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-8 YEARS LATER-

A grunt, and then a shiver.

Your blood craves for eternity.

Novah narrowed at the distorted image of herself pictured in the long glass mirror, after the door to her dorm had been shut down and her upper clothes taken off. She eyed her own turbulence with stiff eyes, placing both of her hands near the edges of the brown chest of drawers which touched the skin of her belly, so to maintain her balance as a strange irritant, sharp but quick pain created tingling goosebumps all over the body.

It had started a few months ago, the stings of pain on the back of her body and the water dripples on her forehead, as sweat formed. She didn't feel those for a few days, as she kept count, but usually the symptoms returned on a higher frequency and far more piercing.

Using her butter fingers to slowly pull off the which hugged the chest and upper back of hers, she gritted her teeth at the sight of a few round tiny bruises on the sides of her breast which had been giving her headaches the night before.

Unlock your inner strength.

The second shiver left her wet plump lips, her breath coming off sharp, so she stopped her movements, now her torso fully naked, the strands of her chocolate hair falling on the bare skin. She then looked over her shoulders and turned sightly around, bouncing back her gaze to the unfazed mirror.

She looked at it far more times than she needed to, but somehow on her features lacked the resolve she looked for in it every single time. The mark on her back intrigued her as much as it scared her. It had become a friend of hers, over the years, a part of her body, personality, and spirit but she hadn't found the full meaning to its existence. At first glance, it matched the color of her skin, barely a tone darker, but in the shadows it shinned a little, resembling the rays of the sun kissing the waters of a river.

Somehow she had accepted that her future depended on it, it was far more difficult to her when she had been old enough to look at it for the first time, to unseal it and to comprehend it. Books had not told her much, its contents were difficult to analyze, partly due the centuries which had taken over substantially far from its publishing era, also, there were symbols she did not understand linked to dubious words made off mathematic formulas.

Fairly, the Academy had thrown classes specialized in the matter of potions, cursed symbols and dark spells which altered the cells of a human and its whole anatomy, a few interesting mentions enlightened her desire to search for more answers, but nothing was ever enough to dissolve the mystery, so she embraced what she was certain of, and that was the uttering words of the woman who had been her home for thirteen years.

"Trust your instincts, Novah, for whatever lies ahead. You were born different, your blood craves for eternity, your soul for what is beyond eternity. Understand this. Live up to it. . Do not let what is evil and meaningful to dictate the power that reaches your hands. Remember that what boils in your skin is not an oath to bring about maledictions. . If anything, death means to be reborn, and to be reborn means to unfold what is humane in oneself. Pity those who are alive and unwell, pity what comes and goes only to perish without a substance of compassion."

"But it stinges, it's hurting me, as if a spider is crawling and biting my back."

"If it is a spider, then let it make its web. Do not overdose the venom it drops, do not get caught in the threads. Manipulate it to your favor and kill it when you have the chance.

She now remembers and cherries the memory, although it also makes her feel numb, vulnerable, and sick to her stomach. Another shiver and a heart beating wild in its ribcage. Novah misses dearly the witch who protected her since she was a little baby, and sadness took over her as she remembers her aged features, the wrinkles on her light eyes and her white braided hair.

So pure and delicate, the warm smile which took her in and made her days simpler, comforting. The hardest goodbye she ever had to say.

Oxyn's Academy for future witches and witchers usually welcomed the humans who already had connections with the immortal realm, those prone to influence Nature's elements so to establish order and protect the weaker. However, because the journey to become immortal is tough and rocky, there was some basic knowledge to be learned, like the adventures of past traumatic enemies who tried to put an end to the Empires, or the names, characteristics of the plants, living beings on Earth, perhaps past languages or even the science behind what distinguishes a normal human body from the heart of a creature of the night.

Everything was related whatsoever, but far more important was physical manipulation, being able to maneuver fire, water, wind, to perform clouds, grow grass, to make snow, move objects, penetrate one's mind, heal every cut and seize all screams.

Novah fought for it, as if life depended on it, sometimes it startled her, how she kept continuously hitting her shadow with closed fists, falling on to the floor over and over again, as her body screamed for rest, as her thoughts clouded with doubt and self-awareness.

All your might depends on what you will shed for, sacrifice.

It was not easy at all, the beginning of her journey. Her classmates were already able to rise flames, make rain move, some were capable to make others bleed internally or conceal their minds completely from invasion. Novah was indeed different, she had tremendous difficulties much to her surprise, specially at minor tasks such as lifting herself up from the floor, and it ashamed her to the point of having to run and to come back to her silent dorm before she could shatter in pieces. Nevertheless, she never cried. Yet in her heart she was doubting the words of the woman who had hugged her deeply that day.

