𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞

𝐓 𝐇 𝐑 𝐄 𝐄

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐥

A council of twelve, with their Thorn at the helm, sit in a crescent as Kelrose's most promising deliver their individual, bi-annual showcase in flaunting their skills. By now, Briéa has long forgotten the scrutinizing eyes that dissect her every move. She is no stranger to the Rose Council. Her spot was secured months ago, these showcases are nothing more than formalities until she can take her own place in the crescent. One would think the council should be bitter in their judgments, but sometimes Briéa thinks the tongue of her Prime, Telfor, is harsher than the councils. If anyone knows her strengths, weakness, vices, and tricks, besides Briéa herself, it's Telfor. He's been her supervising teacher since she was young. It's a breath of fresh air meeting with the council, they aren't as quick to criticize as Telfor.

Regardless Briéa will always think fondly of the man. And even though he would never admit it to anyone, Briéa knows Telfor will always view her as one of his best students.

She shifts around the room in a mix of light and shadow, fire and ice, sending electricity, her specialty, crackling through the grand council hall. It dances through the darkness she summoned. Each show of power is channeled through her charm, a midnight moonstone. Her sheath, a black ring Daskel crafted for her, encases the charm. Without their charm and a sheath to contain it, a mystic is nothing.

Her movements are done with practiced grace. On any other day, Briéa would be pure force and energy, her power far from delicate. But today she musters whatever elegance she has in her, a beautiful force to be reckoned with.

Sweat begins to drip down the side of her face. Despite her daily exercises and training, magic still takes its toll on her. No amount of practice or exercise will ever make her an exception to that price. Not even Ennell, Thorn of the Rose Syndicate, is immune.

Briéa marks the end of her routine with a flame, molded into the shape of a rose, that extends from the palm of her hand. With a close of her hand, the rose extinguishes, a wisp of smoke breaks through her fingers, and she bows respectfully before the council. Her chest heaves as she tries to recover her breath and as she rises, a satisfactory grin takes its place on her face. There is light applause from the council. Polite and expected. Briéa would have to do gods awful to not get any acclamation. But Briéa catches the unusual raise of Zaara's brow, who stands directly behind Ennell, swords crossed at her back. Even the Shield's impressed. Briéa tucks that away for later, something she can hold her Zaara's head later.

As if she can read her mind, Zaara narrows her eyes at Briéa, scowling. Briéa resists the urge to smirk.

One of the older council members, who sits directly on Ennell's left side, leans forward. His wrinkled hands are clasped together atop his knees, gray hair pulled back into a knot, and beard freshly trimmed. He has a kind smile as he addresses her.

"I speak for the rest of the Rose when I say that you continue to grow young Briéa." Her jaw tenses at that and it takes effort to not frown. She was young when she was bright to Kelrose nearly a decade ago. But now Briéa is grown, nearing seventeen years old and only getting stronger. That frightened, timid, small child she was all those years ago is no more. Still, she offers a reverent nod to the councilman.

At the edge of the crescent a councilwoman, Lilith, speaks up. "But there is still much room to improve." She's no more than five years Briéa's senior, a freshly anointed member of the Rose Council. Yet she talks to Briéa like that. Lilith was no older than Briéa is now when little Briéa ruined Lilith's floral project she had been working on for four weeks. It was an accident of course. For the most part. But now Briéa is convinced Lilith will spend the rest of her days bitter about it. The self-righteous prig.