Aurora’s P.O.V
I watched as Alice's sharp gaze swept across the room, her presence demanding attention. Her voice was steady, unwavering, as she folded her arms. "Does anyone need a demonstration, or has anyone been able to connect with their powers before?" she asked, her words laced with an authority that made it clear she wasn’t here to coddle us.
I hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be. "I... I connected with mine once," I admitted, feeling the weight of my own uncertainty pressing against my chest. "But it was Ashton who helped me. He used a spell, and it worked, but after that… I haven’t been able to use my powers since." The frustration in my tone was impossible to hide. I had felt it once—raw, untamed magic coursing through me, responding to my will. And then it was gone, slipping from my grasp like water through my fingers.
Alice studied me for a long moment before nodding. "That’s normal," she finally said, her voice softer now, though still firm. "What you experienced was a survival instinct. Your magic protected you because you needed it to. But instinct alone isn’t enough. You have to learn how to summon it at will, not just when desperation forces it out of you." She took a step closer, and though there was nothing threatening in her posture, I still felt the weight of her words settle over me. "That’s what we’re here to do."
She turned her attention to all of us then, her expression unreadable. "Close your eyes," she instructed, and I obeyed, letting the darkness wash over me. "I want you to imagine a candle burning inside your soul. Not just a flame—see it, feel it. The warmth, the light, the way it flickers but never truly dies."
“I want you to summon that flame,” Alice continued. “Bring it to the palm of your hand, will it to move, persuade it to respond to your calls.”
I exhaled slowly, trying to follow her words, but doubt curled around my mind like smoke. What if I couldn’t do this? What if I was broken, empty? But then, deep within, I searched for the ember she spoke of, the one I so desperately hoped was still there.
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to focus on what Alice had said. The candle. The flame. Bring it into my palm. It sounds simple enough, but my mind refuses to paint the picture she’s asking for. Every time I try, my thoughts scatter like dry leaves in the wind, slipping through my grasp before I can shape them into something tangible. Frustration creeps in, curling itself around my ribs, making my breathing shallow.
A sudden gust of wind slices through the silence, cold against my skin, shattering my concentration. My eyes snap open just in time to see Ashton—his entire form engulfed in a radiant green light, his feet barely touching the ground as the wind around him thickens into something alive.
My heart stutters in my chest at the sheer force of it, the way the energy coils around him like an extension of himself, raw and untamed yet somehow controlled. Before I can fully process it, another light blooms in my periphery. Maggie. She stands with her eyes closed, serene, bathed in a blue-gold glow that pulses like the steady heartbeat of the earth itself. Leaves swirl around her, lifted by an unseen force, twisting and dancing in a rhythm only she seems to understand.
Alice’s voice breaks through the moment, laced with awe and approval. “Incredible. You both found it so quickly.” There’s warmth in her tone, admiration, pride. It should be encouraging. It should push me forward. Instead, it feels like a blade between my ribs. Because I’m still standing here. Empty. Powerless.
Why is it so easy for them? Why can’t I do it?
I force my eyes shut again, swallowing down the lump of frustration in my throat. No distractions this time. No doubts. Just me and the power I know is buried somewhere deep inside. I reach inward, past the noise of my thoughts, past the sting of inadequacy clawing at my insides. I searched for it. That ember of something waiting to be ignited.
Come on. Come on.
And then, a flicker. Faint. Elusive. But it’s there. A warmth unfurling in my chest, like a whisper of fire in the dark. My fingers twitch, drawn to the sensation, and for the first time, I feel it—like a pulse of heat curling around my palm, waiting.
I just have to bring it to life.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, trying to push everything else away. The world is too loud, too chaotic, and my mind feels like a battlefield where thoughts clash and collide with no sense of direction. I need to focus. I need to find the source within me, the place where my power lives.
Alice told me to imagine a candle, a single flame burning steady in the darkness. A simple enough image, yet the moment I try to summon it in my mind, it flickers and dies before I can even grasp onto it.
Frustration gnaws at me, but before it can take root, I hear Alice’s voice—calm, soothing, unwavering.
“You’re forcing it, Aurora,” she says, her voice a gentle chime against the storm inside me. “You don’t command your power. You listen to it. You let it speak to you.”
