Her feet skidded to a halt, her eyes narrowing as she tugged on Lydia's sleeve. "Lydia..." Her voice was thick and it quivered ever so slightly. "The Courtyard..." she whispered, pulling the older girl's attention to the other First Year and the inky pool of blood spreading beneath her. The ground beneath her looked charred, the strange circle filled with aged runic symbols looking singed and ruined. The edges of the engravings were lined with red and they looked completely lifeless, just like the girl who lay atop of them.

Something told Arya that wasn't a good thing.

Still, all she could do was watch as Lydia sprinted over to the girl, jumping off the rooftop and onto the ground without a sound.

"Arya... Don't look," Jake muttered, turning her to face the other side of the roof as his big brotherly tendencies seemingly overtook him.

"I've seen it before," she said, wincing at the sheer volume of Lydia's shout.

"She's alive!" Lydia was panicked. "But we need to get her to the hospit—ow!"

"LYD!"

Arya spun, her eyes wide, and immediately wished she hadn't.

Her heart thudded in her chest, her breathing quickening as she spotted the green thorns attacking the pair down below.

Blood trickled down from Lydia's cheek, crimson vines bursting from her back as she stood in the middle of the thorny chaos. Green thorns circled around her, occasionally lancing towards her and Lexie, her crimson thorns the only protection the pair had against the assault.

Arya blinked, tracing the thorns back to their source, eyeing the shadows from which they'd emerged.

Jake evidently had the same idea as her, his eyes burning with rage as he sprinted towards the shadows of the buildings—the source of all the chaos.

Why were they there?

Were they hers?

Her feet were glued to the ground, her mind racing to find an answer as she stood there, frozen in fear. Her vision darkened, blackness creeping into the corners of her sight. She sunk to her knees, curling into a ball, praying those green thorns wouldn't find her again... until a light flickered into life. It's flame yellow, it's warmth comforting as she crouched on the edge of the roof, and all of a sudden she remembered.

She remembered his face, his sandy blonde hair that liked to fly on the breeze, and the grin on his face as he crouched in front of her and told her what it meant to be brave.

"Courage doesn't always have to be about big things... you don't have to prove it by running through a burning building." His grin was wide, his teeth almost sparkling in the sunlight. "Sometimes it's just small things, like protecting the ones you care about... or maybe facing up to one of those nightmares you always have."

Tears leaked down her face, her legs shaking as thorns cut through the air and blood rolled down Jake's arms.

Yellow fire crackled around his hands, desperately trying to burn through the green thorns swarming around him... but there were too many. They wove around him, despite his attempts to stop them, arcing over towards Lydia and the girl she carried, wrapped in her white thorns.

What the difference between them and her crimson thorns were, Arya didn't know. All she knew was that they were losing the battle—if it could even be called that... and she knew what she needed to do.

It didn't matter when she did it, but sooner or later she'd have to face it.

Her fear of thorns.

Because the crux of the matter was Fae had them at the end of the day—in a rainbow of colours.

Jake's own thorns were already out, crimson thorns wrapping around his arms, shielding them from the pricks and lashes of the other set as his yellow fire burnt through as many vines as he could. Yet it still wasn't enough.

Arya gritted her teeth, forcing her legs to move, despite the fear curling in the pit of her stomach. She ran towards the thorns, knowing she had no other choice. At least, that was what she told herself. She could've run. She could've gone and called for help. She could've run for Flynn.

But she didn't. She couldn't.

If she took one step back, she knew she'd never be able to face them again—the thorns or the two muppets she called her friends.

So she ran forwards instead, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.

All that mattered was protecting them.

Wind whipped around her, almost as if acknowledging her new resolve, ghostly hands guiding her own when she slid one leg in front of her. One hand pulled back, but rather than forming the fist she was so used to, it was left open, her thumb curling in as she remembered the years of training she'd done to reach that point.

"I'll protect them," she whispered, the words lost on the winds that roared in answer.

Her palm splayed, cracking forwards with a loud snap that rent the air, and a trail of carnage was all it left. It tore through the green thorns, cutting through them like butter, ripping into the tall building behind it, and only then did it stop.

Arya blinked, staring at the vast amount of destruction she'd caused, tears leaking down her face as the wind ruffled through her hair—just like the Monk had done so many times before.

"You'll be able to do this someday." He smiled, staring out at the destruction one hand had just done to the forest. Trees were uprooted, some in splinters as they stood on the edge of the large wood the Monk had dragged her to for some training.

"But you said most people don't get to this stage for thirty odd years, if at all..." Arya stared up at him, a smile pulling at her lips as he ruffled her hair. "I'll probably be really old by the time I get to it..."

"Don't be such a downer, silly," he said, crouching down next to her, one hand on her head. "It takes time to reach this stage, but once you do—and I have no doubt you'll make it here—then you'll be a step closer to mastering the Bonebreaker Art."

"Huh?"

"Wind is the first element you'll master of the five..." He grinned, standing back up to his full height, glancing down at her for a moment or two before he picked her up and placed her on his shoulders. "I've told you before, you know... Someone who's mastered the Bonebreaker Art is someone who's won over the five base elements, whether it be by showing them their true strength... the fact that they're not afraid to play with fire, or maybe even the extent of their resolve."

Arya tilted her head, swinging her short stubby legs back and forth. "Like you?"

"Yep." He nodded, a blinding grin pulling at his lips once again. "Just like you'll be some day, too."

"You really think so?"

"Of course."

"So I'll be able to part seas with a single punch...?"

"If you're anything like your father, then you will... and you'll probably do it in a terrifying fashion." The smile dropped from his face, and Arya played with his hair. She'd heard plenty about how she was a miniature clone of her mother, but nobody had ever really spoken about her dad before.

Arya patted his face. "Cheer up, buttercup."

The Monk laughed, any trace of sadness vanishing in an instant. "Where'd you learn that one from?"

"Brother Jeremiah does it to me all the time when I get sad," she said, resuming her tugging on his hair as they trekked into the forest—and towards the training ground that no doubt awaited her.

Arya snapped out of her thoughts, turning to face the shadows the thorns were creeping back into, praying nobody called her bluff.

Her arm throbbed, creaking with the strain that blow had put on it, but still she faced the shadows, her face not betraying even an inch of fear as she met a familiar set of shadowed brown eyes.

Slowly, the thorns slunk back, the vaguely familiar eyes vanishing into the shadows, disappearing into the darkness just as a set of feet landed loudly on the courtyard. Turning, she smiled in relief, thinking it was Flynn, but one look told her otherwise.

Only the two of them were conscious in the courtyard—Jake and Lydia having succumbed to exhaustion for one reason or another.

Blue eyes surveyed the gaping hole in the building. The same hole she'd created only moments before, and Arya readied herself for yet another fight.

Because standing in front of her was Jacob Thistlewood.

With an unconscious Velvet draped over his shoulder.