[South, Iskarra]
Sibyl
Sibyl arrived late to training. Again.
The others were already gathered in a loose circle, breath misting in the cold air. Kerik stood at the center, waiting. He didn't say anything when she slipped into place beside Avalon, but his eyes tracked her movement.
She'd been up most of the night. Her mother's coughing had gotten worse.
"Sibyl Fenwick. Avalon Blackthorne. Center."
No preamble. No speech today. Just straight to sparring.
Good. She needed this.
Avalon cracked his knuckles and grinned at her. "Hey, Fenwick! Try not to burn my face off this time."
"No promises."
They squared off. Kerik stepped back.
Avalon struck first—hands slamming the ground, vines erupting from frozen earth. They shot toward her legs, needle-thin and fast.
Sibyl sidestepped, felt one graze her calf through her dress. It stung but didn't slow her down.
Her skin began to glow—faint golden light spreading up her arms. Heat poured off her in waves.
The next vine that reached for her ankle withered on contact. Blackened. Crumbled.
Avalon swore and pulled back, putting distance between them. His hand stretched toward the nearest tree. Wood peeled away, reshaping itself into a staff in his grip.
He swung.
Sibyl ducked under it, rolled, came up inside his guard. Her glowing fist aimed for his ribs.
He blocked with the staff. Where her knuckles connected, the wood began to smoke.
"You're getting predictable," Avalon said, circling her.
"Am I?"
She lunged again—but this time it was a feint. When he raised the staff to block, she grabbed his wrist instead.
He screamed.
Her palm was burning hot. The smell of scorched skin filled the air.
"Yield," she said.
"Never—"
"Sibyl. Enough."
Kerik's voice cut through the haze. She blinked, realized her grip had tightened, that steam was rising from Avalon's arm.
She let go.
Avalon collapsed, clutching his wrist. Blisters were already forming. "I said control it," Kerik said quietly, looking at her. "Not lose yourself in it."
Sibyl's glow faded. She felt the cold rush back in, sudden and vicious. Her legs almost gave out.
"Sorry," she muttered.
"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to him."
She looked at Avalon, who was glaring at her with watery eyes. "Sorry."
"Don't touch me, you bastard," he hissed when Sybil reached out instinctively to help.
What a foul-mouthed child, she thought. The insult was meant to sting. What he said was true. A child of a prostitute. Someone who never knew her father. But she knew she was at fault. She'd went too far this time.
The other students watched in silence.
Kerik dismissed them with a wave. They scattered quickly, grateful to escape into the village.
Sibyl stayed.
She always stayed.
"You're pushing too hard," Kerik said when they were alone.
"I'm fine."
"You're exhausted. I can see it." He walked over, leaned on his rod.
"When's the last time you slept?"
"Last night."
"How much?"
She didn't answer.
"Sibyl—"
"My mother was coughing. I couldn't sleep through it." Her voice came out sharper than she intended. "Someone had to sit with her."
Kerik sighed. Ran a hand over his face. "The blood-burn technique is dangerous when you're already depleted. You know that."
"I know."
"Then stop using it like it's nothing."
"What else am I supposed to do?" She turned to face him fully. "I can't fight without it. Can't survive the cold without it. So what exactly are my options here?"
Living in this frozen world was hell for an Eirvalean like Sybil. Her body could not handle the cold. No amount of fur could keep it out. The chill went deeper than her skin. It sank into her bones and smothered her inner energy, leaving her weak.
For an Eirvalean, this weakness was deadly. Fighting required strength and speed, but the cold stole both. A simple move felt like pushing through ice. Their only hope was the blood-burn technique, an ancient technique passed down by their ancestors.
It was a desperate trick. It burned their own life force to create a burst of heat and energy, just enough to fight back. It left them drained, but it was the only way to survive. Without it, they would be helpless against the cold.
Kerik held her gaze for a long moment. Then he surprised her.
"Come on. I'm buying you breakfast."
"I need to get home—"
"Your siblings are fine for another hour. You need food. Now."
She wanted to argue. But her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly enough that even Kerik heard it.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Fine," she muttered.