Aurelia
Sixteen was supposed to be the year we all caught fire.
Most of my classmates had already felt their power stir, like the first quick flash of lightning before a storm. Their lessons were filled with the heat of magic, with teachers guiding trembling hands and urging cautious breath.
I didn't need lessons like those. I had long since learned how to tame the flame inside me. Yet, the wary glances never faded. Some still whispered that I was too dangerous to be left unchecked. Not a random rumor, fire still escapes me when I lose control, when I get angry, it escapes me like it did all those years ago.
Elira was the embodiment of all those whispers.
She sat across the training hall, her golden hair pulled tight in a braid. Her eyes burned with something close to hatred whenever they met mine. She'd never forgiven me for the mistake I made when we were children, the fire that singed more than just her hair.
Aric was beside me, the steady calm to my flame. He was supposed to have manifested his power by now. Everyone said it was just a matter of time. But the longer it took, the heavier the silence between us grew.
"Ready?" he asked softly.
I nodded, my fingers curling around the edges of the bench. Today was another test, another day proving I could control what came too early.
Because no matter what anyone said, I wasn't going to be anything less than the fiercest dragon this family had ever seen.
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The training hall smelled of chalk dust, singed wood, and something sharper I could never quite name, maybe fear, or pride. It was hard to tell the difference in a place like this.
Instructor Galen stood at the front, his arms folded. He was from one of the griffin families, all height and hard angles, with wings inked in dark tattoos across his forearms.
"Today," he announced, "you'll each demonstrate what you've mastered so far. Those who haven't yet awakened will continue with resonance exercises afterward."
His eyes flicked to Aric, then to me. They always did.
Elira lifted her chin. I could almost feel her thoughts, how she was going to outdo me, prove something to everyone who still treated her like the girl with scorched hair. She didn't understand that I had nothing left to prove. Or maybe she did, and that was why she hated me.
"Ferguson," Galen said, nodding to me first. "You'll begin."
I stepped forward onto the painted circle at the center of the floor. All around me, the other students leaned forward, waiting.
I closed my eyes and called up the flame—not the wild, newborn burst I'd known at five, but the steady heat I'd learned to master over the years. It rose up smoothly, coiling through my chest and into my palms.
When I opened my eyes again, fire bloomed in both hands. Controlled. Contained.
The hall was silent.
I heard a soft intake of breath behind me. Aric, I was sure. I hoped he was proud, even if it reminded him how different we were.
"Very good," Galen said, though his voice stayed flat. Praise was rationed here, given sparingly enough to matter.
I stepped back, the warmth lingering in my fingers.
Elira was next. She glided past me, her braid swinging like a golden pendulum. When our shoulders brushed, she didn't look at me, but her voice carried just enough for me to hear.
"You make it look so easy."
I didn't answer. There was nothing to say.
Elira stepped into the circle, smoothing her skirt with deliberate calm. For a moment, she closed her eyes, her hands resting lightly at her sides.
The silence stretched. A few of the younger students shifted uncomfortably.
Then her eyes snapped open—gold gone to silver in a blink—and everything changed.
Beside her, two more Eliras shimmered into existence. They looked as solid as she did, their braids swinging in perfect unison. All three lifted their hands at the same time, fingers splayed. The clones turned their heads in opposite directions, scanning the hall with identical calm.
Someone gasped behind me.
Galen's expression didn't shift, but I thought I saw the faintest tightening at the corner of his mouth, as though he were grudgingly impressed.
The clones moved forward a step, then two. When Elira lifted her chin, they mirrored her exactly. It was almost impossible to tell which was real.
I felt heat flicker low in my throat, not the dangerous kind, just the restless envy I hated to admit. I could burn the world if I chose, but I would never be able to do that. To split myself so cleanly, so elegantly, that no one could tell me apart from my illusions.
After a few heartbeats, the clones dissolved into thin ribbons of pale light. They faded without a sound, leaving only Elira standing there, her eyes slowly returning to blue.
She turned to face Galen, breathing only a little harder than usual.
"Excellent control," he said, his voice as measured as ever. "Sit."
Elira walked past me without a word, but when she reached her seat, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze flicking toward me for the briefest moment. Not triumph. Not exactly. Something colder, satisfaction, maybe.
Aric shifted closer to me. I didn't look at him. I didn't trust my face to stay blank.
Because it didn't matter how early I'd manifested, or how much power I held in my blood. For that single instant, watching her multiply herself into perfection, I almost wished I'd been born as something else.
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One by one, the rest of the students stepped into the circle.
Callum from the Leviathan line summoned a shimmering curtain of water between his palms. It sloshed onto the floor before he could dismiss it, earning a few muffled laughs.
Mira, whose family claimed descent from phoenixes, ignited her hair in a crown of bright, controlled flame. It burned violet instead of orange rare and beautiful.
Damon of the Basilisk kin flexed his hands, and the air around him shimmered as though heat waves danced in place. His gift was a kind of petrification, though so far he'd only managed to turn a training dummy's leg to brittle stone.
I watched each demonstration with my arms folded, trying not to feel anything at all.
It was always like this, every session another reminder of who had grown into their legacy and who hadn't.
Aric shifted beside me. When I looked over, he was studying his hands as if he hoped to find some spark there.
"You're leaving?" I asked quietly, even before he spoke.
He nodded, eyes downcast. "They'll be starting the resonance drills soon. I….." He swallowed. "I'd better not be late."
"You won't be," I said. My voice came out softer than I meant it to.
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something else. But then he only touched my shoulder, just once, and turned to go.
I watched him cross the hall, his steps too careful, too deliberate. As if he was afraid that any sudden movement would reveal everything he was feeling.
The door swung shut behind him, and the space he left felt colder somehow.
Galen clapped his hands sharply, recalling my attention.
"Focus," he said, though his gaze lingered on the door. "Those of you who remain, prepare for sparring drills."