Not because of the mark on your skin, even aside of that you were already destined to become an exception in our world.

Another sigh. The hotness on her cheeks began to dizzy her. Just take a rest, she thought. Her fingers traced to the hem of the roller bandage, putting it back on her breasts, before she put her clothes on again. So much anxiety followed next, she was gulping hard as her fingers clenched on her sides.

"One week, Novah. You have one week. If you don't do something about it, you won't pass the test. And then what's next for you?" She said loudly, her voice trembling, while she took a hold of her bothering emotions.

Close the door to your fears, unlock your inner strength.

How, she kept asking? If anything, she had understood it all wrongly. Maybe what it meant to be marked was to being unworthy of succeeding has a witch, after all. That would've explained why the pain activates when she releases the power, why she hitches to lay on her bed, the lack of stamina, the bruises, why, even though she was almost nineteen years old, she feels exhausted.  Others had been questioning her fragility, but since Novah had kept her mark a secret altogether, they probably thought by now she was simply not good enough.

Just the mere thought of failing traumatized her, freezing her to spots.

I must qualify for the Tournament, I really must.

"The leading board just came out." Novah switched to the side, her mind interrupted by the sound of a very delicate voice, but familiar. Turning her head back, a girl about her age with creamy blonde hair and playful green eyes watcher her, smiling just briefly.

Myra. Her roommate.

"What?"

"The panel, Novah. The jury." Myra said, making it sound obvious, her lips apart like she wasn't surprised at Novah's clouded asset and about to gawk.

"Oh." Only then her heart started to pound restlessly again.

She watched as Myra held a paper, curiosity pouring out of her spirits. Myra is a serious candidate for the qualification, Novah knew that perfectly and that's why she had to wet her lips every two minutes to break out from stress, a lingering fear creeping out the skin of her shoulders. Fear of losing, fear of exposition.

She had been good friends with the blonde girl in front of her over the years, she trusted her and supported her, but because of that, she would also stare astonishingly at her trailing development as a woman, how much she had conquered alone, sometimes stumbling, yet infinitely growing.

Myra had turn out to be a stunning, highly intelligent, committed and hard-working apprentice, always cunning, sharp-witted. The heart-warming feelings of pride and joy washed over Novah's expressions systematically, although the tasting distaste of her own disordering disasters never permitted her to fully enjoy such burning contentment completely. Her ego was in the way.

Definitely, she whished for a similar regarding status. Not entirely out of jealously, perhaps Novah found difficult to grasp the idea of having to mold another sorrowful goodbye to someone who had made her life a little easier, a lot more cheerful.

With a confident nod, Myra looked over to the paper and then to her friend,

"I guessed they would be coming from the Headquarters. Top rank figures after all. Two are from the Defenses department. You know them, everyone knows. Leon Aegon and Alondra Amani", the smirking mouth of hers tingling with excitement.

"Oh- I," Novah's breath stopped, so Myra eyed her with suspicion, managing to open her mouth, however,

"Never thought they would come- this prematurely", she finished.

A chuckle was heard. "Of course they would. Just because they do not check upon the Academy's entries does not mean they do not have a role in it later. You know, the selection process. It is only natural. Leon's the most powerful witcher, he is responsible for the Tournament. I figured they'd be deciding who the competitors are."

Novah stayed silent, admiring her friend's intellect. She was right, everyone in and out of the Academy knew who Leon Aegon was, a very fundamental key inside Oxyn's ruling, his name being widely acknowledged, as well as his skills. He had to be involved with the participants anyhow.

Novah's sudden preoccupation wasn't new, it lingered on the fact she was about to come face to face with these top rank figures, as Myra correctly had put it. To make a figure out of herself inside an arena full of predatory beings, the tricky, unpleasant looks they would be giving her as she gives out completely, tired out, drained, empty.

A chill ran over her spine, it's almost as if she was sensing her future. One week, Novah...

Myra then added, "Oh, the Academy's headmaster too. That makes sense. I do not know the other two though. One is a healer, it says his name is Odin. And the other one is a member from the Council. Hm, I suppose they needed external supervision", the eyes reading the paper one last time, before she twinkled her eyebrows,

"Cornellius, what a weird name. Does it sound familiar to you?"

"Uh- not really, no." Novah answered, the name definitely not ringing a bell. Her tired steps helped her body reach the bed behind where the two stood.

