Aria's POV
"Show me fire."
Kael's command echoes through the training room, and I try not to think about the mysterious note hidden under my pillow. Focus. I need to focus.
The room is massive, with walls made of some kind of reinforced stone that glows faintly with protective magic. Scorch marks cover the floor and ceiling—evidence of previous training sessions gone wrong.
"I don't know how," I admit, holding out my trembling hand.
"You did it yesterday. Burned half your room." Kael stands across from me, arms crossed, looking every inch the cold prince. "Do it again. Controlled this time."
I close my eyes and reach for the fire element inside me. It responds immediately—too eager, like a dog that's been caged too long. Heat builds in my chest, flows down my arm, and—
"No, wait, it's too much—"
Fire explodes from my palm in a massive fireball that rockets straight toward Kael's head.
He dodges at the last second, shadow magic wrapping around him as he rolls to the side. The fireball slams into the wall behind him, leaving a black scorch mark the size of a dinner table.
"Sorry!" I gasp. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Again." Kael's voice is ice-cold. He pulls out a notebook and starts writing. "You have the power but no control. That makes you more dangerous than any weapon."
The clinical tone stings worse than any insult. He's not seeing me as a person—just as something to study and document.
"Maybe if you actually taught me instead of just giving orders—" I start.
"Again," he repeats, not looking up from his notes.
Anger flares in my chest, and the fire responds to it. Another massive fireball erupts, this one even bigger. Kael barely dodges, and I see genuine alarm flash across his face.
"Stop!" He throws up a shadow barrier. "You're letting your emotions control the power. That's exactly what makes Pentaelementals dangerous."
"I'm not just a Pentaelemental!" The words burst out. "I'm a person! I have a name!"
"A person who almost killed me twice in five minutes." He writes something else in his notebook. "Heart rate elevated. Emotional instability. Power output increases with anger."
I want to scream. Or cry. Or maybe burn this whole tower down just to see if he'd show some actual emotion.
Instead, I force myself to breathe. "Please. Just tell me how to make it smaller."
For the first time since we entered the room, Kael looks directly at me. "Fire responds to passion—anger, joy, desire. You need to feel it but not let it consume you."
"That's impossible."
"For most people, yes. But you're not most people." He sets down his notebook. "Try thinking of fire as something gentle. A candle flame. Something warm and safe."
I try. I really do. But every time I reach for the fire, I think about Damien setting my belongings ablaze. Lyanna laughing while I burned. The amphitheater erupting in flames.
Fire isn't gentle in my memories. It's destruction.
Hours pass. The sun moves across the sky, visible through a narrow window. Kael makes me try again and again, and every single time, the fire comes out too big, too wild, too dangerous.
"Pathetic," I mutter after the twentieth failure. "I'm completely useless."
"You're not useless." Kael's voice surprises me—it's softer than before. "You're untrained. There's a difference."
"Is there?" I slump to the floor, exhausted. "Three days, Kael. Your father gave you three days to decide my fate, and I can't even make a simple flame without nearly burning you alive."
He's quiet for a moment. Then he sits down across from me—close enough that I can see the dark circles under his eyes. He didn't sleep well either.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask quietly. "Why not just kill me and get it over with? It would be easier for everyone."
Through our Soul Bond, I feel his emotions spike—confusion, conflict, something that might be guilt.
"I don't know," he admits, and the honesty shocks me. "Every logical part of me says you're too dangerous to live. My father wants you dead. The council wants you dead. Even I had orders to eliminate you."
"But?"
"But I've been having these dreams." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "For two years, I've seen a girl with mismatched eyes. Sometimes she's standing in ruins, covered in blood. Other times she's glowing with power, healing instead of destroying. And I can never tell which future is real."
My heart pounds. "So I'm what—an experiment? You're keeping me alive to see which version comes true?"
"Maybe." His violet eyes meet mine. "Or maybe I'm hoping I can help the right version happen."
The confession hangs between us.
Before I can respond, a loud alarm blares through the tower. Kael jumps to his feet, shadows already swirling around his hands.
"What's that?" I ask.
"Intruder alert." His face goes hard. "Someone's breached the tower's outer defenses."
Through our bond, I feel his sudden fear—not for himself, but for me. Someone found out I'm here.
"Stay in this room," Kael commands, moving toward the door. "The training room has the strongest shields. You'll be safe here."
"Kael, wait—"
But he's already gone, the door slamming and locking behind him.
I'm alone in the training room, heart racing, when I remember the note. Meet me in the East Gardens at midnight.
What if the intruder is the person who wrote it? What if they're trying to help me?
Or what if it's Lyanna, coming to finish what she started?
Through our Soul Bond, I feel Kael getting farther away, moving to confront whoever broke in. I also feel his determination—he'll protect me, even if it costs him everything.
The thought should comfort me. Instead, it terrifies me.
Because what if protecting me is exactly what gets him killed?
I press my hand against the locked door, debating. Stay here like he ordered, or find a way to help?
Then I feel it through our bond—Kael's shock, followed by pain.
He's hurt.
"No, no, no." I slam my fists against the door. The magical barrier shocks me, but I don't care. "Kael!"
Through our connection, his pain intensifies. Someone's attacking him, and he's losing.
I reach for the fire element, ready to burn through the door if I have to.
But before I can, the door explodes inward on its own.
A figure stands in the doorway, wrapped in a dark cloak that hides their face. They move with deadly grace, and magic crackles around them—but it's not any element I recognize.
"Aria Thornheart," the figure says in a voice that's somehow both male and female, young and old. "We finally meet."
"Who are you?" I demand, fire and water already swirling around my hands.
The figure pulls back their hood, and I gasp.
It's impossible. Completely impossible.
Because standing in front of me, very much alive, is someone who died five hundred years ago.
The last Pentaelemental.
"Hello, child," they say with a smile that's both kind and terrifying. "I've been waiting a very long time to find you."