Birdsong pierced the morning stillness, their voices threading through cracked shutters and mixing with pale light that crawled across warped floorboards. One moment, I was lying next to her, feeling the warmth of her breath against mine. My hands wrapped around hers, fingers intertwined like we had all the time in the world. But when my eyes opened, only emptiness greeted me. Valeria. She was never there. She was never beside me. My chest constricted at the cruel mockery of dreams, how they gave with one hand and stole with the other.

  Rowan's bed sat abandoned, his suitcase nowhere to be seen. The fool would be downstairs already, spinning tales to anyone fool enough to listen. I lingered on familiar dreams of endless battle, blood and gold flowing like rivers. Yet no new visions had come in weeks, only her phantom presence filling the void where no hope dwelt, as if the well of memory had finally run dry.

  I stretched, joints protesting the hard travel, and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My fingers found the amulet at my throat, cold metal against warm skin. A piece of her, all that I have.

  "Valeria," I whispered, gripping the pendant until it bit into my palm. "Where are you?"

  The floor groaned beneath my weight as I stood. From my suitcase, I pulled fresh clothes, winding black wrappings tight around my forearms. The cursed veins beneath my skin stayed hidden. Better they remained so.

  The common room hummed with low voices when I descended. Honeyed bread and spiced wine filled the air, mingling with the earthen scent of old wood. Rowan lounged at a corner table, that damned grin spread across his face like butter on warm bread.

  Across from him sat Alina, pale and sharp-featured, her white blouse hanging loose from her shoulders while dark leather hugged her legs. She looked like some noblewoman on the hunt.

  Sylvia perched beside her, green fabric flowing around her small frame. She nibbled bread like a forest creature, green eyes flicking up as I entered, then returning to her meal without interest.

  Two suitcases rested by the table. Rowan's battered brown leather showed every mile we'd travelled, while another gleamed black as a raven's wing, silver studs catching the light. It looked rich. Too rich for any of us to own.

  I dropped my bag with a thud that turned heads, then placed my sword on the table. The scabbard struck wood with a sound like thunder. Alina's eyes narrowed.

  "Finally awake," Rowan said, leaning forward with mock concern. "I thought you'd found some excuse to avoid the trials. Perhaps claiming illness?"

  "Keep talking." I tore off a piece of bread, chewing while I spoke. "We'll see who makes excuses when the day ends."

  Alina's gaze fixed on my sword's hilt, where the dragon-headed pommel caught the light. Her fingers hovered over it, not quite touching. "That's fine work. Not the cheap iron you see in most towns. Where did you come by such a blade?"

  "My father's blade reforged." I bit through the bread, crumbs falling to the table. "My mother used to say magic needs no wand, only will. The true power lives within."

  “Wise words.” A smirk touched Alina's lips. "Though I suspect she also taught you not to wave steel about in rooms full of scholars."

  Rowan laughed, cutting between us. "He knows his way around a blade well enough. Haven't seen him split anyone in half yet, but the sun's still rising."

  Alina turned to Sylvia, who was focused intently on her bread. Her small hands gripped it as it might escape her, but her sharp green eyes flicked up as Alina spoke. “What do you think, Sylvia? Ever seen someone wield a sword and magic at the same time?”

  “It’s rare, but not impossible.” Sylvia swallowed her bite, her tone cool and measured. “There are those who cast without wands, like myself. The rules are somewhat similar yet different from the most. Our magic runs wild, untamed. Well, once you learn to control it, then it will come as easily as breathing. Wild, but yours.”

  Rowan leaned closer, whispering, “Think she’s showing off, or is she just that powerful?”

  “Both,” I muttered under my breath, tearing off another bite of bread.

  "Well then," Rowan said, grinning at Sylvia, "why not teach our friend here? He could use some grace."

  “Teaching is tedious work,” she replied, her tone as sharp as the edge of a blade. “Most of you humans lack the patience. My essence flows from within, unlike how your sorcerers reach into nature for it. If he were an elf, that would be different.” She looked straight at me. “Are you of elven origin or the same? Does your magic come from within?”

  “Save your words.” Rowan opened his mouth to answer, but I raised a hand, cutting him off. “We’ve got enough to worry about today.”

  “Fine. I won’t.” He snorted, though his grin remained. "But if you're still nervous, don't worry. One of us will make it through."

  "I'm sure you mean me," I said, shaking my head.

  Alina leaned across the table, fingers tracing her polished suitcase. "The trials are no jest. Two tests, one for entry and another for placement. The first tests your basic knowledge of magic, alchemy, history, and so on. The practical assessment..." She paused, a dangerous smile playing at her lips. "That's where things turn interesting. Professors test your thinking, your instincts. Sometimes puzzles, sometimes formulas, sometimes..." Her smile widened. "They test your wit and humor. All depends on their mood."

  Rowan groaned, slumping back. "Potion brewing and riddles? Is that always the same each year?"

  “Mostly, yes.” Alina raised an eyebrow. "But they tend to change the questions. If they deem you unworthy, then no title would help you to get into the Zenith or any other sorcery school."

  By the time we finished eating, anticipation buzzed through the room like angry bees. I strapped my sword to my side, the familiar weight settling against my hip. Rowan threw his coat over his shoulders, and Alina lifted her sleek pack.

  "May the fortune smile on you," Sylvia said, her voice soft but clear. "All of you."

