The training room was always a little cold in the morning. Cold air crawled up from the stone floor, chilling the body from the feet upward. In the depths of the first floor of the Black Wedge Tower—the magic circle inscribed there held its bluish light as always, pulsing slowly beneath Serianna's feet. She had dreamed last night. The cardinals stood in a line. White vestments, cold faces. No one spoke. Only one reached out his hand—and grasped the ornamental crown at Serianna's brow, tearing it away with force. The sound of silver shattering. Fragments falling onto the stone floor. That sound still lingered in the depths of her ears. "Concentrate." "[cold] Concentrate." Walter's voice fell quietly into the training room. A voice stripped of emotion, utterly flat. "Shadow essence moves by logic. It is not a pathway for emotion. Your current state—there is too much noise." "[cold] Shadow essence moves by logic. It is not a pathway for emotion. Your current state—there is too much noise." Serianna tried to steady her breathing. The practice was to form a small clump of shadow essence before her palms. A basic exercise Walter had assigned three days ago—controlling the flow of shadow essence logically, gathering it at a single point. It was not difficult. Not if her mind was clear. Today, her mind was not clear. The sound from the dream would not fade. The sound of the crown shattering. The expressionless faces of the cardinals. And the fact that no one—not a single person—had tried to help her. The shadow essence began to take shape at her fingertips, then scattered into mist. "Pathetic." "[cold] Pathetic." The short word struck like a blade. Walter remained with his back against the wall, arms crossed, watching. The index finger of his right hand tapped the back of his left gloved hand in a steady rhythm—a habit when he was thinking. "Kill your emotions. How many times must I say it?" "[serious] Kill your emotions. How many times must I say it?" "...I understand." "[serious] ...I understand." "You do not. If you did, you would have succeeded by now." "[cold] You do not. If you did, you would have succeeded by now." It was the truth. She could not argue back. Serianna bit her lip and tried to concentrate once more. —But. The cardinals' faces surfaced again. What had she tried to say that night? She had tried to proclaim her innocence. She had tried to say there was no evidence. But her voice would not come. They all saw her as "defiled," and their eyes were so—so terribly cold. "Why was it me?" "[sad] Why was it me?" Serianna spoke without realizing it. Walter's finger stopped. "What?" "What?" "...Why did only I lose everything? I know I should not think of such things during training. But I cannot get it out of my head. That night." "[sad] ...Why did only I lose everything? I know I should not think of such things during training. But I cannot get it out of my head. That night." "That is the 'noise' I speak of." "[cold] That is the 'noise' I speak of." "Then how should I—" "[serious] Then how should I—" "Continue. Move your hands." "[cold] Continue. Move your hands." She was not allowed to hear the rest. Serianna clenched her back teeth and turned her palms forward once more. Shadow essence. By logic. Emotion is an obstacle. Calculation. —But why. Why only me. As the failures in training accumulated, the question grew larger. The shadow essence that began to form scattered into mist again. Each time, Walter said only one thing. "Pathetic." "Concentrate." "Kill your emotions." The more she was told to kill her emotions, the more they seemed to burn brighter in reverse. It felt like cruelty. She was told to kill her emotions to control shadow essence, yet that very command ignited them. Serianna glanced at Walter. His face held no expression. Eyes of ice-blue gray, observing only her hands. This man knew she was suffering now, yet he did not stop the training. Rather—it seemed he was deliberately driving her into a corner. Why. —That question became the final push. * Something overflowed from the depths of her body. At first it was a small tremor. But it quickly became something uncontrollable. Light essence and shadow essence, simultaneously. Serianna screamed at herself to stop. The voice did not emerge. She screamed it in her mind. But the power would not cease. The pattern on her left wrist blazed white, and from its edges a bluish light seeped out. White and black flashed in alternation— A boom shook the entire training room. The sound of stone walls cracking. Grimoires lined on shelves flew in all directions, crashing to the floor. The magic circle's light wavered, its blue radiance flickering erratically. Stone fragments fell from a corner of the ceiling. Serianna tried to stop it. She could not. The vortex of light and shadow spread outward from her center. This was her own power, yet she could not control it. That was what terrified her. She did not know what she would do. She might hurt someone. She might destroy this tower. —Then, arms came around her from behind. Both arms, from behind, strong. Cold. Yet certain in their strength. Walter was holding Serianna from behind. His shadow essence enveloped her, covering her from the outside. Cold, logical, emotionless shadow essence—it gradually calmed the rampaging power within her from without. The white and black light weakened by degrees. Serianna realized her entire body was trembling. Within Walter's arms, her frame shook in small, continuous tremors. His chest touched her back. His body heat was—warmer than she had expected. The vortex of light faded. Silence descended upon the training room. Grimoires scattered across the floor. Cracks in the stone walls carved crude lines. Serianna slowly turned around. And—froze. Walter's eyes were looking at her. Their color was wrong. It was not fear. Not anger, not surprise. It was—something close to exhilaration. The look of one who had finally found what they had been searching for over a long time. That light dwelt for only an instant in those cold blue-gray eyes. "...Master." "[scared] ...Master." Her voice trembled. "What expression do you have now?" "[scared] What expression do you have now?" A beat of silence. Walter's expression returned to normal in the next moment. The emotionless, blank mask. His arms withdrew from her. A step backward. "It was your imagination." "[cold] It was your imagination." "It was not—" "[serious] It was not—" Strength drained from her knees. She felt her body falling to the floor. Walter may have said something. But his voice grew distant. The image of those eyes burned into her mind. He had not been afraid. He had been pleased. Pleased to see her power. (Master has... a purpose for my power.) The thought was taking shape when consciousness fell away. * When her eyes opened, she saw the ceiling. The room on the second floor. She lay on her own bed. Her body was heavy. Her head ached slightly. Her left wrist throbbed with warmth. The sound of a chair being drawn. Someone was beside her. Walter sat in the chair, applying medicine to Serianna's hand. In silence. To a small wound—likely from stone fragments that had flown during the training—he applied white salve with careful precision. His movements showed he knew she was awake. Yet he said nothing. Serianna watched his fingertips for a while. That look came back to her. "Master." "[serious] Master." "..." There was no reply. But his hands did not stop. The work of applying medicine continued. "Why did you take me as your disciple?" "[serious] Why did you take me as your disciple?" She could not help but ask. That look burned in her memory, refusing to fade. What was it? What was she to this man? A disciple, or something else? Walter closed the medicine jar. A long silence. His right index finger tapped his left gloved hand once. "...You will not die." "[cold] ...You will not die." His voice was small. Unusually small for Walter. That was all. Not an answer. Not a direct answer at all. Walter stood and returned the medicine jar to the shelf. Before leaving the room, he turned back for a moment. But he said nothing. The door closed quietly. His footsteps receded down the corridor, climbed the stairs, and vanished. Serianna gazed up at the ceiling. She was afraid, she thought. That look terrified her. The sensation that her power might be used for something—it froze cold and hard in her chest. Her master had not told her why he took her as a disciple. Perhaps that silence was the answer. But. "You will not die." The temperature of those words would not leave her mind. The careful precision of fingers applying medicine would not fade from memory. She was afraid—yet why did her chest ache so? Suspicion and warmth weighed equally in her heart. Which was true, Serianna still did not know.