The dining hall was a storm of hushed whispers and hurried movements, the air thick with tension. Ayana sat still, spoon hovering over her half-eaten porridge as she let her gaze drift across the room. Apprentices huddled in small clusters, their voices lowered but urgent. Some whispered theories about the announcement, others adjusted their belts, checking the weight of their pouches as if preparing for battle.

  Liesel’s faction had already mobilized, their disciplined movements almost military in precision. Across the hall, Ysondre’s group studied a hastily unrolled map, their faces unreadable. Grimshaw’s cohort, ever the brash ones, exchanged excited murmurs while cracking their knuckles, eager for whatever challenge lay ahead.

  Ayana exhaled slowly. A storm is coming, she thought, gripping her spoon tighter. And she needed to be ready for it.

  Her eyes flicked to the head table where the senior apprentices sat. Even they seemed more focused than usual, their conversations quiet but charged with importance. She caught a glimpse of Percy whispering animatedly to another gossipmonger. Hannah, meanwhile, scribbled notes in the margins of an old tome, her fingers tapping anxiously against the table. The undercurrent of tension in the room was nearly suffocating.

  Setting her bowl aside, Ayana rose from the bench, making her way toward the exit. The corridors of the tower were no different—everywhere, apprentices moved with a newfound urgency. Conversations were clipped, footsteps hurried. Some carried books, others weapons. The air crackled with the energy of anticipation, like the charge before a thunderclap.

  As she ascended the stairs to her room, she caught snippets of hushed conversations:

  “Do you think it’s a real mission this time?”

  “Master Wilson wouldn’t make an announcement like that unless—”

  “Better be ready. No one’s going to hold our hands.”

  Ayana walked with purpose, keeping to the edges of the halls to avoid the larger groups. Her own path was clear: prepare, focus, and adapt.

  By the time she reached her room, the tension had settled into her bones. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a brief moment, steadying her breath. Then, without hesitation, she stripped off her apprentice robe and reached for a darker one—the black fabric felt heavier, more fitting for what was to come.

  Pulling it over her shoulders, she fastened the belt and adjusted the sleeves. The shadowy cloth blended with her surroundings as she caught a glimpse of herself in the small, cracked mirror by her bedside.

  Darkness suits me, she thought, before grabbing her pouch and stepping back into the fray.

  With a final glance around her room, Ayana tightened her grip on the pouch at her waist and pulled the door shut behind her. The iron latch clicked into place, sealing away the fleeting comfort of solitude. There was no time to dwell on hesitation. She had somewhere to be.

  The walk to the practice rooms on the first floor felt longer than usual. The corridors were alive with movement, every apprentice locked in their own preparations. Some whispered among themselves, others were already training—flashes of light, crackling energy, and the sharp clang of weapons striking against enchanted dummies filled the space with an air of battle-readiness.

  She passed a group practicing elemental control—fire and water clashing in midair, hissing as they met. The intensity of their focus reminded her of her own struggles. Could she match that level of mastery? Could she refine Shadow Bolt before it was too late?

  Ayana moved quickly, sidestepping a trio of apprentices testing a flame barrier spell. The air shimmered with heat as she passed, but she barely spared it a glance. Her focus was ahead—on the practice room where Vayentha was waiting.

  The door creaked slightly as she entered. Inside, the room was dimly lit, the torches casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Vayentha stood near the centre, arms crossed, her ever-calculating gaze sweeping over Ayana before a smirk curled at her lips.

  "You’re early," she noted, tilting her head slightly. "That’s a rare trait."

  Ayana exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she let her bag drop to the floor. "No time to waste. I need to get stronger."

  Vayentha arched a brow, stepping closer. "Stronger, huh? That’s a vague goal. What exactly do you want to do?"

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  Ayana hesitated for only a moment before answering. "Shadow Bolt. I need to get better at it. And it will need to happen fast."

  Vayentha’s expression turned unreadable. "Alright," she said, nodding. "Let’s figure out what’s holding you back."

  Ayana squared her shoulders. "Shadow Bolt is the most pressing issue. If I can’t get it right, then everything else falls apart."

  Vayentha studied her for a moment, then gestured for her to stand in the casting circle. "Alright. Walk me through it. What exactly goes wrong when you try?"

  Ayana flexed her fingers, summoning a thread of shadow mana. "I can form the bolt by getting out the mana through the right channels, but it loses stability before I can fire it at the target." She clenched her fist in frustration. "I know the theory. I can feel the mana flow. But something’s not clicking."

  Vayentha nodded. "Alright. Show me."

