I turn the name over in my mind, wondering if The Pyre Sanctum is like the Argent Chamber in Bakva, where those with silver magic train.
We round a corner and approach an ornate tapestry. Jasce sweeps the heavy fabric aside, revealing a door carved with ancient runes that flicker, as if alive.
He presses his palm to an indentation, and the door swings open with a groan. I hesitate, peering into the darkness beyond.
Sensing my apprehension, Jasce squeezes my hand. I inhale, then step over the threshold into The Pyre Sanctum. Runes shimmer along the walls, their glow steady and eternal, like stars caught in an unending night. Enormous braziers at each corner bathe us in their glimmering light and cast a warm radiance across the floor.
“Is this where you learned to wield your magic?” I ask.
Jasce nods.
I trail my fingers along the smooth marble walls, wondering how many centuries of knowledge lie just below the surface.
“You won’t need your veil in here,” he says.
I lift my hand to the veil, feeling the soft fabric against my fingertips. It’s my only barrier between myself and the world’s scrutiny.
Slowly, I peel it away and give it to Jasce.
As we near the central dais, a woman emerges from the shadows. An older woman with long gray hair and eyes the color of autumn leaves.
“Rowena,” Jasce says, “this is Annora, my wife.”
Rowena inclines her head toward me. “Welcome, My Lady.”
“Annora possesses a most rare gift,” Jasce explains. “She is from House of Silver, but she has crimson magic.”
The woman’s gaze sharpens as she tilts her head to the side, scrutinizing me. “I see. Come, let me look at you.”
I glance at Jasce, and when he nods at me, I gulp in a quick breath and approach the woman.
She takes my hands in her weathered ones, turning them this way and that as she examines me. “I sense there is more inside you. You have silver and crimson magic. But I can only teach you to wield your crimson gift.”
My chest aches at that truth, the reality that she cannot help me with my silver magic. It’s as dormant as ever. Yet, a thrill races through me at the thought of learning to control Lyra’s crimson magic.
“Now….” Rowena gestures to the central dais, “…let us begin.”
I reach for my hematite stone and squeeze it between my fingers as Jasce offers me an encouraging smile and leaves The Pyre Sanctum.
I’m Hematite.
Lyra was Hematite.
So, this magic can be mine and hers.
I can learn to control it!
Rowena circles the dais. “Magic is life itself. It flows through you always, whether a raging current or a babbling brook.” She stops before me. “Let us begin with something small. Cup your hands before you.”
I mirror her gesture, palms upturned, as if cradling water.
“Good,” she says. “Now, focus not on anger or fear but on your breathing. Feel it move through you.”
I close my eyes, inhaling slowly, the rhythm soothing me.
“Concentrate on your hands,” she says. “Imagine a flame there, small but strong.”
At first, nothing happens. The minutes tick by as I struggle to conjure even a wisp of smoke. Frustration simmers beneath my skin. I’m no stranger to failure, yet this inability grates through me.
