There was no need to ask. Master directed that I practice with the other apprentices from today onward at the end of our session.

  Agnes let me walk to the training hall. I felt a little more grown up than I had yesterday.

  “These people… Mira… they’ve been practicing magic for a long time,” her voice held an odd tenseness to it. The usual seriousness was replaced with something closer to anxiety.

  She took my hand and came down to my level. “Promise you will focus only on your studies. No competition.”

  I knew I had more magic than them, but they had far more time learning how to control it. I huffed and promised her—offended at the very prospect.

  She stayed back at the door, beckoning me to go ahead and take a seat. The room reminded me of a university classroom. I would have preferred sitting at the back, but the steps seemed too challenging. Agnes’s warning was still fresh in my mind. I didn’t want them to see me struggle.

  Even getting into the chair turned into a struggle.

  That’s when the instructor entered. He wasted no time in levitating me into my seat. I was breathless before the class even started. The shame burned under my skin, even though no words were spoken. I could feel the gaze of my classmates—people for whom I clearly did not belong here.

  I took out the notebook and ink pen Kieran gave me from the tiny satchel I had found in my room when I woke up this morning. I squared my shoulders. I could be a good student.

  “I am Marius Archibald, your instructor for Applied Combat Magic. I am an A-Tier Mage-Knight, and I will make sure all of you leave this class in six months ready for action.”

  He spoke with a charming cadence, the words sounding inspiring despite the blunt content.

  “Now, who can tell me what I mean by Applied Combat Magic?”

  He scanned across the room and picked a girl with brown pigtails. She had been waving her hands eagerly and jumped to attention when chosen.

  “Applied Combat Magic is the practical utilization of structured spellcasting for battlefield engagement, threat neutralization, and defensive reinforcement under dynamic conditions,” she recited quickly, like a memorized poem.

  “That’s correct, Miss…?” Despite the words, he didn’t look impressed.

  “Sylvia… sir… Daughter of Thornton and Anna.”

  I hadn’t realized I needed to include my parents in my introduction. The weight of it felt heavier than a surname ever had.

  “We will begin this class with a practical demonstration of structured spellcasting. You all know how to conjure and control a basic flame. Today, you will learn how to conjure arrows made of fire and aim them at a target.”

  “Come forth, messengers of Agni,” he said, aiming his right hand at the target on the opposite side of the room. A sigil appeared in the air above his rings. I wanted to sketch out its shape in my notebook, but the design shimmered too quickly to fully grasp even from the front row. He shaped his fingers like a gun, one finger pointed directly at the target. An arrow formed, precise and contained, and shot forward. Bullseye. The target ignited cleanly and crumbled to dust.

  He snapped his fingers and there were twenty-three fresh targets rose from the floor.

  When he drew the sigil on the blackboard, I diligently copied it down. A triangle inside a circle with a line cutting through it. The imagery matched the action.

  After a lengthy discussion on how to call forth these arrows—the gist of which was to imagine the sigil and focus your magical energy on the objective while chanting, “Come forth, messengers of Agni”—he showed us how to do it without chanting as well.

  Vocalization and visualization only made your will clearer. They allowed you to concentrate your magical energy into your foci to be unleashed at once. An expert in combat could shoot arrows of fire without speaking a single word.

  Then it was time to practice. I clearly visualized the sigil and pointed my makeshift gun-finger at the target. It felt ridiculous, and it didn’t work despite how many times I asked Agni. Pigtails had already set hers on fire three times.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “You don’t have a foci, Miss Mira. Try to just feel the magic move through you for today.”

  I sighed. Why send me to this class without the necessary equipment? I felt like Master had set this up to humiliate me so I would continue being his good little drainage pig.

  Mister Marius patted my head a couple of times and returned to his desk. Everyone else had hit their targets at least once by now.

  “Who even let this baby in? She needs Beginner Magic,” giggled Pigtails and her posse of nerdy mages.

  She wasn’t wrong. I did need to learn the basics, but her giggling grated at me.

