Over the next few days, Alara did her best to avoid Quenti. She spent her free evenings wandering the Haven like she used to as a young girl, or seeking out Ardo when he wasn’t on duty. They spent one evening together sparring in an empty study room, trying their best to stay quiet as their spears cracked against each other.

Alara knew that Emaru wouldn’t approve of her hobbies, and found it infinitely ironic how such remnants of prejudice even remained in a councilwoman charged with keeping the peace in Sombria.

After they exhausted themselves, Alara enjoyed their whispered talks of fighting tactics and Ardo’s hopes of becoming a captain of the councilguard. She could almost pretend that nothing had changed over the last week.

Despite living together in the same room, it ended up being easier than she expected to avoid Quenti. The new magite didn’t seem inclined to spend extra time in the room either, and Alara only saw her occasionally in the early mornings as she was waking up. For her part, she was only to happy to get dressed and sneak out before her new roommate woke. She knew Emaru would probably be annoyed that she wasn’t helping Quenti adjust to the Haven, but Alara needed her space to stay sane. At least for now.

When she woke up one Saturday morning, she started her usual routine of silently grabbing her clothes and boots and tiptoeing out. It took her until she was at the door to notice that Quenti’s bed was empty and she was the only one in her room.

“Huh,” she said aloud.

The other magite must have gotten up early that morning and left already. Alara tried not to roll her eyes and she noted the time indicated on the wall. Curfew had just ended and she doubted Quenti had waited until then to leave the dorms. What other trouble had she gotten into without Alara? Part of her wanted to care, but after remembering that one frustrating night spent with her roommate in Cielo, she shook her head.

And if Emaru asked about where her charge was?

I was busy sleeping.

Without another thought, Alara changed into her day outfit, slipped on her boots, and rushed out the door, not eager to accidentally run into the other girl.

They had the day off classes, so Alara spent the morning curled up in a chair in the library with a hot cup of mint tea, reading. She probably should have been reading about the history of premages or the political dynamics of post-war Sombria, but she was enjoying the fictional account of a blameless soldier during the Bruya Wars who had to fight for her family’s land. Her fellow magites called it cheesy, but the book was checked out more often than not from the library, so someone out there was enjoying it as much as she was.

When her stomach started to growl, she packed up her things and wandered over to the market. After grabbing a stuffed tortilla to-go, she headed to the stables. Adelmo was with the l’lamas, running his hands through their wool and cleaning off the large bits of embedded hay and twigs.

She finished her tortilla and then lent a hand to Adelmo, her own small fingers combing through the l’lamas wool quickly. It was coarser than an alpaca’s wool, but she still enjoyed the feel of it. They worked in silence for a hour or so before both the l’lamas and l’lamagas were clean and content back in their stalls.

“You here to practice?” Adelmo asked as they sat down on the hay in the stables.

“I just needed to get out for a bit. Every time we go on mission, I get spoiled by being out in the sunlight. I love the Haven…but I miss the sun when I’m inside too long.”

Adelmo shook his head. “You all end up so pale living your lives under the mountain.”

Alara smiled and looked down at her own complexion. “Hey, I’m still darker than you most the time!”

In fact, after being on mission for over a week, she had actually darkened a bit more than usual. Although it was never stated, one of the markings that separate mages from bruyas was their skin tones. The bruyas, who lived their lives outside, it seemed, were usually at least a few shades darker than the mages who spent much of their lives in the Haven, away from the sun. Alara sometimes pitied the mages who didn’t pale for lack of sun and always held on to their darker complexions—she knew there was always a slight air of suspicion around them.

“Well,” Adelmo said, “You might as well practice a bit. If your fight the other day is any indication, your attack skills are getting weaker. They’re supposed to get stronger the more you practice.”

“Ha! Yeah right.” Alara said in fake offense. “I could still beat you, old man.”

Adelmo laughed at this as he set up a dummy across the stable from Alara. “Let’s start with the spear.”

***

Alara and Adelmo lost track of time as they traded blows and took turns attacking the beaten and battered straw mannequin. It wasn’t until the bells rang around Cielo that Alara realized it was early evening.

“I need to go!” She dropped her spear and tried to comb her fingers through her hair, hoping to make herself presentable as she sprinted out of the stables and toward the Haven.

She knew Adelmo wouldn’t follow—he worshiped El’dyo in his own way, but it definitely didn’t involve sitting in the Haven worship hall for an hour.

Alara rushed through the empty tunnels, holding up the skirt of her dress as she ran, happy she had the foresight to throw it on that morning. It was if she’d actually started to subconsciously account for her poor time management. Part of it was that it was one of the few dresses she actually enjoyed wearing, and it featured intricate and delicate embroidery around the collar, clearly done by mages. Her skirt reached just below the knees and was made up of white and red layers. She hoped the mud staining the hem and her boots from her sparring with Adelmo would go unnoticed by Emaru.

The worship hall sat in the center of the Haven, a level above the marketplace, and when Alara finally got to one of the stairwells that led up to the worship hall, she was happy to see she wasn’t the only one.

