Faded triangles marked Jenne’s arms, legs, back, and belly. Doctor Leonard shone a torch into his eyes as he scribbled notes into a small notebook.

  Jenne sat on the infirmary bed, while Ms Class perched beside him, hands resting on his shoulders. Hamis was there too, silent. Tenrad and Regilon stood by the door, conversing in low tones, occasionally glancing at Jenne.

  “I haven’t started any lessons on Limits yet,” Ms Class replied. “Have you, doctor?”

  “I was waiting until next month,” the doctor said.

  “Jenne, this is what happens when you use too much ascension at a go,” Ms Class said, running a hand down the triangles on his bare arms. “You can die from this.”

  “Next time, you can warn your crafters before teaching them about deep spells!” Tenrad bellowed. “How irresponsible can you be?”

  “You just heard me!” Ms Class shrieked. “I didn’t teach him!”

  “It wasn’t her,” Regilon interjected. “They’re children. Don’t expect them to stay exactly where you put them.”

  Tenrad scoffed, too angry to respond. Jenne, meanwhile, wanted to die. “I thought it would only make me hungry,” Jenne mumbled.

  “Typically,” Leonard said. “But you haven’t been eating well, have you?”

  “He hasn’t.” Hamis broke his silence. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Jenne’s been acting… strange lately.”

  Regilon lifted his head at that but said nothing, turning away and leaving the room. Doctor Leonard opened shelves, pulling out potions and grinding bits of stone in a crucible. He produced a bright green concoction and handed it to Jenne.

  “Is that astaphite?” Tenrad asked, frowning.

  “Very, very diluted,” Leonard explained. “Just enough to get him moving again. He should be fine in a few hours.”

  “I don’t think we’ll see you next week,” Ms Class said to Tenrad. “Your sessions are far too extreme for the children to handle weekly.”

  Tenrad bristled, launching into a rant about how soft the younger generation had become. Ms Class used Jenne as a clear example of his missteps. Hamis drifted away among the shelves, leaving Jenne to watch and listen.

  “Drink this,” Leonard urged, pushing the beaker toward Jenne. “I hope you don’t lose your powers because of this. God knows Schemel would have my head if that happened.” He chuckled, though anxiety lingered behind his smile.

  Jenne listened to the doctor’s advice: eat more, sleep more, and spend less time buried in books.

  “You’re a child, and you’re bound to do silly things,” Doctor Leonard said. “But we would appreciate it if the dumb things you did were harmless.”

  “Can I ask something, Doctor?”

  “Yes, but please don’t ask me about deep spells. Ms Class will walk you through that in your next class.”

  “No, it’s not about that.” Jenne hesitated, folding his lips as he considered whether to speak. There was no better time than now, and no better person to ask. Recalling the strange false memories he’d had, he decided to take the risk.

  “Am I related to Genevie?”

  As ridiculous as it sounded, Doctor Leonard did not laugh. “You found out you’re a ripper,” he said. “I must say, you’re more knowledgeable than I thought.” He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “How long have you known?”

  “Not too long.”

  “I’ve known for nearly a month now, though I haven’t told anyone yet because it’s not as clear-cut.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the trace of ripper-ascension in your blood is negligible ninety-nine percent of the time. The other one percent becomes relevant during moments when you’re operating at peak performance—when you’re unstoppable. I’m afraid you’re not quite there yet.”

  Jenne’s question remained unanswered, but he’d gained valuable information nonetheless. He chose not to press Leonard further.

  After the incident, all staff walked on eggshells once Schemel heard what had happened. Ms Class kept a tight leash on Jenne, making it impossible for him to sneak off into the forest. Aside from Tenrad, no one asked where he’d learned to use the deep spell.

  On a quiet evening, he lay in the dark with his phone pressed against his eyes. He watched videos of the most talented rippers on the continent, all of them Sexites. Sevin and her father, Steffen Astra, were fierce fighters who had caused Schemel countless problems during the Midder-Land conflict.