  Ayana inhaled deeply, focusing. She extended her palm and pulled at the surrounding shadows while reciting the necessarily words and drawing some runes. The air around her shimmered darkly as mana coalesced, forming an orb of darkness. She shaped it into a bolt, feeling the familiar weight of it in her grasp.

  She tried going forward with the necessary steps for firing it at the target dummy, but before she could pull back the bolt to fired it, a stray firebolt from a nearby apprentice slammed into the adjacent training dummy. The impact sent a jolt through the room, disrupting Ayana’s concentration. Her bolt fizzled out mid-air. She let out a frustrated growl, turning towards the culprit—a younger apprentice who winced under her glare before hurriedly mumbling an apology and scurrying away.

  Vayentha clicked her tongue. "Focus, Ayana. Distractions happen. You need to hold your spell together no matter what. Try again."

  Gritting her teeth, Ayana resumed her stance. She tried again. And again. Each failure sent another ripple of exhaustion through her limbs. Her mana reserves dwindled with every attempt, her fingers trembling as she tried to grasp the shadows. Her breaths grew shallow, her head light.

  "Stop," Vayentha’s voice was calm but firm. "You’re forcing it."

  Ayana turned to her, sweat beading at her temple. "I have to force it! If I don’t, it just—falls apart."

  Vayentha stepped closer, placing a hand on Ayana’s wrist. "Listen to me. Shadow isn’t about brute force. It’s about control. You’re pouring too much mana in at once, overwhelming the structure. The key is gradual reinforcement. Guide the mana. Don’t shove it."

  Ayana inhaled deeply, steadying her mind. She tried again—this time, slower, more deliberate. The orb formed again, pulsing with more stability. She pulled back and went through the motions to fire it, and this time, the necessary magic circle formed, Ayana pushed the orb of shadows through and it shot forward, but before hitting the practice dummy it just fizzled out somewhere in between the dummy and herself.

  She staggered slightly, the last remnants of mana draining from her body. But as the dummy smouldered, a triumphant smile curled her lips. "I… did it."

  Vayentha grinned. "There’s your breakthrough. Now let’s try just hitting the target before we throw a full blown party, will ya?"

  Ayana snickered at the remark Vayentha ushered about her temporary success, but inwardly she was cheering of joy about the progress she just made. “Maybe, just maybe, she could make enough progress for the storm ahead.” Were her thoughts before she took her stance again and tried to conjure up a new orb of shadow.

  ------------------------

  Somewhere deep within the third floor lay Hannah’s workshop, why on the third floor you ask? Crafters get a special place because of the possible hazardous materials they are working with and need access to elemental vents for air circulation.

  Hannah’s workshop smelled of singed leather and desperation. Shelves groaned under jars of glowing resins, spools of murlock-gut thread, and half-finished projects that hissed and twitched in the dim light. The murlock scales Ayana had delivered lay spread across her worktable, their iridescent surfaces reflecting the flickering glow of her forge like shattered moonlight.

  “Stubborn bastard hides,” she muttered, slamming her pliers down. The latest scale had resisted her attempts to stitch it into the leather undersuit for the third time, its edges curling like claws. Her fingers bled from a dozen tiny cuts, bandages soaked through with sweat and scale residue.

  Across the room, her last commission—a set of fire-resistant gauntlets for Grimshaw’s brute squad—lay abandoned. She’d promised Ayana the armor by noon, but noon was breathing down her neck, and the scales fought her at every turn.

  “Flexible but sturdy, she said,” Hannah growled, mimicking Ayana’s voice. “Water-resistant, she said.” She dunked the scale into a vial of liquid shadow moss, watching it hiss and soften. “Should’ve asked for dragonhide instead.”

  The bell tower’s first warning peal rattled her tools. Hannah cursed, nearly spilling the vial. Outside, boots thundered past her door. “They’re mobilizing.”

  She worked faster, fingers dancing with practiced desperation. The scales finally bent under her pliers, their edges fusing to the leather with a sizzle of enchanted thread. The chest piece took shape—jagged and brutal, more monster than armor.

  “Not pretty,” she muttered, holding it up to the light. “But it’ll stop a dagger. Maybe.”

  Her gaze flicked to the corner, where her first failed attempt lay in pieces. The scales had shredded the leather, slicing through her gloves like parchment. Ayana’s blood would’ve joined hers on the floor if she’d worn it.

  The second bell tolled. Hannah swore, grabbing the half-finished gloves. Her hands shook as she stitched the final scale into place, the bone needle snapping twice.

  ------------------------

  Back at the training rooms Ayana is still vigorously trying to hit the target, while Vayentha is quietly observing her.

  Seeing yet another attempt veer of to the side and fizzling out instead of hitting the target she decides to speak up.

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