Other stragglers headed toward the hall and she fell in step with them. Some wore the traditional scarves that marked them as mages, but plenty of blameless and magites were scattered in with them. The worship services served both the mages and the blameless of Cielo, though the two groups rarely sat together in the pews.

When she made it up the stairs she squeezed between a few mages and darted over to Emaru and her usual seat. The councilwoman was already there and simply gave Alara a bland look as she slid into the open space next to her guardian with a sheepish smile.

At the same time, Wila walked to the front of the hall and began to sing.

Just in time.

The hall filled with the voices of the worshippers and Alara sang along, with little thought of the words she was saying. It was the same call to praise each Saturday evening, the words were automatic after spending a lifetime in the Haven.

“Welcome all under El’dyo’s gaze.” Wila’s voice rang through the hall despite it almost sounding like a whisper. She was the only woman Alara had ever met that managed this balance.

“We gather this evening, as we do all evenings, to celebrate the light of El’dyo. He who defeated this own shadow to bring us to life. But today I want to remind us all that El’dyo’s shadow is not the only darkness that we must face and overcome if we want to bathe in his light.”

Alara found her mind drifting with the soothing tones of Wila’s voice. Her eyes wandered around the worship hall, appreciating the beauty of the room. While the rest of the Haven was by no means ugly, it tended to be more utilitarian in its designs. The canals that ran along the tunnels and the lanterns and torches that glowed in the night had strict purposes, but the shaped bronze and endless gemstones that lined the ceiling between windows and threw light across the worship hall when the sun hit them just right were an unnecessary flourish.

Looking around the hall, Alara caught the eye of Ardo sitting a few rows back. He was off duty, his normal armor and black clothes replaced with a bright woven shirt, loosely fit. He was grinning at Alara openly and she smirked back, giving a small eye roll as he feigned sleeping.

Child, Alara mouth the words, and Ardo grinned again, eyes wrinkling.

Alara suddenly felt a sharp jab of an elbow in her side. She caught Emaru’s eye as she realized her head had been craned back, clearly not paying attention. She settled herself into her seat, eyes forward, sheepish at being caught.

“Through his story, we must remember we are all like Josye. None of us is immune to the power of greed and pride.”

Alara remember the story of Josye well. A follower of El’dyo his entire life until his child died, he had turned to his magia to punish those he blamed for her death. After each person he killed, his greed and anger only grew until he turned his blame on El’dyo himself and tried to strike him down. Josye died, consumed by his own magia, leaving behind his wife and other children to fend for themselves.

“All of us can fall for the pretty words El’dyo’s shadows whispers in our ears if we turn from the light in a moment of weakness. But if we call to him in these times, instead of turning away, he can give us the strength to overcome our darkness, just as he did his own at the beginning of time.”

As everyone around her started singing again, Alara let the lilting notes wash over her. Her thoughts drifted again, but she made sure to keep her eyes to the front of the room, aware of Emaru, stiffed-backed, beside her.

When it was time to go, she and Emaru left together, heading toward the councilrooms rather than the dorms. It had been a weekly tradition for them to meet for Saturday supper after worship, and Alara was always excited to eat Emaru’s cooking and avoid the magite cafeteria.

As Emaru stirred the bean stew that had been cooking over the fire all day, Alara sat down at the table, enjoying the smell of garlic and onion in the air. Her guardian wore the mage aguayo draped across her shoulder over a dark red dress. The scarf itself was a weave of yellow and pink shades, showing she was an air mage, thin bands of white woven in to show her talent as a mind-stalker. And along the edge of the scarf she had a single bronze band that signified her rank on the Council. Mage councilmembers had a single band and blameless members had two. Alara wasn’t wearing her aguayo, having left it in her room earlier that day, but it was a simple black weave and would be until she passed her exams and graduated to a mage. Someday she would have a bright red, orange, and white scarf of her own.

Assuming she did graduate.

Scooping up a serving for each of them, Emaru sat down at the table across from Alara. They ate silently for a while. The dark-haired woman wasn’t the warmest person in the world, but Alara always like her better when they were alone than when she was acting in her role as teacher or Council mage.

“So how have classes been this week?” Emaru finally broke the silence.

“Fine.” Alara said, her mouth stuffed with a large helping of beans.

“Is Quenti adjusting well?”

Swallowing, the magite gave herself a moment. “Um—yeah. I guess.”

“How’s she settling in to the dorms?”

“Good.” She paused, unsure what Emaru wanted and realizing she probably couldn’t give it to her anyways. “Great. I think. How has your week been? I know Mitteo and Raquel said the raids stopped in Hurazon after we left.”

If Emaru noticed the change of subject, she didn’t comment on it. “Yes, although we got word of more raids up in Uodora.”

“Really?” Alara was truly surprised at this news. “That’s farther north than they normally travel.”

“They seem to either be getting braver or this weather is driving them to desperation.”

Alara shifted uncomfortably at this information. The bruyas were not to be taken lightly, but at least until now they had only bothered the southern outskirt cities more than anything. They never wandered far into the realm and the Haven seemed safe within its center. But if the bruyas were even attacking villages in the north, maybe they weren’t as safe as she thought.

