The first time Lirien saw magic, she was five years old. A Highborn noble had come to her village, his fingers trailing flames as he performed tricks for the other lords. The fire didn’t burn him, didn’t scorch his silken sleeves. It danced for him. Lirien had reached for that fire, mesmerized, but her mother had yanked her back so hard she nearly fell.

"Don’t ever do that," her mother had hissed.

She didn’t understand then, but she did now. Magic was for the Highborn, the ruling caste of Vaeloria. The Lowborn—peasants like her—were forbidden even from dreaming of it. But Lirien had never been good at following rules. By sixteen, she had memorized every incantation she overheard, even though her tongue could never shape them. She had stolen glimpses of spell books in the market, tracing runes into the dirt when no one was looking. But it was pointless. Magic wasn’t learned—it was inherited, flowing only through Highborn blood.

Until now.

The Phoenix Stone had been stolen. The heart of Vaeloria’s power, the artifact from which all mages drew strength, was missing. And the queen had issued a proclamation: whoever retrieved it would be granted one wish.

One wish.

Lirien could ask for wealth, freedom, a life beyond the filth of the slums. But there was only one thing she had ever truly wanted.
She would ask for magic.

Stealing a noble's identity had been easy
but it was hard to remain unnoticed

The Trials of Worth

Lirien stood among the Highborn mages, her heart hammering. The Queen’s court mage, Lord Anselm, surveyed them with cold, calculating eyes.
"The Phoenix Stone lies beyond the Veilwood," he announced. "Only those who pass the Trials of Worth may continue. The unworthy will be turned away. Or worse."

A flick of his hand, and the first trial began.
---

Trial One: The Illusion of Fear

A shimmer ran through the chamber, and the world twisted. Lirien blinked, suddenly standing alone in the ruins of her childhood home. The air was thick with smoke and ash. Screams echoed in the distance. She knew this place. She had lived this nightmare before.
Her mother knelt before the Highborn soldiers, pleading. The captain sneered before striking her down with a bolt of fire.
"NO!" Lirien ran forward, but her feet wouldn’t move fast enough.
The flames swallowed her home, her mother’s cries turning into whispers.
"It’s not real," she told herself, her fists clenching.
Magic pulsed around her, trying to break her will. The Highborn mages would see their worst fears—but they had power to fight back. Lirien had only her mind. "It’s just an illusion." The flames rushed toward her, trying to consume her. But she stood her ground, letting the fire crash over her like a wave. It burned nothing. It wasn’t real.

The vision shattered.

Lirien found herself back in the chamber, breathing hard. Around her, two Highborns lay sobbing on the ground, trapped in their own nightmares.
She stepped forward.

She had passed.


---

Trial Two: The Labyrinth of Deception

A doorway appeared, leading into a twisting maze of stone and shadow. Runes glowed faintly on the walls, shifting constantly.
"Only the worthy will find the path," Anselm’s voice echoed. The Highborns immediately summoned magic—fire to light the way, wind to test for traps. Lirien had no such luxury. She pressed her hand to the wall. The stone was warm. The runes shifted under her touch.

"They’re not random," she realized. "They’re guiding us—but only if we can read them."

A Highborn ahead of her scoffed. "This is simple." He traced a glowing rune and stepped forward—
The floor collapsed beneath him.

His scream faded as he plunged into the darkness. Lirien didn’t make the same mistake. She moved slowly, carefully, running her fingers over the runes, reading their shifts. She avoided a dead-end disguised as an exit, sidestepped a pressure plate that would have unleashed poisoned darts, and finally, after what felt like hours, reached the center.
Only five others had made it.

She was one of them.


---

Trial Three: The Duel of the Elements

Lirien’s heart pounded as she stepped into the dueling ring.
"This trial is simple," Anselm declared. "Defeat your opponent, or be eliminated." A Highborn girl with ice-blue eyes smirked at her.
"You don’t even have magic," she sneered. "This will be quick."

Lirien didn’t reply. She had no spells—but she had something better.

The girl lashed out with ice, sharp shards forming in midair. Lirien rolled beneath them, feeling the frost burn her skin. The girl struck again—a spear of ice, fast as lightning. Lirien sidestepped at the last second, grabbing a handful of sand from the ground and flinging it into the girl’s eyes.
The Highborn gasped, momentarily blinded. Lirien didn’t waste a second. She charged, tackling the girl to the ground, pinning her wrist.
The ice magic flickered.

"Yield," Lirien growled.

The girl’s struggles slowed. And then—she nodded.

Lirien had won.
She stood, breathing hard. The remaining three contestants stared at her differently now.
She wasn’t just a Lowborn anymore.

She was a threat.

And she was going to win.