  He watched Sevin dance through the dust, dual curved blades in hand, slashing through Henrikian forces, vanishing through portals, and reappearing behind unsuspecting soldiers. She would slit throats, vanish, and strike again elsewhere. It was a shame she had chosen Sexton over Henrikia; she had once been a Se Fina student.

  An incoming call from an unknown number blocked the screen. After a few seconds, the identification appeared: Isse Deus, Hamis’ baby sister.

  “Hamis doesn’t tell me anything. Can you believe he had no idea you were ill until yesterday, when I asked if you'd come to my party? I’m so sorry, Jenne.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Thanks,” he muttered.

  “Are you feeling better now?”

  “I am. Thank you for asking.”

  “So, what are you doing?”

  For a while, he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He had to visit the fae soon, despite knowing the risks. She was the only one who might help him understand what was wrong with him.

  It was Tuesday. He had History class with Father Jade, but he planned to visit the fae first and then rush back to class. Early in the morning, he went down into the forest, keeping his eyes and ears open for anyone following him. How long had it been since they last saw each other? Would she be annoyed by his continued absence? What if she never spoke to him again? Jenne paused, clutching his aching heart. He was exhausted. The symbols that had suddenly appeared on his skin were not completely gone.

  Jenne reached the garden and felt the breeze wash over him. Suddenly, he could breathe again. He walked a few steps toward the glass house before stopping. Someone else was there.

  Jay and Jenne had never spoken before, yet here they were, staring at each other. The blue-eyed Gaverian sat on the stone stairs, holding a small book, his gaze fixed on Jenne as if he hadn’t decided what to do with the earthen yet. The fae stood behind Jay, hands behind her back, smiling. The longer Jenne observed them, the more he noticed the resemblance. Jay was dark-skinned, with a rigid face, rich black hair kept short, a small moustache, and a short beard.

  “What are you doing here?” Jenne asked, feeling bolder than he should.

  “So, you’re the idiot who broke the spell after all,” Jay said. “You left those marks on the trees.”

  “I did.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you that this place was hidden for a reason?”

  “I deserve to know.”

  “You deserve to know,” Jay mocked, brushing his face with his palm as he swaggered toward Jenne. “Get out of here.”

  Jenne caught a glimpse of the fae. She shook her head. “I can go wherever I want,” he said. “When I came here, no one showed me any rules saying I couldn’t.”

  Jay snorted. “Who do you think you are? From where I’m standing, I see dirt pretending to have a price tag. I feel insulted seeing you in a uniform that proud and respectable compatriots have worn. Schemel is the only reason I’m not stripping it off your back and packing you back into the hole you crawled out of. How dare you talk back to me?”

  Once again, Jenne looked to the fae for help. She pointed to her collar. Jenne checked Jay’s uniform and saw blue crystals sprinkled across the fabric.

  “You’re carrying astaphite,” Jenne said. “You’re breaching Project Humility. The Assembly won’t like it. You could lose your rank—you could get fired.”

  Jay’s eyes glowed. In a few seconds, he would become a killer. He must have thought very hard about how he wanted this to end. Jay spat at Jenne’s foot and threw his shoulder, knocking Jenne back a few steps as he headed out.

  “Dog,” he said.

  Both the fae and Jenne waited until the Gaverian was out of sight before speaking.

  “Jay and I used to be good friends,” the fae said. “He accompanied Renna Sorel on her visits. But that stopped when the war began. He hasn’t been the same since.”

  "I don't like him."

  “It’s not entirely his fault. Jay is trying to become his father. The entire country watches him. I’ve seen him shift from being an exciting prospect to a what-could’ve-been in less than a decade. Jay is no Jacqolin, and it has made him lose sight of how amazing he still is.”

  “I don’t want to believe you.”

  “How come?”

  “You’ve been lying to me. I put myself at risk when casting a deep spell. You told me it was safe.”

  “You don’t trust me,” she said, hurt. “Should I tell you something personal? Ask me anything, and I will answer. You can decide whether I am a liar afterward.”

  Jenne had not expected that. He did not want to exploit her, yet his lips itched to ask questions. “Who are you?” he said.

