"Darkness and Evil do not grieve, nor will they wait for the ill prepared."

  Maestro Tomas Bolivar's voice cut through the evening air like a blade, slicing away any remnants of compassion that might have lingered after yesterday's memorial. His dark eyes scanned the gathered novitiates with predatory intensity.

  "The point of wielding your power is using it in the service of Hil, no more and no less. It is through the will of the Divine that you were chosen. While your soul may be willing, your flesh is wholly mortal." His gaze lingered on the empty spaces where Gilberta and Ramona once stood. "We have had multiple examples this past year that should have seared that fact into your bones. So, while the time of mourning for the families continues—the living must carry on. Positions!"

  The remaining six broke formation with practiced efficiency. Esperanza, Cristobol, Concepción, and Mariana paired off while Lupe took her place to Bolivar's right. Moco settled cross-legged on the ground, placing a silver basin of clear water before him. His fingers remained carefully tucked into his sleeves, avoiding contact with the metal.

  Lupe caught Moco's eye, sharing a silent moment of exhaustion and grief. Only twenty-four hours had passed since they'd laid their classmates to rest, yet here they stood, forced back into the deadly routine of Divina. Bolivar was technically correct—complacency bred sloppiness, and sloppiness had already claimed fourteen of their class—but his cold dismissal of their grief twisted like a knife in Lupe's gut.

  "Novitiates Boyorquez and Montoya, La Luz de la Vida!" Bolivar's command cracked across the training ground.

  Esperanza and Montoya pivoted in fluid synchronization, standing back-to-back with hands raised skyward. Their whispered invocations carried on the breeze as reddish-gold flames burst from their palms, illuminating the darkness around them with warm, pulsing light.

  "Strain?" Bolivar murmured, eyes fixed on Lupe's face.

  Lupe's vision shifted, her cursed gift activating as flesh became transparent, revealing the divine energy pulsing through her classmates. The ember of power in their chests pulsed in perfect rhythm with their heartbeats, controlled and measured.

  "None. They're form perfect," she replied softly.

  Bolivar's attention shifted to Moco, who sat motionless before his basin. The young seer shook his head. "The water is clear, Maestro."

  A good sign. If Moco had seen even a flicker of foreboding in the water's depths, the exercise would have halted immediately—at least, that was the theory. Lupe had her doubts.

  She returned her attention to the pair of Iluminadors. The divine flame in their chests pulsed steadily, each beat an echo of their mortal hearts filled with immortal fire. Beautiful and terrifying. Such a simple task—lighting the area—required minimal power, but even that could prove catastrophic with a moment's lapse.

  Unbidden, the memory of Antonio surfaced in her mind. Three years ago, she'd watched the first-year student ignite his power for the first time. His joy had been incandescent—literally. Through her accursed sight, she'd seen the moment his control slipped, the divine energy surging from his chest and exploding outward through every nerve ending in his body. While others saw only a blinding corona of flame, Lupe alone witnessed his flesh being torn apart by the very power it couldn't contain. His screams still echoed in her nightmares.

  "Novitiates Ibarra and Calvo, Purificar!" Bolivar's voice shattered her grim reverie.

  Mariana and Concepción mirrored each other's movements, their voices harmonizing in a low chromatic scale. With each rising note, the air between them shimmered and warped until suddenly it erupted into a perfect circle of flame that they manipulated with careful precision. The fiery ring expanded outward, rotating like a wheel as it lit the torches surrounding the practice field.

  Bolivar glanced at Moco, who was now passing his hands above the water, causing it to swirl in a matching circle. The young man looked up, face drawn with concentration. "We are good, Maestro."

  Lupe felt Bolivar's expectant gaze. "Form perfect, Maestro," she confirmed, though her eyes lingered on the Fire Singers.

  Unlike the brief flash of La Luz, Purificar required sustained focus. Even simple exercises became dangerous over time as mortal flesh began to feel the strain of channeling divine energy. The warm, orange flames cast harsh shadows across the faces of her classmates, turning their familiar features into masks of light and darkness.

  "Strain?" Bolivar demanded, voice barely audible above the crackling flames.

  Lupe scanned the pairs again. The Iluminadors showed no sign of fatigue, their power pulsing in steady rhythm like the ticking of a clock. "No change with them, Maestro."

