Towering Lessons

The bread was burning. Again.

I yanked open the oven door and a wave of heat smacked my face, dry and furious. The loaves sat on the stone like four little corpses, their crusts blackened and cracked. I could smell the ruin of them before I even touched the charred surface. My tail curled tight against my spine, the stinger tapping a nervous rhythm against my own hip.

“Asyra!” Master Thorne’s voice came from the front of the shop, rough as the millstone he used to grind his flour. “You burning my goods again, girl?”

I couldn’t lie. My face did all the talking for me. The green of my skin went a shade darker around my cheeks, and my eyes went wide as dinner plates. I pulled the ruined loaves out with my bare hands, not even feeling the heat anymore. Four months of working that oven and my palms were leather.

“No, Master Thorne,” I said. My voice came out small. It always came out small. “They’re perfect. Golden brown. Crispy. You’ll love them.”

He shuffled into the back room, his old bones creaking like the floorboards. He was a dwarf, thick and round, with a beard that had more flour in it than hair. He looked at the loaves. He looked at me. His face did something complicated, like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or fire me.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said.

“I know.”

“And a worse baker.”

“I know that too.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes with flour-caked fingers. “Go. Take the day. You’re useless to me when you’re this distracted anyway.”

I wanted to argue. I needed the coin. But he was right. My head was somewhere else entirely. It had been somewhere else for three weeks, ever since the notice appeared on the town board.

*Conscription Notice. All able-bodied citizens of age 18-25 are required to register for the Magisterial Training Program. Failure to comply will result in fines, imprisonment, or reassignment to labor camps.*

I was twenty-two. I was able-bodied. And I had no coin to pay fines.

Master Thorne saw my face and softened. Just a little. He reached into his apron pocket and pulled out two copper pieces. Pressed them into my palm. “For the trouble. Go get yourself a real meal. Something that ain’t my bread.”

I wanted to hug him. I didn’t. I just nodded and slipped out the back door into the alley.

The city of Thornwall was a gray place. Gray stone streets, gray slate roofs, gray faces of people who worked too hard and slept too little. The sky was a pale white today, the sun a smudge behind clouds that never quite broke. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders, making sure the hood covered my horns. You never knew who was watching.

The notice was still there, nailed to the board outside the town hall. A dozen other people stood around it, reading in silence. No one looked happy. A young human man with a farmer’s tan was staring at the paper like it had just bitten him. A half-elf woman was crying quietly, her hand over her mouth.

I read the fine print this time. The part everyone had been pretending not to see.

*Selected candidates will be paired with a senior trainer for a period of no less than six months. Pairings are final. No appeals. No transfers.*

That was the part that made my stomach drop. Not the training itself. Not the magic they promised to teach us. But the pairing. The being stuck with someone for half a year, someone I didn’t know, someone who would see me every day, watch me fail, watch me stutter, watch me be exactly what I was.

A baker’s assistant who couldn’t bake. A monster hiding in a cloak. A girl who had never been more than two feet from the ground in her entire life.

I was still reading when someone grabbed my shoulder.

I spun around, tail lashing out before I could stop it. The stinger stopped an inch from a woman’s throat.

She didn’t flinch.

She was tall. I mean really tall. I had to tilt my head back to see her face, and even then I was staring at her chin. She had to be six feet, maybe more. Broad shoulders. Arms like she spent her days lifting things that should not be lifted. Her blonde hair was cut short, almost military, and there was a white scar cutting through her left eyebrow like a bolt of lightning.

She was grinning at me.

“Nice reflexes,” she said. Her voice was low and rough, like she’d been shouting orders for a decade. “You always try to stab people who say hello?”

I pulled my tail back. My face was burning. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. You didn’t hit me.” She looked me up and down, and I felt like a piece of meat being inspected at the market. “You’re Asyra, right? The baker girl?”

“How do you know my name?”

She pointed at the notice. “I work for the program. Recruiter, sort of. I’ve been going through the registration forms, picking out candidates who look interesting.” She said the last word like it meant something else. “You checked a box that said you had no combat experience. No magical aptitude. No family. No property. No debts you could pay off.”

“That’s a lot of no’s,” I said.

“It’s a lot of nothing. Which makes you perfect.”

I didn’t understand. “Perfect for what?”

“Perfect for me.” She stuck out her hand. “Name’s Fern. I’m going to be your trainer.”

I stared at her hand. It was huge. Calloused. There was a tattoo on her forearm, something coiled and serpentine, half-hidden by her sleeve. I thought about what the notice said. Pairings are final. No appeals. No transfers.

“I didn’t agree to this,” I said.

“You registered. That’s agreement enough.”

“I registered because I had no choice.”

“None of us have choices.” She dropped her hand, but the grin stayed. “Come on. I’ll buy you lunch. You look like you haven’t eaten in a week.”

She turned and walked away before I could answer. Just assumed I would follow. And the worst part? I did.

---

The tavern was called The Rusty Nail, and it smelled exactly how you’d expect. Ale and sweat and something meaty that might have been stew or might have been regret. Fern pushed through the door like she owned the place, nodding at the barkeep, a heavyset woman who looked like she could bench press a horse.

