The rest of the Elemental Festival passed in uneasy quiet. Névé never saw her old chaperone again. In the woman's place was someone new—an older, more irritable bat draped in heavy jewels. Her words were slow and overly complicated, her nose perpetually raised as if the very air offended her. She clearly thought she had better things to do than tend to a commoner, and Névé, in turn, decided she had better things to do than tolerate her.

  Névé took every opportunity she could to hide within the Ersatz Garden, determined to wait out the festival in peace. Unfortunately, she was not the only one with that idea.

  Every day, without fail, that annoying Cinder Prince was there to greet her. She wasn't the only one trying to escape the irritants of the outside world. Although while she hid for survival, he merely hid to avoid his chores. At first, there was tension—two unwelcome presences from opposing factions in the same retreat, neither particularly fond of the other.

  But eventually, an unspoken truce formed.

  The garden became neutral ground, a sanctuary untouched by their duties or the expectations of the outside world. They did not speak of the tournament, of nobility, of the Sodalities that had made them enemies before they were old enough to understand why. It was a quiet place, a hidden space just for them, where silence was not loneliness but something almost like peace.

  The elemental festival and her rest eventually came to an end, and Névé was escorted to a different carriage than she had arrived in. It was an entirely different beast than what she was used to. Ornate filigree curled over every frame, the windows were clear instead of foggy and scratched, and the seats were plush velvet. For a fleeting moment, she almost looked forward to the ride.

  Then her new chaperone stepped inside, and her stomach dropped. She would be trapped with that malevolent witch for days.

  What followed was a torturous experience, a barrage of corrections so constant it felt like the carriage itself had deemed her unworthy. Apparently, nothing Névé did was 'proper' enough. She didn't sit right. She didn't speak right. She didn't eat right. There was always something.

  The scenery was different, but the rules were always the same. Névé knew how to stay quiet and follow instructions.

  At least the carriage itself was nice. The seats were comfortable, the ride smooth, and the windows wide enough for her to lose herself in the ever-changing scenery. It almost made the trip bearable.

  Until they rode straight through her hometown without stopping.

  Névé pressed her finger to the glass, her breath fogging the surface. "We just passed my house."

  The chaperone barely spared her a glance, her expression set in a perpetual scowl. "Do not point, Névé. It is unbecoming of a citizen of Rain."

  Névé lowered her hand, lips pressing into a pout. "But… aren't I going home?"

  The chaperone finally turned to face her, eyes sharp with disdain. "Do not talk back to your elders, Névé. It makes you petulant."

  Névé clenched her fists in her lap. How was she supposed to understand anything if she wasn't allowed to ask questions? Nobles were strange. She exhaled slowly, pressing her forehead against the cool glass, watching her home shrink in the distance. "Mama was going to bake me some pudding when I won the tournament."

  The chaperone scoffed. "Worry not, Névé. You won't be eating that commoner slop anymore."

  Névé's fingers curled tighter. It was going to be a long year.

  "And sit up straight. A proper woman should always keep a straight back."

  A very long year.

  Ten-year-old Scoria trudged through the underbrush, grumbling at the endless thorns clawing at his skin. Burrs clung to his pristine clothes, and he swatted at them with increasing irritation as he pushed through to the familiar clearing.

  As expected, Névé was already there.

  The five-year-old stood poised, a whip of water coiled and ready in her small hands, her gaze flat and unreadable.

  Scoria barely had time to sigh before throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Oh, come on. I told you yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that—I'm not here to beat you up." He tilted his head, smirking. "I'm saving that for when we face off in the finals."

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  For the first time in as long as she could remember, Névé's blank expression cracked. A small chuckle slipped past her lips. "You mean you didn't come here to get beat up."

  Scoria grunted at her obvious goading. "I'm totally different from last year, and unlike you, probably still drinking your mom's milk, I hit puberty!" Scoria declared proudly with a voice crack to match.

  Névé tilted her head, unimpressed.

  She had hoped that this year, she wouldn't have to deal with Scoria constantly barging into her moments of peace in the Ersatz Garden. But just like last year, the moment he figured out her schedule, he was there—every single day—greeting her.

  She might have been able to avoid him by coming at a different time, but that wasn't an option. Ever since her debut battle last year, her life had been strictly regimented. The royal family had recognized her talent, and from that moment on, every second of her day had been planned, controlled, and filled with relentless training.

