Dim, blue light shone at Mithra’s face through the curtains, making her headache even more unbearable. Her head hurt where it hit the floor, but it was nothing compared to the migraine she was suffering. The burn in her hand didn’t help.

  She was in one of the small rooms of the infirmary adjacent to the church. The sheets smelled strongly of antiseptic, the disinfectant’s smell strangely calming to Mithra. Every year the priests prepared beds for the unfortunate few that needed them after the marking. Only half of them still had sheets on, the rest already taken for a cleaning. Everyone else was already gone.

  She’d been laying on the hard bed for the better part of an hour, putting off the inevitable. Her badge was still white, still an Emotion Mage. A fact her father was going to be less than happy about.

  Mithra was calmer about it than she thought she’d be. The time spent laying still and fighting a headache definitely helped, but the second mark did too. It was her saving grace. If it had a potential for combat it was going to put her life back on track. If. She had never heard of a mark like this, and, weirdly enough, no priest came to explain what it was during the hour she’d been awake.

  It still hurt, hours after the Marking. No one in her life had ever complained about a mark hurting. She turned inwards, sensing the flow of her newly granted divine energy. Ever since the Marking, she could feel it flowing through her body as if she had gained an additional sense. Wherever the energy brushed against the rusted mark, it burned. On the other hand, her migraine spiked whenever the flow came close to the emotion mark.

  The weirdest part was that the mark was still. She had looked at the mark on her neck with the help of a bedside mirror, and it looked like black ink flowing in patterns that never seemed to stop. The one on her hand, however, was unmoving and rigid, tinged with the brown-orange hue of rust. The shapes were all wrong too, though they looked somewhat familiar. Was it broken?

  There was no point agonizing over it. It was a gift from the Gods, it couldn’t just be broken. Even if it wasn’t normal, it was miles better than an emotion mark. She just had to find out what it did. Maybe someone in the capital would know; she’d go there, enter basic training, and find out as much as she could about it. Her plans didn’t change, even with the unexpected marks. She just had to adjust.

  She braved the pain and got up, the movement sending spikes of pain into her skull. Opening the curtains sent her migraine into overdrive, but it faded into the backdrop as soon as she saw the position of the sun. It was morning.

  Usually a person that fainted after marking would wake up in an hour or two, once their brain acclimated to their new powers. She’d been out for close to 16 hours and should’ve been home long ago. Her father was going to be furious.

  Mithra quickly palmed the rusted badge and made her way out of the infirmary. A priest noticed her trying to leave and blocked the doorway.

  “Excuse me,” Mithra said, trying to push past him. He put a hand on her shoulder and an unnatural shiver ran down her spine.

  “I apologize,” the priest said. “But you can’t leave. The head priest forbade it, seeing the condition you’re in. You’ll have to wait for him to examine you, now that you woke up. It shouldn’t be too long until he comes.”

  That was weird. She had never heard about something like that. Was it related to her second mark? If it was one nobody got before her, it would be reasonable for the head priest to want to see it. But Mithra couldn’t shake the eerie shiver off.

  “I have somewhere to be, I’m sorry,” she said. “I can come back later, if that’s okay?”

  “I’m afraid my instructions were quite clear. You’ll have to stay here until the head priest arrives.”

  She doubted the priests had bad intentions, but she wasn’t in the mood to stay in bed any longer. Her time was her own and if the head priest wanted to examine her, he could do it later.

  “Fine,” she said, moving back to the bed. The priest was still standing in the doorway, observing her. “I’m gonna change into some normal clothes, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring at me like that.”

  To his credit, the priest didn’t seem interested in seeing her naked and slammed the door with a humph. Immediately, Mithra opened the window and jumped out.

  She set off on the road home, noting the position of the sun. It was early. Early enough that if she hurried, she’d make it to today’s training. She wrestled with her own thoughts; her father would be even more angry if he learned she had put off meeting him, but on the other hand, he was probably furious already.

  A few more hours wouldn’t change anything, and she couldn’t miss an opportunity to experiment with her new mark. She couldn’t affect her divine energy enough to push it through the mark, not yet, but maybe it had a passive effect that would make itself evident in a fight, something similar to a Brute’s enhancements. She took a turn towards the training hall.

  The spacious hall was already full of people, most newly minted Mages. She glanced more than a few proudly displayed purple badges on her way to the changing rooms. It made sense that there were more Brutes than Shapers—there was no real point for them to keep attending the sparrings after all. They had to learn how to control their magic.

  Mithra changed into a loose tunic and pants, tying her hair into a quick bun. She left her own badge hidden under her robe and entered the training grounds, ignoring the looks some of the trainees gave her. They must have heard about her getting a useless mark.

  Ives noticed her as soon as she took a position on one of the warm-up mats.

  "Hey, Mithra! Where's your badge? You got Brute too?"

  He hadn’t heard. She was tempted to lie, tell him she left the badge at home and pretend for just a little. But no, she couldn't. A Guardian wouldn't.

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  "No, but I've got something good.” A half-truth wasn't a lie. ”You wanna spar?"

  "A Shaper? Cool. Yeah, let's fight. Maybe I'll kick your ass this time." Ives' smile showed it was just friendly banter. It still stung. He was a Brute and she wasn't. Maybe he really would beat her.

  They found a free part of the floor big enough and stood opposite each other. Some people stopped their own training and walked over to spectate the fight, no doubt surprised to see her here.

  Tuning out the onlookers was easier than ignoring the pain. It felt like spikes were burying themselves deep in her brain with her every move, while her hand was being held in boiling water.

