I shake out my nervous hands at my sides, springing my fingers out, then curling them back into a fist. Control the sword. Don't use a shield. Control the sword.

The order is simple, but the execution to stop a powerful blade is not a task I ever thought I would be up against. Then again, I never thought I would step foot in the Void Palace and have little desire to escape, run, or fight for my life. I'm breathing, aren't I? Something in the back of my mind tells me I'll get back home, eventually, but for the first time in three years, I want to focus on myself. On my power. On the woman that gave it to me.

I want to learn everything.

Zikkora doesn't waste a moment of my time. Beyond the glass walls and matching ceiling, the sun begins to fade from the skyline, disappearing deep into the fading coastline. Too far for my eyes to see, but I imagine it there—beyond the snowflakes, monsters, and the capital itself. I'm farther away from home than I have ever been, with a trainer that has likely never visited the world beyond frozen walls. And he's desperate to teach me.

He raises the sword over his head, bringing it down in a straight arc, meaning to cut me in half from the skull. Way in advance, much too soon for his liking, I wrap my newfound power around the blade and take hold, slowing its pursuit. Not enough, though. Zikkora continues to push down on the blade and tension builds in my forearms, burning my shoulders and weakening my knees. I feel as though my feet might break through the floor; the building pressure shoves down onto gravity and makes a mockery of it.

I attempt to push upwards and knock the sword away, but Zikkora has the upper hand. He's a Luminary too. Just like me, but weaker. Just because I'm on the bottom, crouching lower and lower to the floor, doesn't mean I can't prevail. I look for a way out of this, whether I can physically rip the sword from his hand or knock his feet out from underneath him.

All I see is the impending doom, my blue power spitting energy in my palms and around the blade. A soothing hum comes from within the longer it manifests.

Zikkora grits his teeth, shoving harder. My eyes drop to his grip, the overhand hold on the sword's handle, the shaking of his wrists and the white of his knuckles. One slip and he's done for.

Keeping one hand up to hold the sword, I drop the other, clenching my blue power into a fist, and with all the force I can muster, I drive upward. My power ricochets, reverberating through the air, and that's all I need. Zikkora's hand slips and I trail the knock through, enough that the sword flies out of his grip and into the air, landing across the room with a resounding clank.

Zikkora stumbles back. His breaths come rapidly, heaving through his armor. I'm nearly ready to make a joke about how it was about time I figured out what I should do when I spot the streaming of blood down his forehead. From a cut I caused. All amusement fades, dying with my relieved, cocky smile.

"Zikkora, I'm so sorry," I say, rushing to him.

As if not realizing it before, he blinks rapidly and brings a hand to his forehead, swiping along the corner of his brow to catch the stream. He studies it without interest and wipes red onto his dark pants.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, I really didn't. I shouldn't have gone that far."

"Do not apologize for inflicting pain," he snaps. Inches away from my face, his red-stained finger waggles in disgust. Up close, his deep brown eyes are more ferocious. Zikkora is a man chiseled from stone, but he doesn't behave like one. Not confidently like he knows where he stands in the world, but with a slouch. A need for improvement and a desire to be better than the rest. Even if he already is. "This makes you harder. Harder to beat." He taps at the fresh wound and draws more blood.

I shake my head fervently. "I must disagree. My goal has never been to bring harm to anyone. That's not why I'm here." Among many reasons, that's definitely not why I'm here. I'm here because I have to be, not fighting it because I fear what will come if I do.

Zikkora sighs and turns, cutting a direct path towards his sword. Even if there isn't a single mark along the blade, he drags a blue cloth pulled from his belt along the rounded edge, not missing a single spot. The silver shines. "That is a sign of weakness. Luminaries are not weak; you must stop behaving like you are. Your most important lesson will not be how to use your power correctly, it'll be learning that, in some cases, it is wise to reveal strength rather than cowering to a foe."

Out of anger for himself, for me, for the world, he shoves the rag into his pocket and sheaths his swords with mighty fury. I don't know what to say; I have fought the battle of wanting to be stronger than what I am and realizing the world still needs soft souls to maintain the balance, but my mind can never settle on the right decision. Maybe if I thought of what would best benefit me...

"Stop allowing everyone to step all over you, Marie," Zikkora practically groans. I don't know where this is coming from until I realize he's speaking at the result of me not speaking. "Don't be afraid to raise your voice. Show others that you are deadly without inflicting a single touch."