The Veilwood: The Final Trial

The moment Lirien stepped into the Veilwood, she felt it—a shift in the air, as if the forest itself was alive and watching. The others must have sensed it too because no one spoke. The trees here weren’t just trees. They pulsed with unnatural energy, their bark dark as ink, their branches stretching like skeletal hands. A dense silver mist curled at their feet, whispering in voices that weren’t their own.

"Turn back."

"The weak are swallowed."

"Your heart is too fragile."

The whispers weren’t just sounds. They burrowed into the mind, shaping thoughts that didn’t belong to her. Doubt curled like smoke in her chest, but Lirien forced herself forward. The others did the same, though their faces were tight with unease.

"Stay close," A highborn, Ravian muttered.

Ahead, the path twisted in ways that didn’t make sense—trees shifted when no one was looking, shadows stretched in unnatural angles. The Veilwood was alive.

Then, the ground shuddered.

Something stirred in the mist.

Eyes—hundreds of them—began to glow in the darkness.

Lirien’s pulse pounded as the creatures stepped forward, their forms shifting like living nightmares. Wraithbeasts. Not quite shadow, not quite flesh—ancient things, feeding on fear. Their bodies flickered between shapes—wolf, snake, monstrous hybrids of both—yet never fully solid.

Then, the first one lunged.

Seren a highborn with powers,reacted instantly, hurling a bolt of crackling lightning. It should have burned through the beast—but the moment it struck, the creature’s body swallowed the energy whole.

The beast grew larger.

Lirien’s breath caught. It’s feeding on magic.

Veyron slashed with a blade of enchanted fire, but the Wraithbeast simply melted around it, reforming on the other side.

"Magic makes them stronger!" Lirien shouted.

Ravian dodged an attack, gritting his teeth. "Then what do we do? Fight them with our fists?"

The Wraithbeasts circled, their whispers pressing against Lirien’s skull.

"You are weak."

"You don’t belong."

"The Phoenix Stone is not for you."

It wanted her to doubt. To break.

Lirien took a slow, deliberate breath. She had lived with fear her whole life. She knew what it felt like.

But fear was only as strong as the power she gave it.

She closed her eyes and let the fear pass through her, let it exist—but didn’t hold onto it.

When she opened her eyes, the Wraithbeasts hesitated.

They knew.

They thrived on terror, but she was no longer afraid.

One of them lunged again, but this time, it passed right through her—as if she were mist, as if she weren’t even there.

"They can only touch those who fear them!" she shouted.

One by one, the others steadied themselves, pushing down their panic. The Wraithbeasts hesitated—then, as if sensing defeat, they melted back into the mist, leaving only silence behind.

A path opened in the trees.

Beyond it, the Phoenix Stone waited.

The Veilwood had tested them. Now, it had deemed them worthy—or at least, what was left of them.

Lirien steadied her breath as the trees opened into a clearing bathed in eerie golden light. In its center stood an ancient pedestal, carved with runes older than the kingdom itself. Resting atop it, pulsing with raw, untamed power, was the Phoenix Stone.

For a moment, no one moved.

The air was thick with magic—not the controlled, refined spells of the Highborns, but something wilder. Older. Dangerous. Lirien felt it crawling against her skin, sinking into her bones. This was no ordinary artifact. It was alive.

"We made it," Seren whispered, stepping forward. "We—"

Then, she turned—and drove a blade straight into veyron’s side.

The world froze.

Veyron let out a choked gasp, eyes wide with shock. He staggered, clutching the wound, as blood darkened his tunic.

"What—" Ravian started, but Seren’s smile was cold, triumphant.

"I didn’t come all this way to share the prize," she said smoothly, yanking the blade free.

Veyron collapsed, his breath ragged.

Lirien’s blood turned to ice.

She had expected treachery, but not this. Not so soon.

Seren turned to them, lifting her hand. Magic crackled at her fingertips. "You’re Lowborn, Lirien. You never should have made it this far. And you—" her eyes flicked to Ravian, "you should have known better than to trust anyone in this game."

The air burned as she unleashed her spell.

Ravian barely had time to shove Lirien aside before fire erupted between them.

Heat scorched the ground where they had stood. Lirien rolled, heart pounding, her mind racing. Seren was faster, stronger, and had magic.

But she wasn’t smarter.

Lirien’s eyes darted to the Phoenix Stone. The Veilwood had tested them—but had it tested Seren?

"You don’t understand what you’re touching," Lirien said, rising to her feet.

Seren laughed, stepping toward the pedestal. "You sound afraid."

Lirien was afraid—but not for the reason Seren thought.

"The Veilwood rejects the unworthy."

Seren’s fingers brushed the stone.

For a breath, nothing happened.

Then—power exploded outward.

A shockwave of golden energy surged through the clearing, hurling Seren backward. She screamed, her body twisting as the magic tore through her.

The Veilwood had judged her.

And it had found her lacking.

