As Valentina slowly awoke from her slumber, she could already smell a cool whiff of incense – the unmistakable scent of the Martyrium celebrations.

  "Ah, the smell of religious hypocrisy in the morning," Vyxara whispered in Valentina's head, the demon's voice full of mockery and amusement. "Nothing like a hot stew of guilt and self-sacrifice for breakfast, is there, little Weaver?"

  Valentina sighed softly and sat up, taking her worn wooden amulet of the Burning Tower from her drawer. "It's more than that, Vyxara," she murmured. "But of course, as a demon, it's clear that you don’t understand that. After all, you're on the other side. The Martyr sacrificed himself for all of us. He fights for our souls every day."

  "Oh yes, of course," Vyxara replied sarcastically. "A single man saving all of humanity from eternal damnation. So heroic."

  Valentina ignored the comment and stood up, curling her bare feet as she placed them on the cold wooden floorboards. She stepped to the window and looked out onto the university courtyard. Everywhere she saw students in festive dress, many wearing the traditional red sashes of Martyrdom, in an atmosphere of expectation, joy and awe.

  The Eve of Martyrium had always been a holiday full of contradictions. A celebration that simultaneously symbolized grief and hope, sacrifice and redemption. As a child, Valentina had loved the celebrations in Palewood – the solemn processions, the flickering candles, the moving sermons of the local Ember. But now, years later and with a demon in her head, the whole thing felt strangely unreal.

  "I should get ready," Valentina said quietly to herself. "Innogen and Crispin are probably already waiting."

  "Oh yes, let's go to your virtuous friends and have a little chat," Vyxara mocked. "I'm sure they'd be thrilled to hear how you're going to enjoy Professor Horne's private lessons tonight."

  Valentina froze, her cheeks burning with shame and something else she’d rather not name. "I won't tell them obviously, it's none of their business," she hissed, "and it has nothing to do with today."

  "But of course not," purred Vyxara. "It's just a coincidence that you're sacrificing your innocence on the altar of knowledge on the Eve of Martyrium, of all days. Strangely fitting, don't you think?"

  Valentina shook her head vigorously, as if she could drive Vyxara's words from her mind. The demon was insufferable today. She went to her dresser and once again pulled out her best dress – the dark red one. As she put it on, she felt a twinge of homesickness, but caught herself thinking that she walked around in the same few dresses she had far too often and would love a little more variety – if only she had the money. She also put on the traditional red sash.

  "It's not the same," she murmured, more to herself than to Vyxara. "What I do... it serves a higher purpose. I do it for my family, for my future. You know that."

  "Of course, dear," Vyxara replied gently, almost motherly. "And also, because secretly you like it. But fret not, I won't tell anyone."

  Valentina began to braid her long brown hair into a complex plait, as was customary for the holiday. When she was finished, she looked at her reflection critically.

  "You look beautiful, little Weaver," Vyxara teased her appreciatively. "A perfect blend of innocence and depravity. Your friends will be thrilled."

  Valentina swallowed hard and turned away from the mirror. She reached for her bag, in which she had stowed some small gifts for Innogen and Crispin – homemade amulets into which she had woven subtle Essence patterns. It wasn't much, but it was all she could afford.

  With one last glance at her small room, she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The smell of incense was stronger here, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread and spicy herbal tea wafting from the university kitchens. Her stomach growled softly, reminding her that despite all the supernatural complications, she was still a human being with very human needs.

  As she descended the stairs, she could already hear the muffled voices of other students preparing for the festivities. Laughter mingled with serious discussions about the significance of the day. Today would be her first time attending a Flametower since Vyxara's summoning. Valentina took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Whatever would happen, she would have to be able to handle it.

  And yet, as she reached the foot of the stairs and made her way to Innogen's room, she couldn't quite silence the faint whisper of doubt in her heart. Was she really still the same Valentina who had gone to Bridgewater full of hope and idealism? Or had she become someone her family wouldn't recognize in the summer?

  With these thoughts, she knocked on Innogen's door, ready to throw herself into the festivities and pretend everything was normal for a day. Like she was still the normal girl from Palewood and not an aspiring Essence Weaver with a demon in her head and secrets that would shock everyone she knew.

  The door opened and Innogen's beaming face greeted her. "Oh, how lovely! Come in, we're waiting for you!"

  Valentina forced herself to smile and entered. Innogen's room was a feast for the senses. The scent of expensive cinnamon pastries and spicy punch filled the air, mingling with the subtle scent of burning candles. Red and orange garlands hung everywhere, reflecting the light of the flickering candles. In one corner stood a small altar with an intricately carved statuette of the Martyr, surrounded by dried flowers and smoldering incense in a small bronze censer.

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  Valentina entered and, as always, was immediately overwhelmed by the warmth and luxury of the room. She could see Innogen's nobility in every detail, from the heavy velvet carpets to her spacious and cozy four-poster bed.

  "Val! At last!" exclaimed Crispin from a sofa laden with cushions. His face was beaming with joy, but Valentina noticed the brief look of worry that flitted across his features.

  "Oh, look how worried your little admirer looks," Vyxara whispered, amused.

  Valentina sat down with her friends, a smile on her lips that made her strain more than she wanted to admit. "I'm sorry I'm late. I had to make a few final preparations."

  Innogen waved her off and handed her a mug of steaming punch. "Nonsense, you're just right. Here, have a taste. The recipe is an Ashbourne family secret."