  Long ago, Duncan taught her a trick to braving through any pain. It was a scraped knee then, but the idea served her well throughout the years of training. She let herself feel the pain, acknowledged it. Pushing it to the back of her mind was hard, but if she accepted it as inevitable it seemed to lessen. It was easier to focus on the upcoming fight then, and as she did, the pain no longer mattered. Accept the pain, focus on something else.

  Mithra gave a half-bow, signaling the start of the fight.

  She closed in quickly, just like in their last spar. Instead of a testing jab though, she started with a strong punch, one she would use to actually inflict damage. Ives flinched and threw up a hasty block that intercepted her punch, but she was already pivoting into a kick to his unguarded side. It connected and Ives let out a gasp, jumping back a step to get out of her range.

  He changed his stance, growing serious the moment he realized the fight wasn't meant as a warm-up. Mithra let him be for a breath, content with the short exchange. He may have been a Brute, but it was still the same old Ives.

  Taking advantage of the break in the fight, she tried reaching out to the mark in her hand again, to feel something. In response it only burned stronger, but it didn’t matter. She was still better. She could compete even without a combat mark.

  This time it was Ives' turn to take the initiative. He opened with a straight forward punch and a retreat into a defensive stance, his usual. They exchanged feints and blocks, neither getting any advantage. Mithra was testing Ives, trying to figure out what his enhancement was.

  No obvious sign of a mark augmenting abilities for now. Ives was fighting just like he always did, neither his punches nor his kicks any stronger than usual. She tried a few times to get him into a grapple, but he still avoided ground fighting like fire. Now, without the advantage of surprise, his solid defense and footwork were keeping her off him while she looked for an opening.

  There it was. Ives' bad habit of leaving his legs unguarded on a pivot crept up on him again. Mithra moved immediately to punish. Her kick connected with Ives’ knee, but the boy didn’t fall to the floor. She felt like she had kicked a granite wall and the unexpected resistance made her lose balance.

  Ives punched her in the face, pushing her to the ground. Blood gushed from a broken nose.

  "Oh shit, sorry," Ives apologized with a wide smile on his face. He reached out a hand to Mithra.

  She didn't take it, instead ripping off some material from her sleeve and stuffing her nose with it. She stood up by herself.

  “Leg strengthening.” She couldn't keep the scowl off of her face no matter how hard she tried. "Congrats."

  “Yeah, with additional bracing to the knee,” Ives beamed. “Maybe with some training I can extend it, but it’s only the legs for now.”

  “I guess you won't be getting arthritis anytime soon.”

  Gods, even his smell irritated her. He smelled awfully sweet, like grapes someone kept in sugar for way too long. She could feel it even through the blood clogging her nose.

  "Pick up a spear," she said, voice cold with restrained anger. Ives noticed her glare.

  "I— Mithra you're sure you're okay? Maybe we sh—"

  "Spear. Now."

  They both walked to the weapons hanging on the wall, Ives throwing uncertain glances at Mithra. She kept all emotion from her face, laser focused on the task. They stood opposite each other again. They bowed stiffly.

  Mithra lunged with a ferocity she had never shown before, not here, not against other trainees. How dare he beat her. She was better than him. She was a future Guardian. She was stronger, faster, more skilled. The only reason he got the lucky punch in was because the Gods decided to bless him, and not her.

  She needed to teach him a lesson.

  Ives tried a weak jab to stop her approach, but she just knocked his spear aside. She hit him hard in the chest with the shaft of her weapon and struck again from the left as he desperately parried the blow. Not giving him a moment to breathe she brought the spearhead down on his arm, causing him to drop his weapon. She took a half step back before going back in and poking him in the throat.

  "Dead," she grunted through clenched teeth.

  The spears were blunted of course. No one wanted deaths in training. They still hurt though.

  Mithra moved back, spinning the spear with flair.

  "Again."

  She didn't wait for a response before attacking. Ives had enough sense to pick up his weapon but didn't have the time to regain his footing. She stabbed at his chest this time, and he dodged to the side and tried a counter. Mithra blocked the side sweep and stabbed again, this time at his abdomen. Ives shifted position, taking the hit on the thigh instead. The spear bounced off of the reinforced muscle. Mithra's anger spilled over into fury.

  It wasn't fair.

  None of this was fair. Why did the Gods bless Ives, the son of a Gods-damned shoe maker, but spit in her face. The daughter of a legendary Guardian becoming a blasted Emotion Shaper. It didn't even matter that Ives' mark was, all in all, not that good. He got Brute. She didn't.

  He tried to capitalize on the moment of inattention with a stab of his own. Mithra didn't let him. She smashed the butt of the spear into his fingers, breaking at least one of them. Ives dropped his spear, but she wasn't done. She struck at his knee with all her power. The spear bounced off again.

  "Mithra, st—"

  A strike to the face and he shut up, bringing his hands up to protect the head and moving back. Mithra followed and hit his knee again. And again. And again.

  She didn't pay attention to the first person to try and hold her back. They earned a broken rib for the trouble. Only with four people on her, holding her arms back, did she finally stop struggling.

  Adrenaline slowly left her bloodstream, taking away the flaming anger with it. She looked at Ives for the first time in a while. Looked at what she’d done.

  Weirdly, she noticed the smell first. Ives didn't smell sweet anymore. Instead, acrid and bitter stench permeated the hall. It came not only from him, but from the onlookers too as they stood, horrified.

  Ives laid on the floor, screaming with pain. Broken ribs, broken fingers, and the knee. Oh Gods, the knee. It was a mess of shattered bones, cartilage and blood. He wouldn't walk again in the near future. Possibly not ever.

  "I— I'm sorry Ives. I am so sorry. Ives I—"

  She locked eyes with him and saw only fear.

  Mithra lost all strength in her legs, the others holding her up.

  "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."