The sun rose over the academy's training area, giving the crystal spires a lovely golden hue.
Normally, I'd be hanging out in the recruits' yard, fumbling my way through basic lightning techniques.
But today, I found myself in the elite training circle, surrounded by the very best students of our class.
The advanced recruits were gliding through their morning drills with ease.
Eamon, our eighteen-year-old squad leader, was directing a tricky fire magic pattern through the air. Next to him, Sara was conjuring shields of pure light, while Marcus deftly manipulated earth with his hands. Their crystals were glowing with a steady, confident energy.
I could feel Arthur's crystal weighing heavily around my neck. Our crystal, I reminded myself.
I had spent half the night secretly practicing his signature moves, but storm magic wasn't like the others; it required emotion and instinct—things Arthur was naturally good at.
"Arthur!" Eamon's voice boomed across the yard. "You're late. That's unusual for you."
All eyes turned my way. I had to force myself to walk like Arthur—confident and steady, like a bolt of lightning in human form.
My brother had practiced that stride for hours, insisting that a knight's presence mattered as much as their power.
"I had some stuff to handle," I replied, keeping my tone clipped and steady. Arthur never made excuses.
The other recruits moved aside as I stepped into the circle. Normally, I'd be watching this session from the stands with the other basic recruits, admiring my brother's skills. Now, it was my turn to deliver.
"Today's drill," Eamon announced, "is all about elemental resonance chains. Arthur, you're the anchor point. Everyone else, link your crystals and follow his lead."
My heart dropped. Resonance chains were advanced techniques, involving multiple knights combining their magic through their crystals to boost each other's power.
Arthur was great at it—I had never even tried.
"Ready when you are," Marcus said, taking his place on my left with his earth crystal glowing a steady brown. Sara stood to my right, her light crystal shimmering gold.
I raised my hands just like Arthur had done so many times before, calling to the storm magic within the crystal.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then I felt a spark of Arthur's power—it didn't come from skill, but from something deeper.
Maybe it was our twin bond or the crystal remembering who it truly belonged to. Twins are often said to share a special connection, sometimes even described as magical or psychic, which could explain why Arthur's power responded in that moment
Lightning sizzled between my fingers. It wasn't as strong as Arthur's usual show, but it was definitely there. I pushed the energy out, trying to form the anchor for the resonance chain.
"Something's off," Sara said softly, her crystal flickering as it struggled to connect with mine. "Your magic... it's all over the place."
Marcus frowned, his crystal flickering uncertainly as well. "Arthur, are you sure you should be training? After yesterday—"
"I'm fine," I shot back, using annoyance to cover my own fear.
The lightning sparked more fiercely, fueled by my emotions.
"You don't seem fine," chimed in Lyra, a perceptive sixteen-year-old who always admired Arthur. She stepped forward. "Your magical signature feels different. Almost like…"
"Like Callien's," Marcus added quietly.
A chill ran through me. Of course they would notice. These weren't the basic recruits I usually trained with; they were the elite, the ones who trained with Arthur daily. They were familiar with his magic as well as their own.
"Grief affects magic," I said, trying to adopt Arthur's usual authoritative tone.
"Everyone knows that, and I just lost my brother."
A soft murmur spread through the group. Some faces showed empathy, while others looked suspicious.
Eamon stepped closer, his fire crystal glowing brightly.
"No one expects you to be at your best," he said cautiously, "but the assessment is tomorrow. The Masters will be watching. They'll want to see the Arthur who earned that blue crystal."
The weight of their gazes felt almost like a physical push on me. Over in the recruits' yard, my old training buddies were busy running through their morning routines.
One of them looked up, and for a brief second, I saw his confused face—he was watching 'Arthur' performing much below his usual standard.
"I will be ready"
That was something Arthur used to say. Using his phrase felt both comforting and painfully off.
"Speaking of storms," Marcus said slowly, "has anyone figured out why the assassins targeted the recruit quarters? Specifically, why they went after Arthur and Callien's room?"
The question came in unexpected. I averted my gaze, pretending to focus on harnessing the crystal's power while questions simmered inside me: Who sent the assassins? Why did they strike? And, most importantly—had they realized they'd taken out the wrong twin?
Things fell apart quickly during the training session after that. Every spell I tried was a disaster—too weak, too wobbly, nothing like Arthur's sharp control.
Storm magic sparked around me in erratic bursts, resembling static more than the fierce lightning my brother could conjure.
"Enough!" Eamon shouted as my third attempt at a lightning shield fizzled out into a mess of sparks.
The other recruits pulled back, their linked crystals dimming. "Take a break, Arthur. You're going to wear yourself out."
I stumbled to the edge of the training circle, Arthur's crystal uncomfortably hot against my skin.
Sweat trickled down my back, and my hands shook from magical burnout. Even this basic training was stretching me thin.
"Here." Sara showed up next to me, offering a vial of bright blue liquid—aether restorative, a pricey potion usually reserved for after advanced combat training. "You look like you could use this."
I took the vial, recalling how Arthur would handle accepting help: a nod, a slight smile, never showing a hint of weakness. "Thanks."
"You know," she said cautiously, her light crystal shimmering, "when my sister passed away last year, I couldn't cast anything properly for weeks. Grief can really mess with our magic."
"Did it change your magical signature too?" Marcus chimed in from my other side, his voice low.
"Because that's what's going on here. And you know that's not how grief works."
My heart sank. In the recruits' yard, I had been mediocre but not too noticeable. Here, surrounded by gifted individuals capable of reading magical signatures effortlessly, every mistake I made screamed 'imposter.'
"What are you getting at?" I managed to keep my voice steady, channeling Arthur's confidence.
"I'm suggesting," Marcus replied, "that something went down in those quarters yesterday. Something more than what you've shared with us."
As the afternoon sun cast long shadows over the training grounds, recruits began to head out.
I lingered, pretending to practice, but really just trying to dodge more questions. Arthur's crystal barely pulsed at my throat, almost depleted.
"The assessment tomorrow," Eamon's voice cut through, making me turn. He stood at the training hall's doorway, his fire crystal casting dancing shadows.
"The Masters expect you to showcase advanced storm techniques. After seeing what I witnessed today..."
"I'll be ready," I said, the lie tasting bitter.
"Will you?" He stepped closer, and I had to fight the urge to back away.
"Because right now, you're just scraping by with basic forms.
The Arthur I know could tear the sky apart. So either grief has seriously hampered your magic beyond what anyone's seen, or—"
"Or what?" I retorted, fear sharpening my voice.
"Or maybe you're not Arthur at all."
The words lingered between us like a knife ready to strike. In the dim light, I noticed the gears turning in his mind, connecting the dots.
"Stop being so dramatic man," I replied, even though my voice faltered. Arthur would never hesitate like that.
"Eamon continued, "Those assassins from yesterday were after something specific. Or maybe someone." He paused, his crystal glowing for a moment. "So, 'Arthur'... what actually went down in those quarters?"
Before I could say anything, a bell rang out across the academy—the evening meditation call. Eamon took a step back, his face unreadable.
"Whatever you're up to," he said softly, "it wraps up tomorrow. One way or another."
I watched him walk away, my brother's crystal feeling cold against my skin.
He was right—tomorrow would be the end of it.
I had to either channel enough of Arthur's power to pass the assessment or risk failing and probably meeting my end, either at the hands of the Masters or the assassins coming back for me.
As I stood there, watching the last light disappear from the training grounds, a new thought occurred to me.
What if the assassins really meant to take me out, not Arthur? What if my gifted brother had died trying to protect the wrong sibling?
The crystal at my throat pulsed weakly, almost as if it sensed my uncertainty.