  Ironically, the start of this years elemental festival tournament was her first proper break since she'd been under her new regime. They wanted her in top condition for her fights, so her training was blissfully postponed.

  Where others found competition stressful, Névé saw it as a rare chance to relax, a brief reprieve where she could let her muscles recover. Compared to the brutal sparring partners assigned to her by the royal family, the children in the tournaments were barely a warm-up.

  Scoria sat at the opposite end of the clearing keeping his distance from Névé. She had once asked Scoria if instead, he could just come to this special spot at a different time, but it appeared he was in very similar straits to her as he, too, was tightly confined in his schedule.

  So once again, for the second year in a row, they shared this clearing as a rare escape from the burdens waiting outside, and in return, they left each other alone.

  Or at least, that was how it was supposed to go.

  They haven't announced it yet," Scoria began, unable to help himself, "but Bennu told me that you, Firn, and I are being moved up to the Adolescent Bracket next year. People are already calling us the 'prodigy trio!'"

  Névé sighed and reluctantly pulled her eyes from her book, fixing him with a glower.

  Scoria smirked proudly, "You heard me right, Bennu the Phoenix, Grand Wizard of the Murrugan Squad, talks to me. He's been training me all year, so you'd better rethink that annoying arrogance of yours. What you saw in my previous battles, That was nothing. I've been saving my real techniques just for you."

  Névé rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I don't care about that. I thought a part of this 'garden peace treaty' was that we don't talk to each other."

  Scoria blinked. "Oh."

  A lustrous arras of mingling waters unfurled in midair, so vast that it cast a sprawling shadow over the open field below.

  The floating tapestry depicted a grand battle—an army of resolute warriors trampling over their retreating foes, the chaotic motion captured in liquid form. The sheer scale of the composition rivalled that of a towering building, its depth enriched by countless woven currents, each shaping spells, trees, and soldiers into a breathtaking tableau of magically directed waters.

  Coloured dyes coursed through hidden streams in the water, breathing a vibrant chroma into the scene. The victors, clad in vibrant sky-blue garb, stood proud and unyielding, their skin luminous with life while a swirling sphere of deep brown liquid gleamed in their eyes. Their fallen adversaries, by contrast, were draped in muted reds and oranges, their hues subdued as though the life had been drained from them.

  While the undercurrent was knotted in a convoluted web of rushing dyes, the surface of the mosaic remained completely still.

  So far, the dyes had yet to reach the very top of the display leaving the overhanging spells and trees still dull in the plain blues of pure water. Here and there, ambitious streams of pigment crept toward the untouched regions, but the underlying currents resisted, making the grand mosaic tremble ever so slightly.

  "Stop!"

  The aggravated shout of an elderly woman shattered the moment, heralding the abrupt dissolution of the grandiose sculpture. Within seconds, the entire mass of water dispersed into the air, thickening it with dense humidity that left everyone and everything around moist with thick dew.

  "How many times must we redo this simple scene?" the woman snapped, her voice sharp with exasperation. "I tell you again and again that when you adjust your conjurations, you must only move within a localized area. If you keep forcing your power through all at once, you'll destabilize the entire creation! If I hadn't stopped you, would you have just kept pushing until you collapsed the spell and flooded the entire town?"

  She dragged her rugged fingers through her now-damp gray hair, letting out a weary sigh.

  "No, ma'am."

  The soft, apathetic voice of a young child rang back. She was a small thing, her skin vibrant and her cheeks full—not malnourished or unhealthy by any means, merely of a naturally slight frame. Even for her young age of six, she was short, and her arms were so thin that one might think a strong wind could snap them apart.

  Like her instructor, she was clad in the customary training garb of the Sodality of Rain—a light, full-body dress woven from blue hydrophobic fibres, designed so that the dew from dissipating so many water spells would simply roll off without soaking the fabric.

  "Keep your station in mind, Névé," the instructor continued coolly. "Just because you are to be betrothed to Master Firn does not change anything; you will be no more than a concubine, a brood wench. Always remember you will never be more than a commoner, a tool of the Sodality. And tools have no place for arrogance or complacency."

  The young girl stood perfectly still, betraying nothing in her expression or posture. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Good. We depart for Proselyte early tomorrow, and the Rain Royalty wants you in top condition for it. With that in mind, I have been instructed to limit your training to only eight hours today. Tomorrow's session will be delayed until after we arrive, so enjoy the rest while you can, Névé."

  Névé responded with the same detached tone. "Yes, ma'am."