  “Floren Sefaney raised me. She is a Soncara of the Swayer’s Dawn. Though I am too embarrassed to tell you who my father and mother are.”

  He wondered why he asked. “The Swayer’s Dawn,” Jenne said. “They protect faeries, don’t they?”

  “Yes, and they named me Verimae. It means the rare maiden.”

  “Do you know Ezra?”

  “Ezra? I do not know that name.”

  Jenne bit his tongue. “Ezrael,” he corrected.

  After a lengthy pause, Verimae said, “I should ask you.” It was Jenne’s turn to be silent, and God knew how long he could stay that way. “No one would be this comfortable around a fae unless they’ve grown used to one. You know who Ezrael is.”

  That was not enough to get him to talk. “If you want to know what I know, you'll have to tell me something without asking me to let you out first.”

  “Deal.”

  “Who is Genevie?” asked Jenne. “I want to know everything about her. I want to know if she is someone who would hold Blackwood captive. It doesn’t sit right with me that she would do such a thing—why would someone who fought to defend earthen during the Great Oppression hold an earthen village captive? And lastly, I want to know how she relates to me. Why do I smell like her? Is she the reason I’m a ripper-crafter?”

  “That’s worth a lot more than you’re offering.”

  “Is it?”

  After weighing the scales, she confessed it wasn’t. “I can’t tell you much about Genevie, but I know where to find what you need,” she said. “Regilon Regal keeps every relic Genevie left behind in his home. There are several journals she kept that you might find there.”

  “How can I get that? You want me to sneak into Ren Regal’s home and steal? I’ll be caught before I even reach the gates.”

  “Wasn’t Regilon involved in a fight recently?” she asked. “Jay told me he was badly injured. I doubt he’s back to full strength.”

  “He looked pretty strong when I last saw him.”

  “Maybe, but how sharp would his senses be? He won’t smell or hear you if you’re careful enough.”

  This was crazy. Assuming it was even possible to get anything from Regilon Regal’s mansion without being caught, would it be right? Jenne was not a thief—or was he? No, he had to think about this properly. Stealing wasn’t always ethically wrong. If he didn’t take the risk, he would never know the truth about himself. So many people around him concealed the truth; Verimae was the only one helping. His studies had been hindered by secrets. If he didn’t find out what he needed, he would never focus. That made stealing, in this case, the right thing to do. Besides, what would Regilon need all those old books for? They should be in a library for everyone to read.

  Jenne got ready to leave for class. He must not have spent that long, because the sun was still not fully up. But something didn’t feel right. The sun rose in the wrong direction. No... it was setting. He hadn’t just missed class—he’d missed everything. The day was over. But how? He’d been here for about ten minutes maximum.

  Regilon’s mansion sat on the coast, making it a straightforward trip from the training grounds. Jenne was cold, hungry, and dizzy, but he didn’t want to stop—Verimae might think him weak. And he wasn’t weak. The storm at sea grew more intense as he approached the mansion. In the distance, he spotted the red chunks of astaphite embedded in the mountain into which Regilon’s estate was built.

  Jenne scaled the fence and crossed the small compound. No lights shone in the windows, giving him hope that the old man was asleep.

  Rubbing his palms together, he cast two strings of light, which sprang up and latched onto a windowsill high above. He climbed quickly. He reached a window and gave it a slight push—it opened. Jenne stepped into the dark room and moved toward the door. Once again, he tried the knob, and it turned. This was going to be much easier than he had realized.

  He was on the third or fourth floor. That part worried him; he didn’t know where he was heading. Nonetheless, his nose guided him straight to a waxy smell. Gliding down the hallway, he descended the stairs and landed on a lower floor. Sniffing along, he entered a deep hallway, at the end of which stood a heavy black door. Built of thick black wood, it looked impossible to breach.

  He crouched and peered through the keyhole. Sparking a laser of light on his fingertip, he aimed it at the bolt. One swift stroke sliced through the metal. Jenne nudged the door open—and a hand grabbed him by his shirt’s collar.