“This is your elemental midterm,” Professor Stone says. He closes his gradebook with a thump, then regards me through slightly narrowed eyes. “You will demonstrate appropriate control over all four elements—air, earth, water, and fire, in that order. Each manifestation must be precise, deliberate, and contained. Remember, power is nothing without discipline.”
I swallow hard and flex my fingers.
Fire last. I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.
Professor Stone nods once. “You may begin when you’re ready.”
Despite being a fire witch, I’ve always found air and earth to be the easiest of the four elements to control. They’re not as finnicky as water and fire, more open to suggestion and manipulation.
All right, air.
I extend my hands, stretching my fingers wide. With a little bit of coaxing, I’m able to summon a gentle breeze and shape it into a spiral. The air movement makes Professor Stone’s long black robe flap around his calves, and his messy brown hair ripples like he’s underwater. His face displays no emotion.
With a flick of my wrist, I funnel the wind into a small controlled vortex that dances at my feet before dispersing with a whisper.
I look to Professor Stone, and he gives a subtle nod.
Okay, one element down, three to go.
I can do this, I tell myself.It’s not so hard.
Earth’s next.
Kneeling, I place both palms flat on the floor, imagining that the stone beneath my feet is moving, breathing. A slight vibration tingles through my palms, and I catch it, hold on like it’s a kite being tugged along by a summer wind. Standing from the floor, I pull on that subtle vibration, and with a crack, a narrow column of stone rises before me. I narrow my eyes, focusing my magic, picturing what I want to do before I try to do it. My fingers twitch as I move them through the air, imagining myself a painter, a creator. The sharp edges of the stone column begin to smooth out, andthe stone groans as it changes shape—until the previously blocky column now somewhat resembles an oak tree.
It’s not mybestcreation, but Professor Stone raises his brows a little bit, and I think that’s his version of being impressed.
The stone crumbles into dust with one clap of my hands.
Two more.
Water. The second-hardest element to master. And master it I have not. But this midterm isn’t about mastery; I don’t have to be perfect, just good enough to pass.
I lift my hands, trying to focus on the moisture hanging in the cool air. At first, nothing happens. No water condenses out of the air. A little ember of panic flares to life in my chest. Then I inhale and steady my breathing.Focus, I think.
Again, I attempt to pull moisture from the air. This time, a little bubble of water starts to form, individual droplets combining to create one rippling sphere of clear water. It wobbles when I move one hand too fast, but I’m able to steady it and keep it from splashing to my feet. With focus and a furrowed brow, I gently coax it into a narrow ribbon, which twirls and twines through the air before I banish it in a shimmer of mist.
Three down. Fire’s last.
Is it just me, or did the room just get a bit too warm?
I tug at the collar of my academy-issued sweater, trying to cool the back of my neck, but it’s no use. Professor Stone is watching me with a wary expression, maybe getting ready should he need to shield himself from an erratic fireball or something. Wouldn’t be the first time...
I take a breath. Then another one. But it does nothing to slow the thundering of my heart.
My fingers tremble slightly as I lift my hands out in front of me, preparing to call on my magic.
But the fire comes too fast, before I’ve truly had a chance to ground myself. Suddenly, my palms are encased in flame. Whips of fire lash up and out, painting my face with heat and bursts of bright light. One of my curls gets too close to a flame, and the scent of burning hair twines around me before I yank my head out of the way.
On the other side of the flames, I see a subtle movement from Professor Stone, one of his hands reaching out, preparing to quench my flames should I be unable to get them under control.
No, I tell myself.I can do this. Ihaveto do this!
My pulse pounds in my ears. I shift my hands, facing them toward each other, trying to contain the blaze. It fights me, hissing and writhing and spitting embers that catch on my sleeves, leaving tiny burn holes in the material. I can feel the fire’s desire to break free, to consume everything in its path.
Like the midnight lotus flowers. Like so many other times before.
My throat goes dry.
