The great iron doors of Arcanum Academy groaned open, swallowing Alex and Nikki in golden twilight. They stood at the edge of a marble causeway flanked by towering braziers. The wind carried the scent of ash, incense, and ancient stone. Beyond the gates, the spires of Arcanum rose like jagged fangs into a sky streaked with purple clouds. It wasn't a castle. It was a fortress built to outlast time.
Alex's legs felt like lead, but he forced them forward.
Nikki stepped beside him, her cloak brushing the floor. Her eyes, always quick and steady, scanned everything—every turret, every ward-stone, every rune-etched arch. She didn't speak, but Alex knew she was memorizing every detail. He was trying to do the same, but the mark on his shoulder still ached like a second heartbeat.
The path led them across a narrow bridge over a chasm that sang with mana. Threads of light coiled through the abyss below, whispering in a language only the magically touched could hear.
When they reached the courtyard, a voice rang out.
"Names."
A woman in robes the color of crushed obsidian stood at the entrance of the main hall, a ledger in her gloved hands. Her eyes gleamed like polished amber.
"Alex," he said. "Alex of Bramblehold."
"Nikki," his friend added.
The woman blinked. Her gaze lingered on Alex. "Your mark has been recorded. You are to report to Dormitory Veilshade. Orientation begins at dusk."
She pointed down a smaller path, then turned her attention to the next arrivals—three figures in gilded cloaks, talking in low, sneering voices.
One of them glanced at Alex. Eyes like daggers.
Kaelen.
Alex didn't know the name yet, but something in that boy's gaze felt like a sword across the throat. Regal bearing. Faultless posture. He looked like someone who had never bled for anything.
And he hated Alex already.
---
Veilshade was one of six dormitory towers ringing the eastern wing of Arcanum. Its halls were carved from ivory stone, quiet and cold. The runes along the wall flickered blue at their approach.
They were assigned bunks on opposite ends of the tower—boys and girls separated. Their uniforms, folded and pressed, were waiting on their beds: dark-gray tunics, sleeveless outer robes, and gloves marked with a sigil of a closed eye. It meant student under silence.
"Just for show," Nikki whispered. "They want us to feel like prisoners in gold."
Alex stared out the narrow window. From this high up, he could see the library tower and the inner courtyards where arcane lights drifted between practice fields. The beauty of it felt unreal.
But beneath the awe, something stirred. A pressure. A presence.
His dreams returned.
Fire. Screams. A sword of blood.
And that same voice:
> "You carry the burden of kings. Rise, or burn beneath it."
He gripped the windowsill. He hadn't chosen this path. But something had.
And now it wouldn't let him go.
---
The Grand Forum was a dome of starlight and shadow. Thousands of students stood in concentric rings, staring up at a platform bathed in mana fire. Instructors lined the upper balconies, their robes embroidered with gold, silver, and violet.
A single figure stood at the center of the dais.
Therion.
Alex had never seen him before, but he knew. This was no ordinary instructor. His presence made the air heavier. Magic curled around him like a cloak, dark and slow.
"Welcome to Arcanum," Therion said, his voice like thunder inside the skull.
"You stand at the edge of forgotten power. Beyond these halls lie truths buried by time, and dangers you are not ready to name. But the path forward begins with your weakness."
He raised a hand.
A boy screamed.
One of the new students fell to his knees, clutching his head. Magic crackled through the air. Therion didn't even glance at him.
"Those who fear will be broken. Those who lie will be revealed. Those who hesitate will die."
He turned toward the crowd, locking eyes with Alex.
"You. Step forward."
Alex froze.
Someone shoved him. Nikki hissed behind him, but he was already moving, heart pounding.
Therion beckoned.
"You carry something old," the instructor said. "You were touched by flame. And yet... you still stand."
"I didn't ask for it," Alex said.
"None of us do." Therion tilted his head. "You will meet your shadow soon. And when you do, you must not flinch."
Alex nodded slowly. "I won't."
Therion's eyes glinted. "Then let us see what the fire made."
---
The Trial of Emberglass was never explained.
They were herded into a lower chamber where obsidian mirrors lined the walls. One by one, each student was pushed forward. The mirrors shimmered, swallowing them into their own illusions.
When it was Alex's turn, the moment his skin touched the glass, the world vanished.
He stood in a field of bone.
Crows screamed in a sky lit by a dying sun. A broken throne sat ahead, and a figure was tied to it by chains made of flame.
Kaer Thalor.
But this time, the spirit spoke clearly.
> "You've stepped into the path of inheritance. I will test your soul. Not your strength. Not your sword. Your will."
The chains burst.
The spirit lunged.
Alex didn't raise a blade. He opened his mind.
Pain rushed in. Memory. Loss. Rage. A river of sorrow centuries deep.
He let it all crash into him—and refused to fall.
When he opened his eyes, the mirrors were gone. So was the chamber.
Therion stood beside him, arms crossed.
"You didn't flinch."
Alex's hands trembled. "I wanted to."
"Good," Therion said. "That means you're not dead yet."
He turned to the others.
"This one... will be interesting."
---