"I don't...I don't possess that ability. To counter others. I never have, and I fear I never will." I fiddle with my fingers, twisting a loose nail from the corner of my finger. Zikkora hangs his head to the floor in disappointment. "But with my power, I think I might have a chance at becoming stronger in more ways than my power. At least that's what I hope."

His head snaps towards me, a beautiful smile stretching the skin on his face. A breakthrough for both of us to discover what lies in our depths. Zikkora jerks his chin towards the door, gesturing to the cracked and splintered wood from previous training sessions gone bad. "You're dismissed for the day. Sleep well and prepare yourself for another round."

"Thank you, Zikkora."

He waves me off to avoid sentiment, and I practically skip out of the room.

When inside the training room, the world seems to disappear to black. Nothing exists beyond the door, the walls, and magic. Then it comes rushing back in voices, Luminaries, and hallways cluttered with glass windows looking out to that blistering white I believe to find myself late at night when magic roils in my veins.

I feel lighter than I have in a long time. The walk back to my chambers is unhurried, and I even bother to nod greeting towards some Luminaries standing post on the lower levels of the palace. All part of their teachings, I guess. Some don't regard my existence; others are relieved to know that not everyone sees them as weak students in the process of adapting their fruitless lives. I wonder how they don't consider the world beyond their door, beyond these walls. How can they not question a stolen land? Terravale sisters ignoring their presence for the sake of avoiding the other's wrath?

I have many questions—for both of them—but those are best saved for a time when I'm truly confident in what I can do. This energy manifestation is only the beginning of my training, and Zikkora has much to teach.

On the walk back to my chambers, I come across more than crowded libraries with small children pouring over books. Edire comes tearing out of a classroom, clutching a piece of parchment so tight in her small fist, I fear she'll rip right through it. Without warning, she leaps with a squeal and tangles herself in my arms. I hoist her in the crook of my arm, taking the parchment with a poorly depicted drawing of a red dragon over the front.

No wonder her fingers and clothes are covered in clay paint.

"Where have you gotten to, little one?" I ask, pinching her stomach. She giggles and leans herself backward, threatening to fall from my grasp. I brace a hand on her back just to ensure she doesn't wiggle free.

I turn in a circle, expecting to see Fidibi following closely behind, but the hallway has emptied. The door to the classroom clicks shut after Edire was released, and the teacher on the other side attempts to hush the remainder of her students. At this age, the last thing they can focus on is order.

"Where is your mother?"

Edire, unable to form her own words that aren't in her own language, shrugs her shoulders dramatically and brings up her small, chubby hands. She mutters something that I can't make out, but this isn't the first time I have to decipher words that aren't actually such.

I don't hear Fidibi's laugh, nor her orders for Edire to calm herself. But I do hear a violin. I follow the trail of it the way a bear follows the scent of meat and nearly pass by the source if not for Edire letting out a shriek and jamming her finger out towards one of the isolated courtyards. Down a flight of stone stairs and underneath the cover of an arch, I find Fidibi. But she's not alone. Sitting at her side, the physical embodiment of the violin is hard to miss. Precisely because of who is playing it.

The Void Queen.

Against the brisk wind, I tighten Edire's coat around her small body and step out, craning my neck to get a better view beyond the stone railing cutting off the view of their faces. What could they possibly be doing together?

Fidibi...is singing. Her eyes are closed, her mouth curved into a gentle 'O' as she rounds out a soft, melodic tune. The Void Queen's strum of the violin is some of the most beautiful I have ever heard. They play well together, even if their proficiency is drowned out by a whistling wind.

Neither of them appears bothered by the cold, their bundled jackets protect against the brisk wind, but the red of their cheeks proves they're not entirely invincible. Both are too drawn by the music to care about anything else.

I consider waiting around to hear more and discover why the tune sounds so familiar to me, but Edire is becoming restless. She doesn't care for the wind. "How about we paint another dragon in my chambers?" I whisper, raising my eyebrows at her.

She purses her lips together and regards the dragon on the parchment I keep from crinkling further.

"Better than that one." I scrunch up my nose, making her laugh. "We'll bring it to life, how about that?"

She claps her hands together, giddy with the remembrance that, like me, she is limitless.