  Valentina took a cautious sip and immediately felt a pleasant warmth spread through her body. "By all the Martyr's flames, this is delicious!"

  "Isn't it?" Innogen grinned proudly. "But be careful, this punch packs… quite a punch. We don't want you to miss the ceremony later because you fell asleep drunk in my room."

  The three friends laughed, and for the moment everything felt normal. They chatted about the past semester, swapped anecdotes and made jokes about particularly stressful professors.

  "Remember Professor Veilford's face when his demonstration with the Luvt Essence got out of control and messed the whole room up?" chuckled Crispin. "He's a born theorist – with two left hands."

  Innogen snorted into her punch. "Oh yes! And do you remember how disgustingly pushy Faustus was trying to persuade Elara to go to his room together because Rowan of Greywood from second year was pulling his leg and telling him Elara was the Duke of Duskenshire's daughter? I've never seen her so forceful as when she turned him down that time!"

  Valentina laughed along, but a part of her felt strangely distant. Had it really only been so recently that they had all been so carefree?

  "Oh yes, little Weaver," Vyxara sighed theatrically. "How quickly innocence fades. But tell me, isn't it much more interesting on this side of morality?"

  Valentina suppressed a shudder and concentrated on the conversation again. Innogen was talking about her plans for the summer vacation.

  "Father wants me to accompany him on some important negotiations," she said with a hint of pride in her voice. "He thinks it's time I learned how to make tough deals."

  Crispin nodded approvingly. "That sounds exciting. I'll probably spend most of the summer in the library at Mirkhaven. My father is a vassal of the Duke of Mirkshire, who has some rare books on Essence theory that I'm eager to study."

  They both turned to Valentina expectantly. "And you, Val? What are your plans?"

  Valentina hesitated. The truth was that she had no concrete plans. The thought of returning home filled her with both an intense longing and fear. How could she look her family in the eye after everything she had done?

  "I... I'm not sure yet," she finally said. "I'll probably visit my family, maybe help out a bit on the farm."

  Innogen put a hand on her arm sympathetically. "That sounds wonderful, Val. I'm sure your family will be proud of you. But who knows, maybe by then you'll not only have won the Greystone Competition, but also the prize money and the internship with the Duke of Duskenshire that come with it. Then you could help your family out of their financial problems and have a good opportunity already lined up for summer break."

  When Innogen mentioned the latter, Valentina couldn't help but feel a sense of hope – she had always wished for something like that. "Yes, I hope so."

  "Speaking of the competition," Crispin changed the subject, obviously sensing the tension. "How is your preparation for the practical challenge going? I have to admit, I'm pretty nervous about it."

  Innogen sighed dramatically. "Ugh, don't remind me. I feel like my head is bursting with Weave configurations."

  "Come on," laughed Valentina, grateful for the distraction. "You're both brilliant. You'll pull this off with ease."

  "That says the right one," Crispin teased, "Miss 'I-win-every-round-of-the-competition'. Honestly, Val, how do you do it?"

  Valentina felt herself automatically becoming cautious, calculating. How could she explain to them that her success was based on a pact with a demon and questionable agreements with professors, in addition to all the hard work and studying?

  "I... I've worked hard and had a lot of luck so far," she murmured. "I hope luck stays with me."

  They talked about the competition for a while, trying to guess from the hints of various professors what exactly might be part of the challenge. "Speaking of professors," Innogen suddenly said in a hushed voice. "Have you heard the rumors about Professor Horne?"

  Valentina froze and almost dropped a cinnamon pastry. "Wh-what rumors?"

  Innogen leaned forward conspiratorially. "Supposedly he was seen coming out of the 'Violet Delights' late at night, with his doublet torn and a very... satisfied look on his face."

  Valentina frowned. "What is the 'Violet Delights'?"

  Innogen waggled her eyebrows excitedly. "The most expensive and prestigious brothel in all of Bridgewater."

  Crispin almost choked on his punch. "What, that can't be. Professor Horne? He would never..."

  "Oh, you'd be surprised," Innogen grinned. "My father always says the sterner they appear on the outside, the wilder they are behind closed doors."

  Valentina felt the heat rising in her face. She knew only too well how wild Professor Horne could be in secret.

  "Oh, that's delicious," Vyxara laughed teasingly. "If only they knew how close they are to the truth."

  "They're all just rumors," Valentina said hastily, perhaps a little too loudly. "We shouldn't speculate about something like that."

  Innogen and Crispin exchanged a surprised glance. An uncomfortable silence spread, interrupted only by the soft crackling of the candles and the distant ringing of the bells of all the Flametowers in the city, calling people to the ceremony.

  "We should slowly make our way," Crispin finally said, interrupting the awkward silence, and stood up. "The ceremony is about to begin."

  The others nodded and began to gather their things. Valentina felt Innogen's worried gaze on her, but she didn't dare return it.

  As they left Innogen's room to make their way to the Great Hall, Valentina felt a confusing mix of anticipation and dread. The ceremony of the Martyrium celebration had always been a moving experience, but this year it felt different. Deeper. More meaningful.

  "Are you looking forward to it too, little Weaver?" whispered Vyxara, amused. "I can hardly wait to see you squirm while you sing of sacrifice and purity."

  Valentina ignored the comment, but she couldn't deny that Vyxara had hit a sore spot. How could she attend the ceremony, with all the things she had done, with a demon bound to her? Was she even worthy of praising the Martyr's name?

  Discouraged, she followed her friends through the decorated corridors of the university towards the sound of the bell.