Alara almost choked on the humid air as she breathed—unused to the thickness of it. The night was still, and the air sat heavy on the cloud forest, pressing in on her like a wool blanket. She shut her eyes as she let the familiar smell of damp soil calm her, slowing her heartbeat. It was well past dark, but the heat of the day hadn’t broken, and she could feel the sweat as it dripped down between her shoulder blades under the brown tunic she wore as camouflage. Over the tunic, she wore a thin leather vest—just enough protection to cover her heart from a rogue arrow or a slow-moving spear. Nothing that would slow her down in a fight.

Her eyes focused on the shadows of the dense forest in front of her and she strained her ears, aware of every small sound. The villagers of Hurazon had locked themselves way in their homes hours before, leaving Alara and the other magites guarding the perimeter in silence. It left the village eerie and quiet as they waited. Even the faint buzzing of insects seemed dampened in the thick air, soft and hushed.

Impatience welled up inside her as the minutes ticked away. The urge to walk, move, train — anything to pass the time. She resisted. The other magites would likely be holding their positions along the border of the village, the perfect students. Alara knew she needed to prove her own patience tonight if she wanted to be a mage.

Suddenly, Alara felt a small tingle in the back of her mind, the threads of magia pulling in her chest. Her head swiveled to her left as she pushed away the irritating feeling, but she couldn’t ignore what it meant.

The bruyas were here.

A vine shifted in the shadows and leaves rustled somewhere deeper in the forest, confirming her instinct.

Staying low in the underbrush, Alara made her way over to the nearby stone hut where Raquel was stationed and peeked through the wool curtain. The fire had burned out and Alara could just make out the fellow magite’s form slumped against a wall by the beam of moonlight drifting through the window.

“Psst!” Alara hissed.

Raquel jolted upright, her eyes finding Alara’s in the dark.

“They’re here.”

The other girl gave a short nod, but didn’t reply. Instead, she placed a finger on her temple.

“The bruyas are on the east side where Alara is posted,” Raquel’s voice echoed in Alara’s mind, along with the minds of the rest of the magites scattered around the village perimeter. Raquel grabbed her bow and arrows, a grin plastered wide on her face. “The fight is on!”

“Remember, our mission is not to injure or kill!” Alara whispered.

Raquel rolled her eyes before waving an arrow in front of Alara’s face. “Sandbag tips—I’m not an idiot. Let’s go.”

Raquel took the lead, heading back to where Alara had been posted. In her own hands, she gripped her wooden staff, bolas hanging from her belt. It was still quiet, the shadows shifting around them like ghosts in the moonlight. After a moment, Alara noticed them converging on them—the rest of the magites.

A soft thud and the snapping of branches shattered the silence and Alara winced. Mitteo, one of the magites in their class, was lying in the mud, his foot hooked on a root.

“S-sorry,” he said, pulling himself back to his feet. Raquel stared daggers at him.

“Are you serious?”

Senya Emaru was there now, beside them all. She was tall and lithe and moved soundlessly in the darkness. Placing a calm hand on Raquel’s shoulder, Emaru shook her head. “Stick to the plan.” Her voice was soft but firm.

Raquel nodded, sending out another envia to the magites stationed at the east side of the village. “Remember to stay hidden until they make their way deeper into the village.”

Alara gave Raquel a sharp look and Raquel rolled her eyes. “And remember, the mission goal is to capture bruyas, not injure or kill. For El’dyo!”

“For El’dyo,” Alara echoed under her breath.

Emaru turned to Alara. “Can you sense how many there are?”

Alara hesitated. She could see Emaru’s sharp eyes glittering in the moonlight, focused only on her. Her palms started to sweat, and a voice whispered in her mind.

No.

“Yes,” Emaru somehow corrected Alara’s lone thought. “The answer is yes, Alara.”

Alara paled under the moonlight. “I can’t separate out our people from theirs.”

“Yes you can. Try.”

Alara bit back a groan as she closed her eyes and tried to focus. She tugged at the thread of magia that wound at her center, warm and flickering like a small flame. She plucked at it, gently, hesitantly, before pulling it toward her mind.

The tingle reemerged in the back of her head as the threads of magia flowed outward in all directions, taking with them the smallest beads of her consciousness. Traces of power tinged the air, magite and bruya nigh indistinguishable in her unpracticed mind. Her whole body tensed as she pushed her consciousness forward, focusing on where she had first heard the rustling of leaves.

Alara felt herself squint in the dark, as if her eyes could help her powers differentiate between friend and foe. She tugged at the threads of power, desperate to impress Senya Emaru. This was her last chance—the final test. To fail now would be…

And then it came on like a rush, sudden and searing in her mind. Heat rose through her chest and her mind quickly pulled back, the threads snapping back into place. Her body went cold and her mind blank.

“I can’t do it!”

Emaru pursed her lips, giving Alara a look she knew too well: disappointment. They fell silent again and Alara tried to listen for the footfalls of the approaching bruyas, refocusing her efforts into her non-magia instincts. Senya Emaru had spent the better part of the last several months discouraging this behavior in Alara—this tendency to fall back onto her non-magia skills. But she couldn’t “just try.” Not with the wellbeing of an entire village on the line.