I clench my fists, my brows furrowing. “That doesn’t make any sense. How am I supposed to listen to something that doesn’t have a voice?”
Alice chuckles softly, the kind of laugh that holds patience, as though she’s dealt with a hundred others like me before. “Because it does have a voice. You just haven’t learned how to hear it yet.”
I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head, but I tried again. I imagine the candle, the tiny flickering flame. This time, I don’t force it to stay lit. I just watch it, let it dance, let it breathe. The tension in my shoulders begins to fade, the pressure in my chest easing little by little. My hands loosen, my heartbeat steadies.
And then, I stopped thinking about the candle entirely. I don’t know why, but my mind shifts, drifts toward something else—someone else. My mother.
I don’t fight it. The memory comes unbidden, washing over me like a wave, pulling me under its warmth. I see her face, the soft curve of her smile, the way her hands always felt warm when she cupped my cheeks. I remember the way she used to hum while brushing my hair, the scent of lavender clinging to her clothes. She was my anchor, my guide. Even now, even in the hollow space where she no longer exists, I can feel her.
And suddenly, the candle inside me doesn’t feel like a struggle. It doesn’t feel like something I need to force into existence. It just is. It’s there, waiting, steady and patient, like her.
A breath shudders out of me, and Alice must see the shift in my expression because her voice softens even further. “Good,” she whispers. “You’re starting to understand.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. The flame is alive inside me now, and for the first time, I’m not afraid to let it burn.
I close my eyes, letting the weight of everything settle in my bones. The atmosphere is still cold, the air thick with the scent of damp stone, but then—like a dam being broken, more memories come flooding in. My mother. Her smile, so radiant, so warm, the way she laughed like the world had never once broken her. I remember how she would twirl me in the rain, holding my hands as we spun, our clothes drenched but our hearts full. It was always when he wasn’t around. When the storm of his presence wasn’t looming over us.
A lump forms in my throat, but I refuse to let the darkness win. Instead, I let my mother’s warmth flood my mind, gripping onto every memory, every whispered word she had ever gifted me. And then I hear it…my mother’s voice. Faint, yet powerful.
‘You are stronger than you can imagine, my love.’
My breath shudders as the words echo in my soul. Stronger. Stronger. I clutch onto them like a lifeline, refusing to let them slip away. A fire starts to burn inside me, slow at first, like embers being coaxed to life. Then it grows. It spreads, surging through my veins, licking up my spine, igniting something I thought had long been extinguished.
I don’t realize I’m trembling until my fingers curl into fists. The warmth isn’t gentle anymore. It’s an inferno, roaring, consuming, demanding to be acknowledged. I am not weak. I am not the helpless girl Lucas tried to break. I am not just a memory of who I used to be. I am here. I am alive. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel cold.
My eyes flutter open as the chaos around me fades into a strange, suffocating silence. The acrid scent of something burnt fills my lungs, making me cough as I struggle to process what just happened. My hands tremble as I lift them, noticing faint wisps of smoke curling from my fingertips. My breath catches in my throat.
"Aurora!" Caleb’s voice is frantic, desperate, but before he can reach me, Alice’s firm hand on his chest stops him in his tracks.
"Wait," Alice warns, her voice laced with something between awe and fear. "Don’t touch her."
I blink rapidly, my heart hammering against my ribs. I look down at myself, expecting burns, pain—anything to explain the raw energy coursing through my veins. But I feel... untouched. Whole. The same, yet somehow irreversibly changed.
Gasps ripple through the crowd surrounding me, their eyes wide, their expressions ranging from shock to terror. My stomach twists uneasily. I follow their stares, my gaze snapping to the ground before me. And that’s when I see it.
A blackened circle, scorched into the earth. The grass, the dirt—everything in that space is charred beyond recognition. And I’m at the centre of it all.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I stagger back. "What... what did I do?" My voice is barely a whisper, but in the suffocating silence, it sounds deafening.
Caleb’s face is a mask of turmoil, torn between concern for me and worry as he looks at the scorched earth. Alice, always the calm and calculating one, watches me with narrowed eyes, like she’s assessing what I’m truly capable of.
My hands still tremble at my sides, my pulse wild and erratic. I don’t know how to explain what I feel, the way my body hums with energy, with something powerful, something unnatural.