Aden moaned as his arm clock beeped at 4:50 a.m. Six days had passed since he found the winter fig tree. He yawned and stretched, struggling to open his eyes. This wizard training left him feeling drained every morning, like he hadn’t slept at all. His muscles ached like he’d been hauling hay bales all night instead of lying in bed. He fumbled for the snooze button, rolled onto his side, and poked his head out from under the bnkets. Speck was snoring at the foot of the bed in wolf form—no wonder Aden’s feet were numb. He tugged them free, flexing his toes until the tingling stopped, then curled up to enjoy the next ten minutes before his arm went off again.

  Xade was peaceful at this hour. The celestial clouds glowed faintly between the swaying branches of the maple tree outside his window. The wind whistled through the branches, carrying with it the cold bite of winter. Frost clung to the window’s edges, glimmering under the pale light of the twin moons, casting a soft, silvery glow over the room. Aden’s room was dim and shadowed, the kind of peaceful stillness that almost made him wish he could stay in bed forever. He watched the clouds drift zily across the sky, trying to make out shapes in them. One almost looked like a stack of pancakes, golden and fluffy, with syrup dripping down the sides. His stomach grumbled, as if in agreement. That was another problem—topping off magic made him ravenous. Lately, he felt like he could eat a whole banquet by himself.

  Just as his eyes were about to flutter shut again, Aden sensed Alexand stirring in the back of his mind, that familiar weight pressing into his thoughts like a nagging presence that never quite left. Aden ducked back under the covers, pretending to sleep.

  It didn’t fool Alexand. With his second sight, Aden felt the book floating off the nightstand, shuffling a bit, and deliberately knocking Starburner to the floor. The sword nded with a heavy ctter against the pile of discarded clothes, waking with an indignant shout.

  Speck woofed at the noise, flicking his ear, then flipped over to pin Aden’s feet again.

  “Oka-a-a-y, I’m up,” Starburner groaned through a yawn, her voice muffled by a stray sock.

  The werewolf barked again just as the radio arm kicked on, flooding the room with loud, cheery music that made Aden want to bury himself deeper in the covers.

  “Goooooood morning, Poooootlight!” the announcer chirped, far too chipper for this early. “Time to rise and shine, folks, and get a jump on the day! Winter’s not waiting for anyone!”

  Aden groaned, his bones feeling heavy as lead. “Well, there’s ten minutes I can’t get back.” He reached for the radio to shut it off, but as his fingers brushed the buttons, a spray of sparks shot out from his hand, and the radio shorted out mid-weather report. He cursed under his breath. That was the fourth clock he’d ruined this week. He still hadn’t learned to store his magic properly, and it kept leaking out at the most inconvenient times. The surges had been happening since his magic fully awakened six days ago, but today was supposed to be the st day of them. At least, that’s what Alexand had promised.

  Magic capacity was like a muscle, Alexand had expined. Beginners had a small reserve to work with, but the more they practiced, the more that reserve expanded. While leveling up, casters had to “top off” their magic to let it settle in their bodies, or they risked magic poisoning. The fear of dying from it had terrified Aden at first, but now that he’d gone through it several times, topping off just felt like a nuisance. His untamed magic had a habit of acting up—shorting out electronics, blowing fuses, and giving him minor shocks whenever he got too close to anything with a battery. He missed the days when he could just use a datapad or his mobicom without something blowing up in his hands.

  He heard a wheezing, snuffling sound at his feet. Aden kicked off the covers and shot a gre at Speck, who was now panting, his tongue lolling out as the magic bnket’s warmth blew directly into his face.

  His te mother had made her fortune crafting little magical conveniences like the bnket Aden now used. Everything Amelia Welex had enchanted still worked, even years after her death—testimony to the strength of her magic. Most wizards’ items failed soon after they passed, but not hers. The magic still hummed faintly in the bnket, like a warm, protective aura, one of the few things Aden could still use without breaking it.

  Speck spped the off button with his paw, shutting off the warmth.

  “Thanks,” Aden muttered, rubbing his eyes. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, stamping his feet to get the blood circuting. As he stretched, energy shot from his fingertips in a spray of bright sparks, lighting up the dim room like falling embers.

  Starburner’s voice came softly. “Aden, you forgot to use your magic before bed. Why don’t you put it to good use—clean your room?”

  “Clean my room?” Aden grumbled. He purposefully left it messy to irritate his father. The clutter felt comforting to him, like a rebellion in its own way.