A few more minutes passed before the bruyas broke through the trees and made their way toward the center of the village. In the dim moonlight, Alara could just make out the shapes of their bodies. There were half a dozen. From a distance, they looked no different from her fellow magites, but Alara knew that wasn’t true. These were thieves and murderers.

Alara shuddered, wondering what the bruyas were planning for that night. Would they steal a few more alpacas? Perhaps burn down a house or two?

Alara realized she was holding her breath, her knuckles white on her staff, and she let it go in a soft hiss. Emaru pointed her fingers toward the back of the bruyas, as their shadows passed by. Raquel, Mitteo, and Alara took their cue and quietly moved forward. Raquel and Alara’s footsteps were quiet on the wet soil. Mitteo, on the other hand, winced with every step, his feet smacking hard against the ground in a drumbeat that echoed in the silence.

Alara didn’t have time to be annoyed by his lack of grace. From behind them, she heard the distinct crack of a branch. A moment later, the world exploded as a second group of bruyas broke through the forest at their rear just as the first group turned and began to attack their front. Balls of flame met well-aimed shots of water. Steam hissed and danced in the air as the two collided.

Beside Alara, Raquel took up her bow and shot arrows into the chaos, her hand moving gracefully as she used her wind to aim and turn the arrows in unnatural ways. A few hit their targets, but most were blown off course or dodged.

Hearing the sounds of heavy footfalls behind her, Alara whipped around to see a dark-eyed bruya coming at her with a spear. She launched to the side and swung her staff to block the woman’s blow and swipe at her legs. Like Alara, she only wore thin armor over her chest. Her legs were clothed, but unprotected.

Alara caught her off guard and the bruya fell to the soil with a thud. But before Alara could celebrate, a blast of wind shot her off her feet and sent her careening skipping across the dirt.

By the time she stood back up, the bruya was running at her again, this time, spear forgotten on the ground and her arms raised up toward Alara. Another sharp gust of wind hit her shoulder, and she stumbled back. She knew a third strike was imminent, but was unable to recover in time as she saw a third gust of wind flutter past a set of leaves that had gathered on the dirt. As Alara braced for impact, she saw the violent flurry veer off course at the last moment, hitting the back of another bruya and throwing him to the ground.

Alara didn’t have to look to realize Emaru had saved her tail again. She looked to find the mage waving her hands calmly in front of her, the strain of the effort not even registering in her face as redirected the gusts toward the bruyas, using their own powers against them. Emaru gave a sharp wave and a fire attack from a long-haired bruya went flying at the first.

“Use your abilities to corner them!” Her face was fierce as she shot Alara a look. Even in the dark, Emaru’s gray eyes seemed to glow. Alara gripped her staff and looked back toward the fight. She raised her hand and took a deep breath. She could feel the heat of the torches set up at the village center and felt the fire lean toward her. She reached back toward her own center, to the thread of magia that danced there. But as the wave of heat crawled up her chest, she let out a strangled cry and dropped her hand. The heat immediately dissipated and her body went cool.

“Try again.” Emaru said to her.

Alara lifted her hand, but couldn’t bring herself to reach toward the flames. She shook her head, her arm falling limp to her side.

“Go help Mitteo, then!” Emaru said.

Alara flushed red with shame, glad for the darkness that covered the sky and her face in shadows. She ran toward Mitteo a few meters away. Around her, bruya and magites faced off in what looked like a stalemate. Mitteo’s hands moved in a graceless jerking motion as he tried to bend the surrounding roots. It was an impressive show, but all he managed to do was trip a few unsuspecting bruyas who all were too quick to recover. Letting loose a scoff, Alara threw bolas at an assailant who was getting uncomfortably close to Mitteo. The rope struck them just below their knees, the stones wrapping around their legs, snapping it tight. The figure went down hard.

Alara sprung forward, hoping to catch the bruya and knock them out before they recovered. But before she could reach them, the bruya had gripped the rope of the bolas, disintegrated them into flames.

As they jumped up, Alara saw it was a younger boy, likely around her own age. His hair was long, falling into his face and partially covering his eyes. They grew wide as she approached. Alara moved into a fighting stance, ready to take on the bruya. Rather than meet her head-on, the boy turned and bolted in the opposite direction. Alara watched as the figure disappeared into the forest.

He wasn’t the only one. As she looked around, she noticed all the bruyas were retreating, their panicked tearing through the underbrush from where they’d come. The magites themselves were no worse for wear, still standing. Still breathing. Still living.

They had survived the attack in one piece.

Alara’s smile widened involuntarily, and she thrust her staff up in victory as she took in the tired faces around her. Her gaze found Emaru’s and the look on the older woman sent her heart stuttering.

“Fool,” Emaru said. Her voice was cold and pierced the air like a knife. “I should never have brought you along. You are clearly not ready.”