ANTARA'S TOWN-CENTRE CITY.

  The clouds above Antara finally empty themselves, and the downpour slows to a stop.

  Mami remains collapsed in the mud.

  Her fingers tremble as she cradles Salion in her palm.

  "I’m sorry... I’m sorry," she whispers, her voice cracking like dry glass.

  "It’s my fault. It always has been."

  She stares at the lifeless form.

  "The people I hold dear just slip away."

  Her knuckles turn white as she grips the hilt.

  A raw, ragged scream tears from her throat, echoing through the empty streets.

  She looks up, letting the last few drops of rain mask the tears streaming down her face.

  "I wanted to fix the world. I wanted to hunt the shadows."

  Her shoulders shake.

  "But what is the point of peace if I lose everyone along the way?"

  A memory surges forward.

  It isn't a warm one.

  It doesn't offer comfort.

  Heavy boots thud against the cobblestones of a quiet alley.

  A young girl sprints through the shadows.

  She grips a sword tightly, a wide, hungry grin on her face.

  She looks like she has already conquered the world.

  She flings the door of her home open.

  Two boys look up, startled.

  The older one, Tyrone, leans back on the couch.

  The younger brother Pious, sits small in a wooden chair.

  "Hey, Tyrone! Look. I got a weapon. A real sword."

  Tyrone blinks, his expression softening with worry. "Aurelia... where did you get that?"

  "Doesn't matter."

  She flops onto the cushions beside him, her eyes glowing with ambition.

  "I’m joining the Academy. I’m going to be a warrior."

  He sighs, looking at the floor.

  "Do you really want to do that? Father won't be happy. He won't allow it."

  Aurelia curls her lip, her jaw setting firm.

  "I don't care what he thinks."

  The younger boy rushes over, reaching out with tiny hands. "Let me see! Is it heavy?"

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  She swings the blade behind her back, out of his reach.

  "Get back. This isn't a toy. It's for protection."

  The following morning, she stands before a massive timber door.

  She knocks, the sound hollow and loud.

  An old man with deep lines etched into his face opens it.

  "State your business, child."

  "I brought my own steel."

  She lifts the sword high.

  The old man narrows his eyes, scanning her from head to toe.

  "Enter."

  Inside, the air smells of sweat and polished wood.

  Students move in a blur of motion.

  Some wear white; one stands out in a bold red uniform.

  Aurelia watches them, her chest tightening with a deep hunger for that same prestige.

  The old man takes her sword, turning it over in his calloused hands.

  "Where did a girl like you find this?"

  "The grocery store."

  He stops. "They sell blades next to the bread now?"

  "The owner gave it to me," she says quickly. "I helped his son when he was in trouble."

  The man stares at her for a long time, searching for a lie.

  "Do your parents know you're here?"

  She nods, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  "Yes."

  He hands her a scroll.

  "Bring this back signed. Then you can start."

  He tosses a bundle of white cloth at her.

  "Welcome to the Academy."

  She catches the uniform, her heart feeling like it might explode with joy.

  Training is a nightmare.

  Master Peridot is a wall of stone.

  He shows no mercy.

  By the end of the first day, Aurelia is covered in bruises and filth.

  Her arms shake so hard she can barely hold a cup of water.

  But she smiles through the pain.

  As long as she grows powerful, nothing else matters.

  During a rest period, she sits alone in the shade of a Greatwood tree.

  A boy in a red uniform—a sign of his higher standing—walks toward her.

  "Hi. I'm Jager. Who are you?"

  He reaches out a hand, but she pulls away.

  "I don't shake hands."

  He smirks, his eyes mocking.

  "Newbie."

  Aurelia lunges.

  She doesn't wait.

  She swings, but he moves like water.

  He blocks her strike without effort.

  A quick kick to her shins, a sweep of his leg, and she hits the dirt hard.

  He offers his hand again.

  "You’ll have to work harder than that."

  She glares at him from the ground, wiping dirt from her mouth.

  "I will."

  She believes it.

  She believes that if she becomes a master, the world will finally be safe.

  She believes strength is the lock that keeps the door shut against tragedy.

  That evening, she walks home in her tattered everyday clothes.

  Her muscles ache, but her mind is full of dreams.

  She rounds the corner to her street and stops.

  The sound of heavy boots.

  The wet thud of a fist hitting skin.

  The groan of a body sliding down a wall.

  She rushes forward.

  Five older boys stand in a circle, laughing.

  Her eyes find the person on the ground.

  "Tyrone?"

  Her brother lies in the gutter.

  Blood smears his lips.

  His breathing is a ragged, shallow whistle.

  One of the bullies looks up and sneers. "Oh, look, it's the little sister."

  Aurelia feels her stomach drop.

  She doesn't have her sword.

  She grabs a jagged wooden plank from a trash heap and swings wildly.

  The boys, surprised by her rage, scatter into the dark.

  She drops to her knees, pulling Tyrone’s head into her lap.

  "I'm here. I’m here," she sobs.

  His eyes wander, struggling to find her face.

  "Aurelia... I'm sorry. I wasn't as strong and determined as you.."

  His chest rattles.

  She presses her small hands against his ribs, trying to stop the shaking, trying to hold him together.

  Her eyes light. "I wanted to chase the darkness, I want to be strong so I'll protect the ones I love. Please hang in there."

  He smiles.

  There is too much blood.

  She had practiced her forms.

  She had learned to strike.

  But she wasn't there when the shadows closed in on him.

  She was busy chasing power, to change the world's darkness.

  And yet her brother was bleeding.

  The rain begins to fall.

  Cold and relentless.

  The clinic is cold and smells of sharp chemicals.

  The medic moves with a grim face.

  "Internal bleeding," the man says, not looking Aurelia in the eye.

  "His lungs failed."

  Her father stands nearby, his body as stiff as a statue, silent and broken.

  The medic sighs.

  "We tried. But..."

  he pauses.

  "He didn't make it through the night."

  Silence fills the room.

  Young Aurelia stands there in her new white uniform.

  It is stained with her brother's blood.

  It looks ridiculous.

  It looks useless.

  All her talk of power.

  All her dreams of changing the world.

  And when the person she loved needed her most—she was too late.

  PRESENT DAY

  The rain starts again, drumming against the pavement of Antara.

  Mami’s fingers twitch against the cold metal of Salion.

  "It’s my fault," she whispers into the wind.

  Deep inside the woman, the little girl in the blood-stained white uniform is still standing in that clinic.

  She is still listening to the medic's voice.

  He didn't make it through the night.

  The weight of her past remains, a heavy shadow that no amount of strength has ever been able to lift.

  Still on Vol 3. Fire for Fire.