The name Siren followed Freya Helvar around like a curse from the moment her powers first manifested in a raid on her village. With the image of her father's charred corpse and her brother's disgusted face on her mind, she is hauled to the Little Pa...
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ZOYA'S SQUALLER WIND barreled hard into the target on the opposite side of the Summoner's pavilions, breaking it into pieces. The resounding crack of the wood was loud even twenty feet away. Zoya pivoted on her heels with a laugh, smiling at Freya and extending her arms out in a 'told you so' gesture. Clapping could be heard from the onlookers, but neither of them paid any mind to them.
At just fourteen years old, Zoya was already one of the most powerful Squallers the Little Palace had. She had quickly become one of the General's favourites, just as Freya had. Because of that, the two of them had – as Luca often called it – worshippers. Grisha students who were not as powerful or favoured flocked to them in hopes of befriending them.
It was a bit ridiculous in Freya's mind, as she did not feel that special in her day-to-day life. That changed only when she used her power and she knew that she was the only one that could do it. It was the only time she felt special. Not when the General came to watch her train or when she received compliments from other Grisha children. She did not want to feel special most of the time. It was a strange feeling that she disliked.
"Your turn," Zoya said with a pointed look in the direction of another target placed beside the already destroyed one. Freya nodded, stepping forward to the line marked in the grass with yellow paint.
With a deep inhale, she lifted her hands in front of her and focused. She felt the molecules of the air, every ripple of them that creates sound around her. The swishing of the grass in the window, Zoya's soft inhales and exhales, her own heartbeat. And then she pulled, and the waves of sound rushed towards her hands. With a swift movement of her hand, she compressed the waves until they were running rampant in a tight ball. The ringing they caused would have been enough for her to cover her ears once, but she had grown used to it over the seven years she had spent in the Little Palace.
Then, when she felt the waves of sound were compressed tight enough together, she shot the ball out. The sphere was invisible to the human eye, but she felt the sound fighting to expand, to break free of her grip on it. Still, she held it tightly until it was close enough to the target. And then she pulled them outwards. A loud boom – as if a bomb had exploded – sounded from where the target was. And the target itself was torn apart.
Freya smiled, turning back to Zoya. More clapping came from the onlookers, but Freya did not care. While Zoya thrived on the attention she got, it felt more suffocating to Freya than it did freeing.
"Good, both of you," the Etherealki teacher told them, her blue kefta swaying in the wind. She looked down at a watch that was strapped around her wrist quickly. She turned to the rest of the Etherealki students. "Lesson's over, you're free to go." Freya doubted the three hours the Etherealki students spent at the pavilions could be called a lesson. Lessons ended the moment a Grisha could use their power well enough to not have to think about it too much. Training is what followed. An endless drill of summoning and breaking targets and facing off against each other until it was decided they were old enough to go out and face the real battle.