“Two bowls,” Fern said. “And whatever ale you’ve got that isn’t watered down.”

She slid into a booth in the corner, her back to the wall. I sat across from her, my tail curling around my leg, my hands in my lap. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d never been in a tavern before. Master Thorne didn’t allow it. Said it was a place for people with loose morals and looser coin purses.

Fern watched me the way a cat watches a mouse. Not hungry. Just curious.

“So,” she said. “Tell me about yourself.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Everyone has something.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. The movement made her shirt pull tight across her chest. I tried not to look. I failed. “You’re a monster. A baker. You live alone in a room above the shop. You have no family, no friends, no prospects. You’re twenty-two years old and you’ve never held a weapon.”

“How do you know all that?”

“I read your file. It was very short.” She picked at something under her fingernail. “What I don’t know is why you’re so scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You’re shaking.”

I looked down at my hands. She was right. They were trembling, the way they always did when I was nervous. I pressed them flat against the table, but that just made the whole table shake.

Fern reached across and put her hand over mine. Her palm was warm. Rough. It covered my entire hand like a glove.

“Hey,” she said. “Look at me.”

I did. Her eyes were green. Bright green. The color of new leaves in spring. There was something in them that I hadn’t expected. Kindness. Buried deep, but there.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “The training is hard. But I’m not your enemy. You understand?”

I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice.

She let go and leaned back as the barkeep brought our bowls. Stew. Thick and brown and full of potatoes and some kind of meat I didn’t want to identify. I picked up my spoon and ate. It was good. Better than anything I’d ever baked.

Fern ate like she was preparing for a siege. Fast. Efficient. No wasted motion. She finished her bowl before I was half done, then pushed it aside and started on her ale.

“You’re wondering why I picked you,” she said.

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“You checked a lot of boxes. No attachments. No obligations. No one who would miss you if you disappeared for six months.” She took a long drink. “But that’s not the real reason.”

“What is?”

She set down her mug. “You’re a monster. Full blooded. Not half, not mixed. Pure. And you’re hiding it.”

My blood went cold. My hand went to my hood, pulling it tighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your eyes. Your skin. The way your tail moves when you’re nervous.” She smiled. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Asyra. I know a monster when I see one.”

I wanted to run. My legs were already tensing, ready to bolt. But something held me in place. Maybe it was her voice. Maybe it was the way she said monster, like it wasn’t an insult.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

“I want to teach you how to fight. How to use the magic that’s sleeping inside you. And I want to do it before the wrong people find out what you are.”

“The wrong people?”

“The Magisterium. The ones running this program.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping low. “They think you’re a human with a skin condition. That’s what your file says. But if they find out the truth, they won’t train you. They’ll dissect you.”

I felt sick. The stew churned in my stomach. “Then why are you helping me?”

“Because I’m not the Magisterium.” She said it flat. Final. “I work for them, but I’m not them. And I think you’ve got potential. Real potential. The kind that doesn’t come around often.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.” She stood up, tossing a few coins on the table. “Come on. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.”

“Where are we going?”

“Training grounds. About two days south of here. It’s remote. Private. No one will bother us.” She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “You’ve got an hour to pack your things and say your goodbyes. Meet me at the south gate.”

She walked out without looking back.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the empty bowl. My tail was twitching so hard it rattled the bench. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Go with a stranger to some remote training ground, learn magic I didn’t know I had, and hope the people running the program didn’t find out I was a monster?

Or stay here. Keep baking burned bread. Keep hiding. Keep being nothing.

The choice wasn’t hard. It was just terrifying.

---

I packed light. A change of clothes. A waterskin. The two copper coins Master Thorne had given me. I left my cloak behind. It was worn thin and full of holes, and if I was going to stop hiding, I might as well start now.

Master Thorne was in the back, kneading dough for the morning batch. He looked up when I came in, saw the bag on my shoulder, and nodded.

“Figured you’d be leaving,” he said.

“How did you know?”

“You got that look. The look of someone who’s about to do something stupid and brave.” He wiped his hands on his apron and walked over to me. “You take care of yourself, girl. And if that tall woman gives you trouble, you come back here. I’ll hide you.”

I smiled. It felt strange on my face. “Thank you, Master Thorne.”

“Don’t thank me. Just don’t burn down the training grounds.”

I laughed. It came out as a squeak. He hugged me, quick and rough, then pushed me away.

“Go. Before I change my mind and make you scrub the oven.”

I went.

The south gate was crowded with travelers and merchants and a few other conscripts, all looking as miserable as I felt. Fern was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the crowd with lazy disinterest. She spotted me and pushed off.

“You’re early,” she said.

“You said an hour.”

“Most people take longer.” She looked at my bag. “That all you’ve got?”

“I don’t own much.”

“Good. Traveling light is the first rule of survival.” She turned and started walking. “Keep up. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

I followed her through the gate and onto the road. The city fell away behind us, the gray buildings shrinking until they were just smudges on the horizon. The road wound through fields and forests, past farms and villages, into the kind of countryside I’d only ever seen from a distance.