“The rains have also been causing some chaos on the terrace farms near Calao. We’ve sent a group of water and earth mages to help the agri already there try and clean up the mess, but the crops may not be salvageable. Some of the lower terraces were completely flooded in the last rainstorm.”

Emaru’s eyebrows furrowed and she looked tired as she took another bite of her beans. For just an instant, Alara got a glimpse of how old Emaru likely was, even if she didn’t always show it. Her hair was a mix of black and silver, and the fine lines that used to sprout from her eyes had turned longer and deeper over the past few years. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the thin white scar that ran along her left cheek and into the hairline above her ear.

“The Haven can help to at least lessen the damage,” Alara said. “The earth mages can always help plant new crops to grow this year.”

Emaru seemed to shake out of her slump and smiled at the magite. “They’ll figure something out. We haven’t starved yet, through droughts and tornados. A little water isn’t going to kill us. But it’s good to hear you acknowledge how our powers can be used for good.”

Alara rolled her eyes as this—and prepared herself for the speech she had heard a million and one times from Emaru since she was little.

“When you were young and—”

“… you found me in the charred ruins of my family’s house, you knew I’d be special.” Alara finished with a smirk.

“I should have left you there.” The words were cold, but Emaru followed them up with a smile. “I don’t know who raised you to have such an attitude.” She paused, then her face dropped back into a small frown. “But in all seriousness, you have more power than you can know. And yes—if left uncontrolled and wild it could be dangerous—but if you spent the same amount of energy trying to control and train your magia as you did learning to throw a spear…” Emaru gave a sigh. “Quenti is a bit—wild—but if you can teach her some control and she can teach you tap into your magia, it’d do you some good. You are going to be a powerful mage. Perhaps, you’ll even have a place on the Council some day.”

“I’d rather be captain of the councilguards!” Alara beamed as she said the same line she’d been firing back at Emaru for over a decade.

“And you think dancing around your own powers will help you get there? Francisco didn’t become captain by pulling his punches and denying his strengths.”

Alara’s lip twitched at this.

Instead of firing back with her usual retort, she simply reached across the table a grabbed a warm tortilla from the pile. She shoved the soft dough into her mouth, eyes focused on Emaru with just a hint of rebellion. The older woman grimaced as Alara tried to close her mouth, but she saw the spark of the laughter her guardian was trying to hide.

“The tortillas are delicious,” she said, swallowing as best she could.

“El’dyo help me.” Emaru rested her hand on her forehead. “I failed at raising you.” She grabbed one of the tortillas, neatly rolling it before taking a much smaller bite.

They spent the rest of dinner with Alara carefully side stepping conversations around Quenti or her powers. It was like the flowing movements of a fight as Alara diverted each question. She knew Emaru saw the steps, but the older woman allowed her some respite.

When Alara returned to her room that night, she was tired and a dull ache throbbed behind her eyes. The room was dim and still empty. As she readied herself for bed, she tried to remember the last time she had seen Quenti. Had it been Friday night? Or maybe Thursday night? Whenever it was, it wasn’t enough to keep Alara up for long, and she fell asleep the instant her head hit the pillow, enjoying the quiet of her empty room.

***

When Alara awoke on Monday, she was still alone. By this time, a level of concern had started to creep in. Some of the other schools, like the School of Secrets and the School of Protectors had their own dorms, but if Quenti had been drafted into those, Emaru would have definitely told Alara on Saturday. So, if she hadn’t changed rooms, where in the world was she? The bed didn’t even look slept in and her roommate’s magite clothes still littered the spot next to her bed.

As Alara wandered toward classes that morning, her mind cycled through all the things that could have happened to Quenti. She could have gone off exploring the Haven on her own and gotten lost in the hundreds of tunnels that wove through the mountain—some of which the Council didn’t even know about. Or perhaps she had fallen into one of the canals. After all, the rains had left the waters deeper and the currents stronger. Of course, Quenti was likely good enough with her magia to not drown. She hoped.

Could water mages still drown?

When a class of young magites passed by her in the halls, Alara called out to one of them she vaguely recognized. “Hey…you…”

“Nico.” The small boy said, his face pale and freckled in the torch light.

“Nico, have you seen Quenti today? The new magite that’s about my age?”

He looked over his shoulder at his other classmates, who were moving away from him. When he turned back to Alara, he didn’t quite meet her eye, but shook his head quickly. “I have to go.”

Alara watched him practically run to catch up with his class, his brown curls bouncing. “Well, then.”

She barely made it into her classroom before the chimes rang for the start of the school day. She quickly ducked into her chair near the back of the class and started pulling out her textbooks with grim determination to completely ignore the questions still racing in her head regarding Quenti. She needed to focus on her studies and not being kicked out of the Haven.

“Alara Ayar.”

Her eyes snapped up to the front of the classroom. Her professor was standing next to a slightly younger-looking woman—a blameless that Alara vaguely recognized from the councilrooms.

“Please go with Jimena here. The Council needs to speak with you.”