Ahem. Sis? Tre’s amused voice filters through our sibling bond, breaking the spell I’d been under while staring at the tall drink of water. I could also feel Ami’s amusement, though I don’t dare look behind me. No matter how badly I want to glare in her direction. Treice’s interruption of my thoughts brought my eyes from the bulging veins of our older, very much unattainable¸ professor’s heated gaze. Never in my life had I ever been more glad to have darker skin, as this moment. My face burns at levels so high that I’d been red as a tomato. I swallow past the lump in my throat as I fight to keep the impassive expression both my sisters and myself have perfected over the years living with our respective clans.

Unheard of. My Lyca finishes for me when I trail off. Before I can ponder on my neighbors’ abilities, I feel the familiar presences of my sisters’ auras. I turn and greet them with what I hoped was a smile. Though I’m sure it resembled more of a grimace. I’m actually over the whole assessment situation, but what I’d just read has got my mind all over the place. It’s not often that it happens, but the expression of pure, unadulterated antagonism that my baby sister is currently sporting is a testament to the level of how unnecessarily cruel it was to make us walk across a campus that is big enough to have actual neighborhoods for housing after that invasive as fuck placement “scan”, first thing in the morning. That being said, I’m not as surprised that Ami’s resting-bitch-face is a tad more… bitchy than usual.

Mana, specifically innate mana, is a type of magian energy that is as essential as blood and oxygen to a mystic’s very being. It’s a vital life source that a mystic born with mana within them—essentially mages and mageri shifters—and there are certain points in our bodies that mana is stored. For the average magian practitioner, there are indeed six mana points: one in each leg and arm, the solar plexus, and behind the eyes. However, in wiccan, there’s a seventh mana point surrounding the heart. This is where our arcane ability derives from an ultimately sets us apart from alchemists.

One may beg the question: how can triplets have three separate biological fathers? Well, that isn’t even the most intriguing element. We are technically identical. The three of us came from the same egg that separated into 3, fertilized by each of our fathers. I don’t like to think about it, but clearly there was an—gag—orgy the night of our conception.

“But,” I say, dropping the smile and adopting a menacing glare, as I now tower over this small mage—no more than 5’4” in stature. “You don’t obtain power or status by something as mundane as acquaintance. True power is earned by vigilance and dedication. Sure, there’s genetics, bloodline, blah, blah, blah.” I wave my right immaculately manicured hand in a dismissive gesture. “We are in a constant war of balance in our world, and you have the discourtesy to insult a being you not only don’t know, but mistook as some commoner that walked off the streets of Aurenspire with no idea of how the world of magia works. Well, let me clue you in, you wretched little peon. I am Treice Stryk of the Stryk Triplets. Born of Imara Stryk, the late Nexian queen of our illustrious Valkathra. And I will not tolerate beings trying to bullshit their way into glory.”

A breeze stirs my black and neon-green tresses, bringing with it a familiar scent and, though my expression doesn’t alter, the happiness and nostalgia this scent of blackberry and cedarwood brings me is undeniable. Sister! My tiger spirit exclaims. She’s generally as apathetic in nature as I, however, my older sister, K’Juanxie—or Kwani, as I call her—always brings out my inner extrovert.

Stepping out into the raising sun, morning light cresting just over Emberglow Peak like a halo, I take in my surroundings. Ashen Hallow is a beautiful village in one of the valleys of Manaforge Mountain Range. To my right, I see the entrance to the Manaflux Hot Springs and Resort—a place where one can replenish and rejuvenate their mana. Across from the resort, there’s an outlet mall of sorts where mundane and mystic beings, alike, can shop to their hearts’ content. Although Ashen Hallow is an ordine village, you could throw a rock into the crowd and find a mystic, whether mage or shifter. It’s the same at every Manaforge peak within Valkathra.

“Mommy! Mommy, I’m scared!” “I know baby, I know. Here. Kwanzi, Ami, Tre. Stay behind me. Zo, where’s Jari?!” “He’s right behind me!” “Here! I’m here!” “Dammit! How’d they breach the wards?”