Fern walked fast. Her legs were long and she didn’t slow down for me. I had to jog to keep pace, my tail swishing behind me, my breath coming in short gasps.

“You’re out of shape,” she said.

“I work in a bakery.”

“That’s not an excuse. You’re going to get fit whether you like it or not.” She glanced at me. “First lesson. Always be aware of your surroundings. What do you see?”

I looked around. Trees. Grass. A bird. “Nothing dangerous.”

“Wrong.” She pointed to a patch of dirt on the road. “Someone came through here this morning. Heavy cart. Two horses. Heading south. They were in a hurry.”

I looked at the tracks. I didn’t see anything special. Just grooves in the mud.

“How do you know they were in a hurry?”

“The wheel ruts are deeper on one side. They took the turn too fast. Spilled something.” She pointed to a dark stain on the ground. “Probably wine. Smells like it.”

I leaned down and sniffed. She was right. It did smell like wine.

“You notice things,” I said.

“I survive things. There’s a difference.” She kept walking. “You’ll learn. Or you’ll die. Either way, it’ll be educational.”

I didn’t know if she was joking. I decided not to ask.

---

We walked until the sun started to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Fern stopped at a clearing near a stream, dropped her bag, and started gathering firewood.

“We camp here tonight,” she said. “Tomorrow we push hard. Should make the grounds by evening.”

I sat down on a rock, my legs aching. I’d never walked that far in my life. My feet were blistered. My back hurt. My tail was dragging on the ground like a dead snake.

Fern built a fire with practiced efficiency. She had a sparkstone and she used it like she’d done it a thousand times. Within minutes, flames were crackling and popping, casting warm light across the clearing.

She sat down across from me, pulled out a piece of dried meat, and tore off a chunk with her teeth. She offered me some. I took it. It was tough and salty, but I was hungry enough not to care.

We ate in silence for a while. The fire popped. The stream gurgled. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“You can ask. I might not answer.”

“Why did you really pick me?”

She chewed slowly. Swallowed. Stared into the fire.

“Because I was you,” she said. “Twenty years ago. Scared. Alone. Hiding what I was.” She touched the scar on her eyebrow. “I had a trainer who saw through me. Who pushed me. Who made me into what I am today.”

“What are you?”

“A survivor.” She looked at me. “And I think you could be one too. But only if you stop running.”

“I’m not running.”

“You are. You’ve been running your whole life. Hiding in that bakery. Hiding under that cloak. Hiding from everyone who might see you for what you really are.” She leaned forward. “But I see you, Asyra. And I’m not going to let you hide anymore.”

My throat tightened. I didn’t know what to say. No one had ever looked at me like that. Like I was worth something.

“I don’t know how to fight,” I said.

“I’ll teach you.”

“I don’t know magic.”

“I’ll teach you that too.”

“I don’t know anything.”

She smiled. It was the first real smile I’d seen from her. Not a grin. Not a smirk. A real smile.

“Good,” she said. “That means you’re ready to learn.”

---

The next morning, I woke to Fern shaking my shoulder.

“Up. We move in five.”

I groaned. My body felt like it had been beaten with sticks. Every muscle screamed. My feet were raw. I wanted to curl up and die.

But I got up. Because she was watching. And I didn’t want to disappoint her.

We walked through the morning, through the afternoon, through the heat of the day. Fern pushed hard, but she also taught. Pointed out tracks. Explained how to read the wind. Showed me which berries were safe to eat and which would kill you.

By the time we reached the training grounds, I was exhausted. But I was also something else. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hopeful.

The training grounds were a collection of stone buildings surrounded by a high wall. Iron gates. Guard towers. It looked more like a fortress than a school.

Fern led me through the gates, past a few guards who nodded at her like they knew her. The courtyard was empty. Dusty. A few training dummies stood in the corner, their straw stuffing poking out.

“This is it,” she said. “Home for the next six months.”

I looked around. It was sparse. Bare. Nothing like the warm, cluttered bakery I’d left behind.

“It’s not much,” I said.

“It’s enough.” She turned to face me. “First thing we need to do is figure out what you can do. What kind of magic is in your blood.”

“I don’t have magic.”

“Everyone has magic. It’s just a matter of waking it up.” She held out her hand. “Give me your hand.”

I hesitated. Then I reached out.

She took my hand in hers. Her grip was firm. Warm. She closed her eyes, and I felt something. A tingle. A pull. Like something deep inside me was waking up.

Her eyes snapped open.

“Well,” she said. “That’s interesting.”

“What?”

“You’re not just a monster.” She let go of my hand. “You’re a scorpion. A full blooded scorpion monster. That means your magic is venom based. Poison. Paralysis. Maybe even something stronger.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s dangerous.” She smiled. “Which means it’s perfect.”

She turned and walked toward the main building, waving for me to follow.

“Come on. I’ll show you to your room. We start training tomorrow at dawn.”

“What do we do tonight?”

She looked back at me, her eyes glinting in the fading light.

“Tonight, we eat. We rest. And we get ready for the hard part.”

I followed her inside, my tail held high, my heart pounding in my chest.

I didn’t know what was coming. But for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid to find out.