Apollo ran inside and shut the door of his bedroom. He locked it and sat on his large bed, glancing nervously at the door. He was still quivering. He looked down at his hands, sweat dripping down his forehead.

He waited for a moment, steadied his breathing and geared his energy towards his hands. Red sparks came out of his fingertips. He froze, heart beating even faster. He repressed a whimper although it came out of his lips anyway.

This can't be, he thought. This can't happen.

Loud knocks made him jump where he sat, head snapping in the door's direction. He remained rigid as the knocks increased. Then a soft voice spoke.

"It's me!" a girl was calling out. "I saw you running through the garden!"

Apollo took a deep, relieved breath. He bit his lip, strode away from the bed and approached the door, opening it slowly, revealing his twin sister Clotilde looking at him with concern.

"What happened?" she asked. She tucked in a lock of red hair behind her ear, frowning. "Igor was asking why you ran away from him. Adda's been arguing with him."

"Get in," Apollo said through gritted teeth, pulling her inside and shutting the door again. He led her to the far end of the room and said, voice barely above a whisper as if they were surrounded by several people within the room, "I have it. I-I have magic."

Clotilde stared, eyes widening. "What?"

"Magic!" Apollo hissed, still in hushed tones. "I have magic!" He wrung his hands, heart still protesting in his ribcage. It beat so wildly he felt as if he was going to throw up and faint. "Igor had been teasing me about how I was terrible with swords, and you know Igor, he doesn't even know the difference between a joke and an insult, and h-he wouldn't stop — it annoyed me so much and then I felt it," he went on, gulping. "Sparks. I looked down at my hands and a few of them came out of my fingers. I had to run away before I attacked him with it."

"Did Igor see?"

"No," Apollo said. "H-His back was turned, he was picking up the wooden swords from the training ground when I fled and ran back here."

Clotilde was now looking at him, and her expression was hard to read.

"Are you going to tell Mother and Father?" Apollo asked.

She shook her head, still scrutinizing him closely, worsening the pounding in his chest.

"Clotilde?" he said. "Are you going to tell them?"

"Can I see?" Clotilde asked.

"I — what?"

"I need to see," his sister said firmly. "I need to make sure."

Apollo hesitated. He glowered at her for seconds before he made up his mind. He took yet another deep breath and tried to flick his wrists, stretching out his fingers. Out they came again — the red sparks. Despite the fear building up within him, he could not help but notice how beautiful they looked. He eyed his sister who watched quietly, furrowed brows somehow relaxing. He then stopped and lowered his hands, leaving a profound silence.

"What should I do?" he asked again after a while.

Clotilde bit her lip in the exact same way he always did — as if she was chewing and her brows twitching, blinking several times, deep in thought.

"I have it too," she mumbled. "I also have magic."

Apollo's jaw dropped. "You do?"

Clotilde raised her hands and twirled her fingers, drawing invisible spirals right before him. Blue sparks trailed off where her hand went and froze for a few seconds before they melted, leaving drops of water on the carpeted floor. She lowered her hands, gazing down at the smudged spots of the carpet.

"We're both mages," she said. Apollo shook his head in disbelief.

"Since when did you know?" he asked.

"About a week ago. I was having a nightmare and I woke up with these sparks. My fingertips had bits of ice on them, even. I can't remember the dream, but I was so scared, and whatever it was I somehow warded it off with magic. . . ." Her voice faltered. "They are going to send us to the Circle as soon as they learn about this."

"Why did you not tell me right away?"

"I was also scared. I am still scared. I can't even tell Adda."

Apollo rubbed his hands on his face. He hated admitting it, but he was so close to crying. He did not want to cry, not even in front of his twin sister who was always and forever understanding. The Trevelyan men were trained not to show any hint of weakness in front of anyone, not even their closest family members, not their sisters and cousins and children and spouses. They were not allowed to cry. Sometimes even the women were told not to cry. The Trevelyans are proud, powerful, and weakness was not an option. Especially with Apollo who was now being groomed and slowly being trained to become a Templar like his older sister Adda and cousin Igor.

But what was he and Clotilde to do? They don't want to go to the Circle; no one wants to go to the Circle. The Circle has no mercy. The Templars have free reign even though the Chantry shows otherwise before the public. If you are a mage, then you must be treated as such, no matter who or what or how old you are, and Apollo and his sister were only seven. No one must know — but for how long are they going to be able to keep it in?

Apollo took a deep breath. You can't cry, he kept telling himself. You're a man. You mustn't cry. You're not allowed to cry.

"We can't tell them," he muttered. "Father is going to be furious and ashamed. Mother will be heartbroken."

"They will learn of it eventually," Clotilde said. "And no matter what happens, they are going to throw us into the Circle. Our family is tied to the Chantry and they have the family name to protect."

Apollo slumped on an armchair next to the shelf of books to his right.

"Then what should we do now?"