Mella stares steadily at her aged mentor, biting her lip to keep unwanted anger and fear at bay so they don’t mess with the tingle of magic pooling in her eyes.
Sophen grips Mella’s chin, tipping her face into the fading sunlight, before grumbling her approval. “Just don’t let your emotions run wild again. That’s the key to your magic, the key to keeping your identity hidden.”
Mella swallows down her frustrated retort. She knows her mentor means well, but she’s tired of hiding the magical fire in her eyes every time they visit another settlement in their journey west to the Cynth Isles.
Her eyes burn, reminding her that her magic is keeping them a steady green, as they slip into the port and begin their search for passage to the last safe haven for magic users.
Soldiers accost them, demanding to inspect their eyes, and Mella’s jaw tics as she watches her mentor manhandled. Her magic itches as she represses it and steadies her breathing. And despite the steady pounding of her heart, her magic threatens to mix with her emotions.
“Mella,” Sophen warns as she’s shoved aside.
The soldier’s large hand grips Mella’s arm, yanking her closer to him. Mead and rot are heavy on his breath, and her control snaps.
Her eyes alight with the violet flames of her magic, and the soldier howls as his hands burn from her skin. No longer will she hide. She’ll just have to fight their way to safety instead.
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