  I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the magic as I chanted again. It was of little use. I was magic. It moved in every pore of me. There was no distinction when I chanted that I could pinpoint and narrow into an obedient arrow.

  “I am the best in class. I can teach you,” offered Pigtails. Her tone was mocking and devoid of sincerity.

  “No thanks. I don’t have a foci,” I replied, and she returned to her posse.

  “I heard she’s supposed to be a powerful genius…” one of them faux-whispered loudly. Another round of giggles followed. I was starting to regret begging for practice. Maybe it was better to just be drained every day and left alone.

  I looked at the target and pointed my fingers at it again. There was no focus this time. I was humiliated and tired. Another failure.

  Pigtails launched two arrows at once on different targets. The air around them shimmered with controlled heat. Everyone hyped her up, and even the instructor clapped from his desk. She shot a smug smile at me, not satisfied with her success until she had rubbed it in a four-year-old’s face.

  I was mentally older. There was no way I was going to let myself get depressed by this.

  This time I closed my eyes and imagined her face while pointing at the target.

  I chanted, “Come forth, messengers of Agni.”

  I imagined thousands of arrows hitting her from all directions. I imagined the fire burning up her pigtails. I imagined the painful yelps of her and her posse as they were burned.

  The air felt hot and thick.

  I pointed my mock pistol at the target and released.

  The girlish screech were what alerted me to my unexpected success. When I opened my eyes, the arrow was flying toward the target but it fractured midair, splitting into a storm of blazing shards that scattered outward in every direction.

  A desk ignited. Then another. The curtains caught fire and then Sylvia’s pigtails.

  She shrieked and stumbled backward. Her defensive shield flickered up too late and were no match for the tens of arrow flying toward her.

  The flames crawled along the curtains and leapt to the ceiling beams. Heat pressed against my skin. Smoke filled the room, thick and choking. The targets we were supposed to hit were all cindered to ash within seconds.

  Marius moved instantly. A barrier snapped into place around half the room. He thrust both hands forward, and water spheres burst into existence, crashing against the spreading flames. Runes along the walls flared to life, emergency suppression sigils activating with a deep metallic hum.

  This was the destruction I had wrought. I never wanted this. The students who weren’t directly attacked were screaming as they ran for the exit.

  I needed to run too, but this was my destruction. Maybe I deserved to burn with it.

  If imagining destruction worked, would imagining rain end it?

  In the burning room, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine it. I didn’t have a gesture this time. No sigil. No chant. Only my wretched imagination.

  Sylvia was hardly thirteen—she didn’t deserve to die for giggling at me.

  I succumbed to the smoke before I could even try. Choking and coughing till I collapsed like a rag doll.

  I woke up two days later in my bed to Agnes watching over me. My body felt hollow. My limbs were heavy, my head throbbing faintly as if I was only partially put together.

  Her serious face was marred with worry.

  “I’m sorry,” were her first words to me. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you.”

  She embraced me, her shoulders shaking.

  “I went to get some food for you… and then I heard the alarms… I thought it was an external threat… I am so sorry. I will protect you better from now on. That’s my oath.”

  “But it was my fault, Agnes,” I whispered. “I did this. I set the place on fire.” I couldn’t look her in the eyes.

  “We know,” she said gently. She paused before continuing. “You’re a child. A powerful child, but a child nonetheless. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes… but I imagined it. Not the place on fire… but…” I couldn’t admit I had imagined setting Sylvia’s pigtails on fire. Not to Agnes, who believed so much in me.

  “Imagination is not enough for magic. It’s necessary, of course… but people imagine many things.” She took a slow breath.

  “You’re uniquely powerful for manifesting your will so easily over the world. We thought because you didn’t have a foci and had been drained before class, nothing would happen.”

  Master thought, she means.

  For the first time, I understood the binding Keiran spoke of.

  If I could imagine the apocalypse to reality maybe I did deserve to be put down like a mad dog.

  Agnes stayed by my side until I fell asleep again.