The manor was no longer quiet.
Servants walked lighter, eyes darting toward the upper towers with the weight of unease. Birds circled too low. Even the flowers in the enchanted gardens had stopped blooming—recoiling, as if they sensed something they couldn't name.
In the training courtyard, Aria stood alone.
The air still shimmered faintly where her golden sphere had ignited days ago. Stone tiles cracked under her boots as she moved through a kata Riven had shown her—a strange, spiraling dance of defense and misdirection.
Except she didn't need defense anymore.
She paused mid-spin. Golden light coiled around her fingers like silk.
"Come out, already," she called. "You're not subtle."
Riven stepped from the shadows by the stairwell. Arms folded. Usual scowl.
"You're getting better," he said.
"I was born better."
"Arrogance," he replied, "isn't strength."
She grinned. "Then it's a good thing I have both."
He approached, his footsteps slow. Thoughtful.
"I've been watching the skies," he said. "That spell you cast—it rang through the leylines like a gong. Three major guilds have sent scouts to the outer territories. At least one of them is looking for you."
"Let them come," she muttered, golden eyes glinting.
"No," he said. "You're still a child."
Aria bristled. "I beat you."
"You surprised me. Once."
"Want to test that?"
His eyes narrowed.
The ground pulsed.
And before she could blink, he was on her.
His blade—one she hadn't even seen him draw—stopped an inch from her throat.
Aria didn't flinch. Her hand was already raised. Golden light pressed against his ribs.
Stalemate.
They both breathed.
Then Riven stepped back.
"Better," he muttered.
Aria lowered her hand slowly. "You attacked me."
"You need to stop thinking of this place as safe."
"I never did."
He nodded once, like that answer pleased him. "Then let's move forward."
He drew a sigil in the air. One that pulsed red, not gold.
"I'll show you a spell from the old world," he said. "If your body can take it."
"Only if you let me try it first."
He raised a brow. "Try what?"
She grinned. "What I saw when we fought."
He blinked. And then stumbled backward as gold light surged beneath her feet.
A moment later, his own blade formed in her hand—down to the chipped pommel and engraved hilt.
"What the—"
She laughed, golden light flickering around her shoulders. "Your moves. Your stance. Your blade. I learned them all."
He stared, stunned. "You copied me?"
"No." Her grin widened. "I became you. For a second. That's what my magic does, I think. I don't just destroy—I remember."
The runes in her book had whispered it to her last night.
Memory Magic.
But not just memories of the mind.
Magic remembered the soul.
Riven crossed his arms again, clearly irritated. "Great. A prodigy and a mimic. Next you'll be summoning dragons out of teacups."
"Tempting," she said.
A long silence fell. Then Riven tossed her a charm—circular, inscribed with crimson glyphs.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Your first anchor."
Anchor.
A charm to channel advanced spells safely. Without it, a single miscast could fry every nerve in her body.
She clenched it in her hand, golden light washing over the crimson glyphs. They shifted. Rewrote themselves to her signature.
It accepted her instantly.
Riven noticed. His expression shifted.
"Those things are supposed to resist new wielders."
She shrugged. "Guess I'm charming."
He groaned. "That was terrible."
"I'm twelve. I have time to improve."
Their banter broke as a bell tolled—deep and slow from the manor's west wing. Not a servant bell.
A warning.
Riven's face darkened.
He strode to the window and pulled back the enchanted drapes.
Beyond the estate walls, riding fast across the open field, were four black-cloaked figures. Their banners carried no crest.
But the air around them shimmered wrong.
Aria stepped beside him. "Friends of yours?"
"No," he said. "But they're definitely here for you."
And as the wind shifted, Aria's golden eyes flared bright. She wasn't scared.
She was ready.