Air Awakens

“I want a place you hardly dare to even whisper. I want the bravery to not only read, but to do. I want a man, not a library boy. A man who is tall and witty and knows more about the world than you would ever dare dream.”

“Vhalla, you are a sorcerer.”

“Fire needs air to live. Air fuels fire, stokes it, and makes it burn brighter and hotter than it ever could alone. But too much air will snuff it completely, just as too many flames will consume all the air. They are far greater than the sum of their parts together, but are equally as dangerous to each other's existence.”

“Because, Vhalla, you think and you watch, but you never do. You can read all the books in this library, be wiser than the master himself someday, and then you will die having never really done anything. You will have only ever lived through everyone else's experiences.”

"I may be a prince," he said as his lips brushed her ear lightly. "But I would trade it all to be a common man, even if only for tonight."

Sorcerers were odd, they were dangerous; they kept to themselves and left normal people alone. That was why they had their own Tower, so they kept out of sight and mind. Everyone in the South had always told her so. It was the last place she belonged.

…when the hairs at the nape of her neck raised on end.

It was actually Vhalla who felt shamed when the woman began to clean up her spew that puddled on the floor.

Vhalla may be a bad liar but that wouldn’t stop her from looking for a lie in others.

Vhalla couldn’t suppress a small giggle, it was the first time she laughed in a week, and it made her whole body feel lighter.

It was about time that she met a sorcerer with gentle and happy manner.

“This isn’t going to work,” she muttered doubtfully. Her conviction quickly vanishing.

“Take care of yourself,” Larel demanded gently.

Giant stands extended up from the wall that were supposed to be reminiscent of the sun’s rays.

But she remembered the words of the minister; the prince had been the one who had taken her to the Tower in the first place, and she likely would’ve died without that.

“I was fine before,” Vhalla protested.
“You were boring. You were worse than boring. You were normal and content. I gave you a chance for greatness.” He looked at her harshly.

“You bastard.” The words were out before she even had time to consider them, but after spoken she hardly regretted them.
“What did you say?” Prince Aldrik snarled.
“You, my prince ,” she sneered in kind. “You are a self-centered, egotistical, self-absorbed, narrow-sighted, vain, self-important,” she felt her anger finally reach its boiling point, “conceited bastard !” Vhalla cried out.

Fire needs air to live. Air fuels fire, stokes it, and makes it burn brighter and hotter than it ever could alone. But too much air will snuff it completely, just as too many flames will consume all the air. They are far greater than the sum of their parts together, but are equally as dangerous to each other’s existence.

They were sending her to war, so she would go and become something they had every right to fear.