DRAGONA

Aurelia

I knew something was about to change even before the head trainer opened his mouth. The entire training hall felt charged. Every student held their breath, waiting.

He stood in front of us, his hands folded behind his back.

"You've all done well in your first weeks. But the real tests are yet to come."

I watched Elira out of the corner of my eye. Her posture was perfect, chin lifted, expression bored. Aric shifted from foot to foot, trying to look calm.

"In three days, there will be a demonstration. You will show your skills before the Convergence Council."

A low murmur swept through the students. My stomach tightened. We had all known it was coming, but hearing it aloud made my pulse skitter.

"The demonstration is not a formal trial," he continued, "but it will determine your placement and privileges going forward. Prepare yourselves accordingly."

He paused, letting the tension settle.

"And as of tonight, all candidates will move into the dormitory complex. You will remain there for the duration of your training. No exceptions will be made."

I felt the entire room tilt, just slightly.

The dormitories. I had never spent more than a few nights away from home. I swallowed, glancing at Aric. He looked as rattled as I felt, but when his eyes met mine, he lifted his chin in silent reassurance.

I wasn't sure if I was grateful or annoyed that he could pretend so easily.

The trainer dismissed us. Around me, everyone burst into anxious chatter. About who would share rooms, what they'd bring, whether their parents would visit. I stayed quiet.

When I finally stepped outside, the air felt too bright.

I couldn't find Aric, so I got into the jeep alone. Avantika, my loyal nanny, was waiting with the driver.

"I'll take your bags, Miss Ferguson."

She took my backpack and arrow pouch while I settled into the back seat. Aric had driven himself today, as he often did.

"Let's go," I said, and we left the school grounds.

My mother was waiting in the foyer of the west wing, her expression warm, but shadowed with worry.

"They've told you?"

"Yes," I said, my voice thin.

She reached for my hand.

"I'll help you pack."

I almost refused. I wanted to say I didn't need help, that I was fine, that it was nothing. But the lie stuck in my throat.

"Alright," I murmured.

We climbed the stairs together. Avantika followed us silently.

In my room, my mother opened the wardrobe and began selecting clothes, handing them to Avantika.

Avantika folded them neatly into a small suitcase while I stood by the window, watching sunlight gleam on the distant training fields.

When we had nearly finished, one of the stewards knocked at the door.

"Miss Ferguson, your father will see you now."

My stomach lurched.

"He's here?" I whispered.

The steward nodded.

My mother touched my shoulder lightly.

"Go on. He's proud of you, you know."

I didn't answer.

He was waiting in the Hall of Names, a long gallery lined with portraits of every Ferguson who had ever mattered. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, catching on the golden frames.

He stood with his back to me, studying a painting near the end. A woman with the same dark curls I had, the same sharp tilt to her jaw.

When he turned, his expression was unreadable.

"Aurelia."

I dipped my head.

"Father."

He nodded once. I could never tell if it was approval or dismissal.

"They tell me you've made progress."

"I'm trying."

"You'll need to do more than try." His gaze shifted just past my shoulder.

"You have power that exceeds most of our line. But that power must remain under control at all times."

Heat crept up my neck.

"It is."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Your instructors reported an incident last week. You lost your temper. You set the edge of the archery pavilion alight."

I swallowed.

"It was an accident."

"You cannot afford accidents."

He spoke calmly, as if discussing the weather, but the words felt like a rebuke.

"You know what happens when you allow emotion to overtake you. It has been this way since you were a child."

I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers as if I could still feel the phantom burn. I hated remembering it. Sometimes, when anger boiled over, the fire simply escaped. It had happened even recently, no matter how careful I thought I'd been.

"I'm working on it," I said quietly. "I'm always working on it."

"I know."

For a moment, his voice softened.

"But you must do better. You are not a little girl anymore. The Convergence will not be forgiving if you lose control."

My throat tightened.

"I understand."

"You have everything you need?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He hesitated. For a moment, I thought, hoped, he might come closer, place a hand on my shoulder, say something that wasn't just an expectation.

But he only looked past me, at the rows of faces in gold frames.

"Your mother says you're ready. I trust her judgment."

"Is that all?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"That's all."

"Be exceptional," he said quietly.

"That's all that's ever been asked of you."

I didn't trust my voice to answer.

When I stepped into the hallway, I kept my breathing slow and even.

Because the only thing worse than letting him see me falter was letting myself slip, and feeling the fire rise in my throat when I didn't want it to.