Her right hand was cupping her chin, while the other moved to put some of her mid-brown hair strands beside her ear. The hot breath leaving her tender lips as her gaze paced the ground.

You'll fail. You're damned.

"Novah." Myra called, but suddenly she found no strength to look her in the eye, so she kept eyeing the floor, with silenced emotions.

"Hey, Novah. You're doing that thing again." The blonde haired noted, her hand firmly holding onto Novah's shoulder.

"Oh", she blinked as a response and touched her dumb upper lip.

"I thought you'd be in good spirits today. Did the training go-"

She stopped herself, Myra bending her arm and legs near the sides of the bed, as a result of preoccupation for Novah's well being, as she took notice of her friend's pale and wounded features. Not wanting to press the matter any further she decided to simply say,

"Don't you dare giving up yet."

Her body connecting with hers in a lovely hug. Novah responded to it, the tip of her nose smelling the taste of apple and grass enveloping the perfume of Myra's fluffy hair. A minute passed and her back rested on the cold mattress of the bed, the touch also granted her pain which lasted a split second only.

Myra watched as Novah hissed beneath her breath. She couldn't agree more, it was a strange reaction – how Novah's organism did not respond to what was being asked of it. They had talked about it a few times, but Novah was always ashamed of it, silencing herself or leaving the room. Although Myra understood it perfectly, how much it probably was hurting her all the way down her very soul. To be a witch was a common interest. And it shattered her that Novah's physique couldn't take the pressuring points.

They were silent again, before Novah lifted her head up and asked a haunting question,

"What do you think it'll be asked of us?", she almost whispered.

Myra's gaze fell on Novah's face. She wasn't exactly used to see her friend this insecure, truthfully Novah was ever so playful and straightforward, rarely let her guard down.

Pursing her lips, Myra thought on the question,

"Well, to be fair, it is quite hard to guess. I asked around what were the previous years assignments, but truthfully, I don't think it matters. It changes every year. Each one of us must obey to a certain instruction, of any type, according to any nature release to be performed at any given time. The options are infinite."

The reply didn't ease her intern affliction.

"But I do hope my instruction resolves around fire release. It's what I'm better at. If anything, I'll just pray for it." A genuine, mid-cocky smile matched Myra's flushed cheeks as she eyed to the door at the other side of the dorm. Novah was silent again, letting the nape of her head rest on the soft pillow.

Her fingers began to tremble again, so she closed her eyes despite the problematic clarity, "Novah, in the arena..."

Myra wanted to make it clear, no matter what happens, if she enters the Tournament, then Novah was going to be by her side, "even if you don't feel you can make it... trust the luck. Look over to me if you have to, I am going to be praying for you too."

Her heart felt warmed at the words, for the first time since she had woken up, she finally released a dazzling open smile.

Novah... I will pray for you, whatever may happen. You will never be alone.

She truly wasn't alone. It was just the agitated brain of hers that kept pranking her.

Finding the courage within her, she pushed,

"What if you make it through to the Tournament, won't you be afraid?"

"I... Am not as tough as you think I am. I have been thinking about it for weeks, which explains the lack of sleep." Myra explained, her shoulders frantic as she debated on the matter,

"Everyone says it pushes you to your boundaries, I've heard some people went berserk, some died. I don't know if I'll be ready, but- it's a good thing we'll have mentors. They'll teach us the real thing."

Hugging her legs to her chest, she talked ever so calmly and composed, a spark of light burning on her dreaming eyes,

"The Tournament is composed off a series of stages, and for each stage different method trainings will be applied, and that is why too the Tournament lasts about three whole months. Even if I'm not ready, I'll have time to learn and to get the better handle of my powers. I'll scope my fire release to perfection, whatever it takes."

Ambition, expectations, desire, longing.

Novah smirked, "I envy your positivity, Myra."

Suddenly she was pressed to ask another disturbing question, but her lips performed a thin line. The last phase of the Tournament is known as the Conversion Ritual, just the mere though of it accelerated the blood on her veins at the speed of light, crashing its atoms.

She was so far away from it. A complete immortal. With complete dominance.

The mark on her back was going to be the death of her because no wider sadness would come from anything else than from the stumbling breaking truth of a future not promising at all.

You'll know that you are special and because you are special, exceptionalities await you.

That would destroy her, the crumble of the harsh reality and the broken hopes of a lady who at the very moment was still praying for her triumph.

It would destroy her, inevitably, so fatally, the understanding that she is not that special herself, after all.

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