“Twenty-five gold,” she muttered under her breath, thinking of the steep price she’d paid for the book. It was a significant chunk of her monthly stipend, but it was worth it. Knowledge was power, and power was survival. She flipped open the tome, her eyes scanning the pages filled with diagrams, runic sequences, and step-by-step instructions. The spell seemed straightforward enough, but mastering it would take time—time she wasn’t sure she had.

  While walking back towards her room to maybe do some meditating and getting a good night of rest, Her thoughts turned to Hannah. The crafter apprentice was known for her skill with materials, and if anyone could help Ayana turn her spoils from the garden into something useful, it was her. Percy had mentioned her earlier, and while Ayana wasn’t sure she trusted his motives, she couldn’t deny the logic of his advice. Tomorrow, she’d visit Hannah and see what she could offer.

  Ayana reached her room and pushed the door open, the familiar scent of old wood and faintly musty air greeting her. The room was small but tidy, the bed neatly made and the chest at its foot closed. She set the tome on the desk and sank into the chair, her mind still racing.

  As she lay down on the bed, her thoughts drifted to the factions. Ysondre, Grimshaw, Tasselia—they were all making moves, Percy had said. Ayana didn’t know what they were planning, but she knew she couldn’t afford to be caught off guard. She needed to be stronger, faster, and more prepared. And she would be.

  Ayana shifted her position on the bed, her head resting on the pillow and her hands folded over her stomach. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to let the tension drain from her body. The faint hum of the tower filled the air, a constant reminder of the power that surrounded her. She focused on her heartbeat, feeling its steady rhythm in her chest.

  “Start with the lower body,” she reminded herself, recalling the steps she had practiced. She tried to feel the pulse of her heart in her pelvis, then her knee, and finally her toes. But tonight, something was off. Her thoughts kept drifting—to the factions, to Percy’s cryptic warnings, to the steep price she’d paid for the tome. The shadows seemed to resist her, slipping through her grasp like smoke.

  She clenched her fists, frustration bubbling up inside her. “Relax,” she muttered under her breath, forcing her hands to uncurl and her shoulders to sink into the mattress. She tried again, starting from her heart and moving down to her pelvis. This time, she felt a faint pulse, but it was weak and fleeting. She pressed on, trying to reach her knee, but the connection broke before she could solidify it.

  “Why isn’t this working?” she thought, her frustration growing. She had done this before—reached her elbow, even her hand. But tonight, her mind was too cluttered, her body too tense. The more she tried to relax, the more her thoughts spiralled. The factions were mobilizing, the tower was on edge, and she was caught in the middle of it all.

  She took another deep breath, trying to push the thoughts aside. “Focus,” she told herself. “Just focus.” She started again, this time trying to visualize the energy flowing through her body like a river. But the river kept hitting obstacles—rocks of doubt, whirlpools of fear—and the flow broke apart before it could reach her toes.

  Finally, she gave up, letting out a frustrated sigh. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, the faint glow of the torches casting flickering shadows across the room. She hadn’t even reached her knee, let alone her previous best. The realization stung, but she knew why. She wasn’t relaxed. She wasn’t calm. And in a place like this, calm was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

  But she couldn’t give up. She needed to be stronger, faster, and more prepared. And that started with mastering her own mind. She closed her eyes again, this time not trying to meditate but simply to rest. Tomorrow was a new day, and she’d face it head-on. For now, though, she allowed herself a moment of stillness, her thoughts drifting into the shadows as sleep finally claimed her.

  --------

  The next morning, Ayana woke to the faint hum of the tower and the distant sound of apprentices moving through the corridors. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and glanced at the tome on her desk. The events of the previous night came rushing back—Percy’s cryptic warnings, the steep price of the book, and her failed attempt at meditation. She clenched her fists, determination settling over her. Today was a new day, and she had work to do.

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  After a quick breakfast in the dining hall, where the usual chatter was tinged with an undercurrent of tension, Ayana made her way to the third floor. Hannah’s workshop was located near the advanced apprentices’ quarters, a place Ayana had never ventured before. The corridors here were wider, the torches brighter, and the air smelled faintly of metal and herbs. She followed the directions Percy had given her, her footsteps echoing softly on the stone floor.

