Chapter 3

I left the Chancellor' s office, Seraphina trailing behind me.

"Scarlett, are you truly well?" she asked, her voice laced with that false concern.

"Never better," I replied, not looking at her.

I needed to think.

In my past life, I threw myself at Ethan' s feet, a desperate, hopeful fool.

I bled for his art, and he handed my heart to Seraphina on a silver platter.

Not this time.

I wouldn' t go near Ethan. Not yet.

That was their script. I wouldn' t follow it.

I needed a new path, something they wouldn' t expect.

Something I could control.

The rules of the Trial were vague: "acts of profound selfless connection with individuals in need."

Ethan was one path. There had to be others.

I walked through the city, not towards the struggling artist district, but towards the old industrial zone.

Rusting factories, abandoned warehouses.

Few people came here.

The Everlight Circle certainly didn' t.

It was a place of forgotten things, forgotten people.

I found him in a small, grimy workshop, sparks flying from a grinder.

His name was Kai.

He wasn' t an artist in the Circle' s sense.

He made things from scrap metal.

Strange, beautiful sculptures.

Twisted, angry, but with a fragile kind of hope in them.

He was young, maybe my age, with calloused hands and eyes that had seen too much.

He didn' t trust anyone. Especially not someone in Circle white.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice rough, suspicious.

"To help," I said.

He laughed, a short, harsh sound. "Help me do what? Polish my rust?"

"Your work is... powerful," I said. "It deserves to be seen."

He just stared at me.

This was different. This wasn' t Ethan' s desperate need for funding, for validation.

This was a closed door.

Good.

I spent weeks just being there.

At first, he ignored me.

I brought him food. He wouldn' t eat it while I watched.

I cleaned his workshop, a little each day. Organized his tools.

Slowly, very slowly, he started to talk.

Not about his art, not at first.

About the city, about the forgotten people.

About the hypocrisy of the shiny towers downtown, where the Circle preached purity.

I listened.

I didn' t offer solutions. I didn' t preach Circle doctrine.

I just listened.

I learned he salvaged materials from demolition sites, often at night, risking injury.

I started going with him.

Climbing through rubble, my white robes getting torn and dirty.

He tried to send me away.

"This is no place for you," he' d grumble.

"I' m stronger than I look," I told him.

And I was. The rage inside me was a furnace.

I poured all my energy into Kai.

Not for the Circle. Not for Alistair.

For myself.

To prove I could build something real, something they couldn' t touch, couldn' t steal.

I used the small allowance the Circle provided novices, not for fine incense or prayer beads, but for better tools for Kai.

A new welding mask. Sturdier gloves.

He never thanked me directly.

But one day, I found a small, intricate metal flower on the bench where I usually sat.

His sculptures became larger, more ambitious.

He started to incorporate light into them, small, hidden LEDs that made them glow from within.

"They need to see the light in the darkness," he said once, almost to himself.

I knew he wasn' t talking about the Circle' s "Light."

I arranged a small, unofficial showing in a cleared-out section of an abandoned warehouse.

I invited people from The Brink, the outcasts.

They understood his art. They saw themselves in it.

No critics. No Circle elders.

Just raw appreciation.

Kai stood in the corner, awkward, overwhelmed, but his eyes shone.

This felt real.

This connection, this success, it was mine.

Built on grit and genuine effort, not on their twisted rules.

Alistair and Seraphina wouldn' t even know about this.

This was my secret triumph.

I was sure of it.

This time, I was in control.