  Alexand floated over, his pages ruffling slightly, as if he could sigh. “The more you use magic, the better you’ll store it. Especially during this first month. Consider it part of your training.”

  Aden groaned but relented, casting the spell Alexand had shown him earlier. His clothes began folding themselves, books stacked neatly on shelves, and trash drifted into the waste bin. It was all very efficient, though it cked the personal satisfaction of doing it by hand. The sight of his clothes flying through the air almost made him ugh. It reminded him of the old days when he used to py drums for The Backbeats, his school band. Back when things were simpler—before his magic had started frying the amps and microphones. Back before he had to give up something he loved.

  “It’ll avoid you,” he reassured Speck, who whimpered and scooted away from the floating socks and shirts. “Still, best give it space to work.”

  As they left the room, nothing collided with them, just as Aden promised. They stepped into the hallway, where the dim light reflected off the old family portraits lining the walls. The scent of old wood and faint cooking spices wafted from downstairs, making Aden’s stomach rumble again.

  Aden paused by the mirror, drawn by the fsh of green in his reflection. His eyes had been hazel, like Adora’s, for as long as he could remember. Now, thanks to Alexand waking his magic, they were a bright, vivid green. Alexand said the change was due to his mother’s enchantment being erased, but Poppa had always told him Amelia had green eyes too. That was a lie, though. Aden had found old photos of her in the attic a few days ago—her eyes were hazel. Why had Poppa lied about something like that?

  A tap on the shoulder interrupted his thoughts. “Who pnted an Aden tree here?” Uncle David teased.

  “Oh, sorry.” Aden stepped aside, giving him room to pass.

  There was a loud, booming drumbeat from his bedroom, followed by more thuds. David turned to look, eyebrows raised.

  “Alexand insisted I use magic to clean my room,” Aden expined, leaning against the wall.

  The thumping from his room continued, sounding almost like a trashy boy band trying to py in there.

  “You still don’t like magic, do you?” David asked quietly, his hands deep in his pockets.

  Aden shook his head. “Not really.”

  David sighed. “I’m sorry for what happened. That day...”

  Aden’s jaw tightened. “I know. But what’s done is done.”

  David hesitated. “It’s going to be harder for you to learn magic. I know I pnted fear in you, and that will haunt you.”

  Aden considered brushing him off, but something inside him softened. He pced a hand on David’s shoulder. “I didn’t ask for this magic,” Aden said, his voice softer. “But I’m learning to live with it.”

  David’s eyes misted over as he seemed to lose himself in thought. “I think you saved my life that day.”

  Aden blinked in surprise. “Really?”

  David nodded. “I’d messed up. My magic was draining too fast. I froze. If you hadn’t come in, yelling with lunch, I wouldn’t have moved in time.”

  The weight of his words sank into Aden’s chest like a stone dropping into deep water.

  “I’m... gd I could help,” Aden said, his voice quiet but steady.

  David smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “You’ve always had a good heart, Aden. Just like your mother.”

  “What made you come in?” David asked, tilting his head. “Alisha never let anyone bring me lunch while I worked.”

  Aden paused, trying to remember that day. He was only five at the time, but the memory had been blurry. “I don’t know... I think I begged her to let me. But why?”

  Starburner’s voice echoed in his mind. ‘Try a memory spell—retrace your steps.’

  Aden hesitated, then touched his forehead, concentrating. The fog over that distant memory lifted as the spell worked its way through his mind.

  “I begged her,” Aden said slowly, watching the memory py out. “I never cried, but I cried that day. I told her I had to bring it to you. I was so sure, like I’d known something bad would happen.”

  David stared at him, eyes wide. Aden felt his heart clench as the memory finished pying out in his mind—the blue bottle spinning in the air, David leaping toward him, the explosion that knocked them both to the floor.

  David’s voice trembled slightly. “You must’ve had some magic even back then.”

  “Maybe,” Aden muttered, still trying to process the intensity of the memory.

  The sound of a final, satisfied thump came from his room.

  “Well, that’s the end of the spell,” Aden said, pushing away from the wall. He straightened his clothes and stretched his stiff muscles. “I still have something to take care of before I come down for breakfast.”

  David nodded, his expression more thoughtful than before. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

  Aden returned to his room, gncing around at the neatly stacked clothes and organized shelves. He sat on his bed, taking a deep breath. ‘This magic thing is going to take more out of me than I thought,’ he mused. ‘But at least I’m still here.’

  For now, that was enough.

  Zanden