  She found the workshop at the end of a long hallway, its door marked with a small plaque that read “Hannah’s Crafting Den.” The door was slightly ajar, and Ayana could hear the faint clinking of tools and the occasional muttered curse. She knocked lightly and pushed the door open.

  The workshop was a chaotic blend of materials and projects. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of glowing liquids, spools of thread, and chunks of raw ore. A large workbench dominated the centre of the room, covered in tools, half-finished projects, and scraps of metal. Hannah stood at the bench, her back to the door, her hands moving deftly as she worked on something Ayana couldn’t see.

  Hannah was a striking figure, her tall frame draped in a patchwork robe made of mismatched fabrics—some plain, others embroidered with intricate patterns. Her dark hair was tied back in a loose braid, streaked with faint traces of silver, and her hands were stained with soot and ink. She wore a pair of goggles perched on her forehead, and her sharp green eyes gleamed with intelligence and a hint of mischief. Around her neck hung a pendant shaped like a tiny anvil, a symbol of her craft.

  “Hannah?” Ayana called, her voice tentative.

  Hannah turned, her eyes narrowing as she took in Ayana’s presence. “Who are you, and what do you want?” she asked, her tone blunt but not unkind.

  “I’m Ayana,” she said, stepping further into the room. “Percy said you might be able to help me.”

  Hannah raised an eyebrow. “Percy, huh? That gossipmonger sent you? What do you need?”

  Ayana hesitated, then pulled the intact murlock corpse from her pouch. “I was hoping you could help me turn this into something useful. Armor, maybe? Or a cloak? But I’m not sure how many scales I’d need.”

  Hannah’s eyes lit up as she examined the murlock. She motioned for Ayana to bring it closer and laid it out on the workbench. “This is a fine specimen,” she said, running her fingers over the scales. “See these here?” She pointed to a row of larger, slightly duller scales along the murlock’s back. “These are the ones you’ll want. They’re older, thicker, and hold more power than the younger ones. This murlock must’ve been around for a while—its scales are practically brimming with latent energy.”

  Ayana leaned in, studying the scales. “How many would I need for armor?”

  “For a decent set of light armor, you’d need about fifty scales,” Hannah replied. “For a cloak with water-resistant properties, maybe thirty. But if you want both, you’d need the whole thing.”

  “How much would it cost?” Ayana asked, already dreading the answer.

  Hannah crossed her arms, tilting her head as if considering. “Well, I usually charge fifty gold for the armor and seventy-five for the cloak. But…” She paused, her gaze sharpening. “If you’re willing to part with the murlock’s core—assuming it has one—I could knock the price down significantly. Cores are rare, but they’re powerful. I could use it for some of my more… specialized projects.”

  Ayana frowned, her mind racing. If this murlock has a core, Vyentha would probably want it, she thought. She’s already suspicious of me. Handing over the core might make things worse. Still, fifty gold was a steep price, and she wasn’t sure she had enough.

  “I’ll need to think about it,” Ayana said finally. “But for now, let’s assume I’ll pay in gold. Can you at least start preparing the scales?”

  Hannah shrugged. “Fair enough. Come back in two days, and I’ll have the armor ready. And don’t bother me before then.”

  Ayana left the workshop, her mind already turning to her next task. She needed to practice [Shadow Bolt], but first, she wanted to check on the factions. The tower felt different today, the air thick with tension. She made her way to the dining hall, where the usual chatter was subdued, the apprentices huddled in small groups, their voices low and urgent.

  She spotted Liesel, the new apprentice leader, sitting at a table with a few of his followers. They were deep in conversation, their expressions serious. Ayana hesitated, then approached cautiously. “Liesel,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “What’s going on?”

  Liesel looked up, his eyes narrowing as he recognized her. “Nothing that concerns you,” he said, his tone dismissive. “Just focus on your own tasks.”

  Ayana bit back a retort, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. She turned and left the dining hall, her mind racing. The factions were definitely up to something, and she needed to be ready.