  She shifted her focus to the Fire Singers. Unlike Iluminadors, whose power centered in the chest, Fire Singers drew their energy from both heart and mind. The harmony of their voices wasn't merely technique—it was the conduit through which they focused raw emotion into controlled power.

  Concepción's form remained perfect, her energy pulsing with mechanical precision. Despite their mutual animosity, Lupe couldn't help but admire her control. The woman was a force of nature—pity the fool who ever tried to tame her.

  Mariana, however, was another matter. Her harmonizing remained perfect, but Lupe saw what others couldn't—the erratic pulse of power beneath her skin, flaring and ebbing in uneven bursts.

  "Novitiate Ibarra's grief is noticeable... but not dangerous," Lupe reported, keeping her voice neutral to avoid drawing Bolivar's wrath.

  Too late. The Maestro's eyes narrowed as he addressed all four students.

  "Emotions, both positive and negative, are the seat of your power. Through joy and ecstasy does the Divine flow through you as freely as righteous justice. But fear, grief, and sorrow are your enemies." His voice hardened. "Do not allow them into your heart as you focus your connection with the divine. Control is paramount! Remember your fallen classmates as a reason to push toward control!"

  The words hung in the air, ostensibly inspirational but cruelly pragmatic. Remember the dead so you don't join them. Gods, but he was a bastard.

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  Another minute passed in tense silence. Lupe couldn't tell if Bolivar possessed her gift for seeing divine energy, but his focus remained locked on Mariana with predatory intensity. Was he hoping to push her beyond her limits? To add another name to the memory wall? Or was this some twisted form of strengthening, like breaking a bone to force it to heal stronger? His face betrayed nothing.

  "Suspender!" he thundered suddenly.

  All four students instantly severed their connection to the divine, capping the energy within their bodies. They turned in unison to face Bolivar, power still smoldering in their chests like banked coals. Mariana's ember flared unpredictably, betraying her struggle to contain her emotions.

  "People die, students," Bolivar said, pacing toward them with measured steps. "Whether they follow the path of Hil or not, all living things die. You will be the light in their darkest hours. You will provide wisdom, warmth, and compassion. We console others, but you cannot let their grief become yours. You cannot allow compassion to cloud your duty."

  He stopped directly before Mariana, towering over her.

  Lupe's stomach clenched. She knew what was coming.

  "Novitiate Ibarra, Rueda!" Bolivar demanded.

  Mariana nodded and began to step away, but Bolivar snapped his fingers. "No! Here. Now."

  A barely perceptible twitch rippled across Mariana's face—a mixture of shock, fear, and loathing that Lupe recognized all too well from her own dealings with the Maestro.

  Drawing a steadying breath, Mariana began to move her hands as if turning an invisible wheel in the air. The atmosphere shimmered and broke into a perfect circle of flame approximately a foot in diameter.

  "Release and encircle," Bolivar commanded, his voice cold and precise.

  Mariana gave the wheel one final spin before releasing it. The flaming circle rolled through the air as though it were a physical object, following the subtle guidance of her hands. With fluid gestures, she directed it to circle the group, passing just behind Cristobol before completing its arc.

  "Closer and faster, Ibarra. Tighten the circle." Bolivar's voice cut through the hissing flames.

  Where Purificar was a warm-up exercise, Rueda was an advanced technique demanding absolute precision. This was no team effort—only Mariana's will and control stood between them and catastrophe.

  Lupe watched with mounting horror as the divine energy within Mariana began to fluctuate wildly. Humiliation, grief, and anger battered against her control like waves against a crumbling sea wall. Glancing at Moco, she saw his grim expression as he stared up from his scrying bowl.

  "She will need you," he murmured, his eyes briefly flashing with the same power that rippled across the water's surface.

  Bolivar continued pushing, ordering Mariana to spin the wheel faster and tighter around the group. The other students maintained their composure, but fear shimmered in their eyes as the burning wheel approached dangerously close with each pass. Sweat and tears began to form on Mariana's contorted face.

  "FASTER, IBARRA!" Bolivar shouted, his voice cutting through the roar of the flames.

  The wheel now moved so rapidly it left a trail of light in its wake, transforming into a solid ring of fire that encircled them all. The heat was intense, causing sweat to pour from the faces of everyone in the circle.

