sharp gaze, for Head Mage Martha notices everything.

Juniper's grateful smile concealed the relief in her eyes. "As you wish, Miss." Secretly, I was pleased to have Juniper as my chambermaid, even if she was a novice to her duties. When she first arrived, she could barely reach the shelves to organize and dust my books nor did she have the faintest clue how to wash the linens and wools. I never minded; she was far more delightful than her sister, my previous chambermaid, and a stark contrast to Juniper's comparatively optimistic spirit, one I know that was decisively assigned to me.

The wind bit at my cheeks and my hands flew to my hair to keep the curls from escaping. I passed the grand towers that housed the mages, one where I and many others would be living tomorrow. My heart leaped as the monastery walls came into view. The grand stone building loomed above us all, the Choosing Day banners fluttering in the wind, their colors vibrant against the clouded sky. It felt more like a trial than a celebration.

The Quarters were linked to the core sites of our practices. The Sanatorium served the healers, the Monasteries housed the priests, the training grounds were home to the warriors, and the Grand Archives were the sanctum of the scholars. Entry was, as ever, strictly limited to select mages and those apprentices deemed worthy, but when important announcements were to be made, we assembled at the grand hall just beyond the monastery courtyard.

Apprentices milled about the courtyard, their faces alight with anticipation, the air heavy with whispered prayers and silent hopes. My own heart thudded in my chest as I approached the throng. Moondrop petals swirled in the breeze, catching in the hems of robes and the curls of hair, but I barely noticed. My mind was elsewhere.

I spied Vae, wedged between the bulkier warrior apprentices—men and women dressed in tunics of deep crimson, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. The would-be-Knights of Hamelin. Though I kept my head down, I couldn't help but notice the smug expressions of the warrior apprentices. They would know their fates before the rest of us, their Choosing was based on strength and prowess, not magic.

Flamecasters like Vae were highly favored for their potential to become knights, their affinity for fire and heat granting them a resilience and endurance that few could rival. In contrast, Terrabreeders were revered for their connection to the earth, their abilities making them natural healers. They could mend wounds and soothe ailments with a mere touch, drawing strength from the soil beneath their feet.

Aquaweavers and Windtamers, on the other hand, found their destinies intertwined with the royal courts. Their fluid manipulations of water and air captivated the nobility, turning them into sought-after entertainers, delighting audiences with their enchanting performances. But the strongest of them were kept as apprentices or mages.

"Aster?" A voice called, sweet and sharp as a blade. "Still vying for the position of a healer?" Lena, the top healer of our practice, stood behind me, draped in finery that seemed out of place among the simple robes of the apprentices-just as she intended. Being the Head Mage's daughter had its benefits I suppose.

"I wouldn't have given my name otherwise," I replied, glancing behind her for her usual flock, but to my surprise-and fortune-she stood alone.

"It is a wonder, truly, where you get such misplaced hope."

"Not all of us have reputed parents to rely on."

The snide hardly affected her. "You do understand what my mother would do to you if you don't pass, Aster." My hand instinctively rose to my cheek. Lena noticed the tremble in my fingers.

"You won't be chosen," she continued, her electric blue eyes locking onto mine, the guarantee in her statement crawling through the bars of my anxiety. "You barely have Terrabreeding affinities in you, if any at all." Her words pricked at old wounds. She didn't lie.

I bit my tongue, pressing my voice to remain even. "And yet here I am, just as you."

She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "For now," she whispered, her voice cold. "But we both know where you'll end up."

I clenched my fists and pushed past her. Today, I would not give her the satisfaction of a response. Her delight in belittling me was an inherited trait from her mother. Ahead, the lists were being posted—long parchments nailed to the monastery's stone wall. The apprentices crowded around, eager to see their names, some shoving and elbowing each other in their haste. I blinked away the tears that threatened to pool, Lena was irrelevant now.

The crowd surged before me, apprentices of all practices craning their necks to see their fate. Vae's name appeared near the top of the warrior apprentices, which stirred the little hope I had left. My stomach twisted as I approached the healers' list, the crowd was thick with hopeful faces. My breath caught as I pushed through, the names smearing together as I scanned for my own.

And then I found it.

Rowena Aster Craft.

For a moment, I simply stared, unable to process what I was seeing. The world seemed to tilt, the chatter of the apprentices fading into a dull hum. The crowd around me blurred as the weight of that truth settled upon my shoulders. All my years of toil, of sacrifice, and it had amounted to nothing.

Vae appeared at my side, her voice cutting through the haze. "Aster?" she whispered. The yells of celebration and thrill around me began to intensify.

All I could do was stare at my name; the ink scratched through with a harsh line. A seal of my fate.

"Miss Craft."

The voice, clear and steadfast, cut through the clamor of the crowd like a blade. The courtyard fell into a hush as the Head Mage called my name. My chest tightened, the weight of the moment crashing over me.

There she stood—Head Mage Martha, towering at the top of the steps. Her cold gaze met mine, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch painfully thin. The crowd parted, and every eye in the courtyard seemed to be watching me, judging me.

I swallowed hard, bracing myself, but nothing could have prepared me for the words that came next.

"Come, Rowena," Martha's voice lowered, but still carrying its familiar, iron edge. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

My breath hitched. Rowena, she said—not Miss Craft.

I willed my legs to move, numbness creeping over me as I realized there would be no escape from this. Martha's authority, her judgments, her power—all of it was bound to me by more than just duty.

She wasn't just the Head Mage.

She was my stepmother.

And this was a command I could never evade.

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