By twelve, Arden was relentless in honing his fire magic. He aimed to pass the academy entrance exam but what was it, exactly? No one had explained. Still, he trained for hours daily, pouring his soul into it. Some days he succeeded; others, he tasted defeat.

His sessions with Andre were intense. Andre's aura was like a rabid dog when it struck, it radiated deathly fear. The sensation overwhelmed Arden, knocking him out mid-fight more than once. "Am I really this weak?" he questioned himself.

One day, wandering the forest, a sweet scent pierced his nose. Curiosity won, and he followed it. The deeper he went, the stronger it grew, irresistible. In the woods' heart, he found its source: a girl with blood-red hair and golden eyes, practicing magic. Her beauty was mesmerizing, her poise noble. Arden felt the world fade, watching her as if it were a gift.

She spun around abruptly and shouted, "What are you doing here? Who are you?"
Arden stumbled forward, dazed. "I… guess I'm no one," he said, his voice shaky.
She burst into laughter, his confusion amusing her. Calming down, she faced Arden's next question: "What's that scent?" Approaching, she snapped her fingers. The sweet smell returned, woven with her flames. "It's my magic," she explained. "Fire, but it shifts with my mood."

Arden couldn't believe it. No book described this. He stepped closer and brushed a finger beneath her chest. Startled, she slapped him but he'd sensed it: her core was fractured.
"What's your name?" he asked, curiosity overriding the sting.
Her expression stilled. "Lyra," she said.