  Then Lupe saw it—the tips of Mariana's fingers beginning to glow an angry red. The divine energy was fighting against her control, burning her from within. This was the dreaded Quemar—Soul Burn—the physical manifestation of divine backlash when power exceeded control. The Gifts of Hil were never meant to flow through mortal vessels, and when they forced the issue, the body itself became the battleground. Quemar began at the fingertips, the points where divine energy was channeled outward, then spread through the body like molten metal following the pathways of nerves and veins. It could take days to subside naturally, each moment a searing reminder that mortals were not meant to wield godly power.

  Without waiting for permission, Lupe abandoned her post and rushed toward the group. Waves of scorching heat blasted her face as the fiery wheel spun dangerously close. She positioned herself beside Bolivar, her presence a silent challenge to his authority.

  After what seemed an eternity, he relented.

  "IBARRA—WALL!" he shouted, pointing toward the distant stone barrier.

  With the last fragments of her control, Mariana directed the wheel toward the target. The now white-hot circle slammed into the stone with a blinding flash, leaving a scorched scar across the ancient surface.

  Mariana collapsed to her knees, a raw cry of pain tearing from her throat. Her hands trembled violently, skin blistered an angry red with deeper crimson veins stretching from fingertips to knuckles. The Quemar had taken hold, divine energy transmuted into physical agony as it burned its way through her mortal form.

  Lupe reached for Mariana's forearms, prepared to begin the healing ritual, when iron fingers clamped around her shoulder.

  "Did I say you could act, Castenada?" Bolivar's voice dripped with icy contempt.

  "No, you did not, Maestro Bolivar. I was simply prepa—" Lupe began, her voice tight with suppressed rage.

  "Silence!" The word cracked like a whip. "Were you not listening? You cannot allow compassion to cloud your duty. You are only to act when directed! Your gift is no more special than any of theirs and can be equally dangerous if strained too far."

  His grip tightened, forcing her to look into his eyes.

  "I was going to let Novitiate Ibarra understand the consequences of her emotions for the rest of the evening. She would have suffered, yes, but she would be no worse for wear. It would have been a lesson to remember for years to come." His lips twisted into a cruel smile. "But you ruined it. Instead, you will be our compassion example. Take her Quemar... in full."

  Their gazes locked in silent combat. Rage built in Lupe's chest, a burning desire to strike the contemptuous sneer from his face, to make him suffer as he had made others suffer. She could do it—could make his pain a thousand times worse than what he'd inflicted on Mariana.

  But Mariana's broken sobbing cut through her vengeful thoughts. This wasn't about Bolivar or her own hatred. It was about a fellow student in agony.

  Turning away from the Maestro, Lupe knelt beside Mariana and began to whisper the words of power. A soft blue light enveloped them both—the signature of Equilibrio, the Penitent Art. Unlike most divine gifts which projected outward, Equilibrio was a gift of absorption. Its practitioners could take another's pain and suffering into themselves—a blessing and curse in equal measure.

  Where other forms of divine channeling required elaborate rituals and components, Lupe's particular manifestation of Equilibrio required only her will and touch. It was perhaps the most dangerous form of the art—nothing stood between her and the suffering she absorbed. No filter or barrier protected her own flesh from what she drew from others.

  Drawing upon the strength of her Alma—her true soul—she began to pull the burning divine energy from Mariana's flesh into herself. The process was akin to drinking fire, each molecule of pain transferring from one body to another without diminishing. This was the paradox of Equilibrio—it did not lessen suffering, merely relocated it.

  With each syllable and breath, the transfer intensified. The air around them shimmered with heat as Lupe absorbed the Quemar, feeling it sear through her own nervous system with white-hot intensity. The burning red veins that had marked Mariana's hands now began to appear on Lupe's skin, climbing ever higher as she drew the divine backlash into herself.

  "All of it, Casteneda!" Bolivar demanded from somewhere beyond the veil of agony. "She still needs to finish her training this evening, and you will ensure she can."

  His words barely registered as Lupe's world contracted to nothing but blinding pain and scorching heat. With one final, desperate pull, she drew the last traces of Quemar from Mariana's ravaged flesh. The divine energy, raw and unfiltered, flowed into her own body, igniting every nerve ending with exquisite torture.

  Then darkness claimed her.