Seren’s scream faded into silence. She was gone. Not dead—erased.

The forest was silent again.

Lirien’s chest heaved as she turned to Ravian. He was staring at her, breathing hard, his dark eyes unreadable.

Then—he laughed, breathless.

"Remind me never to betray you."

Something warm uncoiled in her chest.

"You wouldn’t dare," she shot back.

Their eyes met, and for the first time since this journey began, it felt like they had truly won.

now they both shared a look and knew that this craziness had to be ended
so Ravian decide to take her to the ASHEN ORDER as they knew they wouldn't be rewarded but ruthlessly killed




Training with the Ashen Order

The Ashen Order was nothing like Lirien expected. It was not just a band of rebels—it was a hidden fortress, built within the ruins of an ancient stronghold. The warriors here were outcasts, exiles, and forgotten heirs, people who had been cast aside by the Highborn but refused to be silenced.

And now, she was one of them.

Lirien trained relentlessly.

Ravian was her most ruthless instructor. He never took it easy on her, never let her slack even for a second. He drilled her with a sword, a dagger, her bare hands, and, most importantly, her newfound fire magic.

"Again!" he barked, slamming a blast of lightning toward her.

Lirien barely dodged in time, rolling aside as the stone floor cracked beneath the force of his strike. She gritted her teeth, feeling the heat of her own magic swelling beneath her skin. She had power now—true power—but she lacked control.

"I’m trying!" she snapped, throwing a desperate fireball at him.

Ravian sidestepped it with ease, his smirk infuriatingly calm.

"Trying isn’t good enough," he said coolly, flicking his fingers. A gust of wind sent her flying back before she could react.

Lirien hit the ground, hard. She coughed, glaring up at him.

"You’re holding back," he said, stepping forward. "You’re still fighting like a Lowborn, thinking you have to prove yourself. You don’t. You already have power. Use it."

She hated that he was right.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up. This time, she didn’t hesitate. She let the fire take over, let it roar through her veins. When she thrust her hands forward, a wave of searing flames exploded toward him, white-hot and fierce.

Ravian barely managed to deflect it.

For the first time, he looked genuinely impressed.

"Better," he murmured.

She could feel the shift between them. Every time they fought, every time they trained, something changed—an unspoken connection forming between them. And though neither of them said anything, they both felt it.


---

The Final Battle

When the Queen’s forces finally arrived, they came with overwhelming numbers.

Lirien stood at the frontlines, her heart pounding as she watched rows of armored soldiers march toward them. The Highborn had sent their best—war-mages, spellcasters, and assassins.

But Lirien wasn’t afraid anymore.

"You ready for this?" Ravian asked beside her.

She turned to him. "I was born ready."

The battle erupted in chaos.

Fire met lightning. Swords clashed against enchanted steel. The air was thick with the scent of burning magic and the screams of dying soldiers.

Lirien tore through the battlefield, dodging spells, striking down enemies with flames that burned brighter and hotter than ever before.

She met the Queen’s Champion in combat—a towering war-mage with a blade of pure obsidian. His magic was ancient, his skill terrifying. But Lirien had spent her whole life fighting impossible odds.

When his blade came down, she caught it with her fire, melting the enchanted steel in her bare hands. Before he could react, she drove her dagger into his chest, whispering, "This is for the Lowborn."

The Queen’s army broke soon after. They had expected to crush a rebellion. Instead, they faced a storm they could not contain.

And at the center of it stood Lirien and Ravian, fighting side by side.

The Phoenix Stone burned brilliantly in her chest, no longer a stolen relic, but a part of her very soul.

When the last of the Queen’s forces fell or fled, silence settled over the battlefield.

And then, they had won.

The Confession

The fires of battle had faded, but Lirien’s heart still pounded.

She stood at the edge of the ruined battlefield, watching the embers glow in the distance.

Ravian found her there, his face smudged with dirt and blood, but his dark eyes as sharp as ever.

"You did it," he said quietly.

"We did it," she corrected.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. "You don’t understand, Lirien. You didn’t just win a war. You changed everything."

She turned to face him, and for the first time, she let herself truly see him—not as a rival, not as a trainer, but as someone who had always been there.

"Why did you let me take the Phoenix Stone?" she asked suddenly.

His expression flickered.

"Because I knew you were the only one who could handle it," he admitted. "And because... I wanted you to have it."

Lirien’s heart skipped a beat.

He took a step closer, the distance between them disappearing.

"I think I knew from the moment you grabbed my boot in that first trial," he murmured, "that you were going to ruin my life."

She smirked. "And yet, you kept saving me."

His hand brushed against hers, hesitant, uncertain.

"Because I didn’t want to watch you fall," he whispered.

She exhaled slowly.

"Then don’t let go."

And when he nodded, a rare, genuine smile breaking across his face, she knew he wouldn’t.