  The bridge stretched before us, stone arches rising from dark water like the bones of some great beast. Morning sun struggled through fog that clung to the water's surface, leaving everything pale and ghostly. Other students trudged ahead, their voices carrying on the wind, mixing with the cries of gulls circling the far harbour.

  Rowan walked beside me, his brown coat swaying with each step. "Think we'll meet the headmaster?"

  Alina strode ahead, her footsteps sharp against stone. "Perhaps, if you pass the trials. The headmaster doesn't waste time on mere assessments."

  "What if I charm him?" Rowan asked. "Give him one of my winning smiles?"

  “You are still at it?” Alina didn't turn around. "Try that if you want to spend your first day as a toad."

  I smirked faintly, tightening the strap of the sword at my side. “She’s not wrong there.”

  Rowan groaned dramatically, running a hand through his messy brown hair. “You two are relentless. One day, I’ll show you. The headmaster himself will laugh at my jokes.”

  “Just do well in the first assessment, and you’ll get a better chance of passing the trials,” Alina said. “Then worry about your charm.”

  “Noted,” Rowan muttered, though his usual grin flickered back. “I’ll leave the practical to the goddess. It’s time for my prayers to bear fruit.”

  I glanced at him. "Keep at it, and even she might abandon you."

  He laughed nervously but quickened his pace.

  Stone gave way to packed dirt as we reached the island's edge. Dense woods cast shadows across the path, ancient trees with broad leaves towering on both sides. The air hung thick with morning dew and wildflowers. Purple cosmos lined the road, and somewhere jasmine perfumed the breeze, though I couldn't see its source.

  We walked in silence for a time, our footsteps muffled by damp soil and the chatter of other students. As the trees thinned, the view opened onto vast plains. There, against the horizon, stood the school.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The sight struck us mute, even Rowan.

  Zenith rose like a fortress from the plains, its massive structure stretching across the landscape. Five towers clawed at the sky, each crowned with banners bearing the burning phoenix. At the heart of the fortress, the main building pierced the clouds themselves. Beyond iron gates, sprawling grounds teemed with students and teachers moving like ants in their hive.

  Rowan whistled low. "That's considerably larger up close."

  “And more frightening.” Alina's lips curved slightly. "This isn't some school made for nobles and soft bloods. It’s the oldest sorcery school. Zenith has birthed some of the greatest minds in the magical world. And some of its most dangerous."

  A crowd gathered near a raised platform left of the gates. On it stood a man in his middle years, his long black coat trimmed with grey. Dark hair was pulled back, and though he spoke quietly with two students in black uniforms and grey-edged cloaks, authority radiated from him like heat from a forge.

  "Reynard Thornveil," Alina said quietly. "He's been here over a decade."

  "Doesn't look like much," Rowan said.

  "Then you're blind," Alina snapped. "That's not just any sorcerer. That's a man who's fought for his life and lived to tell of it. He was famous even before joining the school."

  To the platform's right, a long table had been set up where students handed parchment to a professor in grey robes. Alina nudged me, nodding toward the table. "You'll need to submit your letters there. Only for late applicants."

  I opened my bag and pulled out two letters. One bore Medarth's seal, the other Lord Clayman's heavy mark pressed into the parchment.

  “Go on.” Rowan clapped my back. "We'll wait."

  I nodded and walked toward the table. The line moved quickly, and soon I faced a senior student, his black uniform and polished boots stark against the worn leather and cloth of the applicants.

  "Late applicant?" His voice carried no emotion.

  "Yes." I handed over the letters.

  He took them without comment, glancing at the seals before passing them to an older man with a greying beard and a monocle. Caton Pickerin, I heard other applicants whispering his name. He read both letters carefully. His expression never changed, but when he finished, he nodded once and placed an approval seal on Medarth's letter while setting Lord Clayman's aside.

  “That will be all.” The student handed Medarth's letter back. "Stand with the others."

  I returned to Rowan and Alina. Around us, nearly a hundred applicants clustered in groups, faces showing equal measures of nerves and determination. Most were like us: latecomers, stragglers, those hoping for one last chance.

  The crowd's murmur died as the man stepped to the platform's edge.

  "Welcome, applicants, to the most prestigious and righteous trials in all of Ihera," he began, tone steady but hard. "My name is Reynard Thornveil. Many of you know me as the professor of defense against the magical arts.” He let the words sink in. “You stand here because you believe yourselves worthy of wielding magic. Because you dream of heights that only a few ever reach. Because you think of yourselves as the chosen ones. But understand this, your worth is nothing until you prove it by yourselves."

  A faint murmur rippled through the crowd, quickly silenced by his gaze.

  "We will give you that chance to prove yourselves. With these two assessments, written and practical. You will be tested on your knowledge, skill, and, more importantly, your character. Because wielding the power does not make you great, it’s the way you use it. So, do not falter. Above all..." His voice hardened. "Do not cheat. Anyone caught will face the most severe consequences."

  Rowan shifted beside me, muttering, "I'd rather not learn what he means by that."

  "Then don't even glance at another's work," I replied.

  Thornveil gestured to the young men nearby. "Your seniors will escort you to the assigned classroom. You must surrender all belongings before assessment begins. Fear not, they will be returned after the trials. Any questions?"

  Silence stretched across the crowd like a held breath.

  "Excellent," Thornveil said. "Now move!"

  The courtyard bustled with activity. Uniformed students moved along cobblestone paths cutting through manicured grass. Some wore silver trim, others crimson or green. The colours clearly marked houses, though I did not yet know which was which. Senior students passed, in grey-trimmed cloaks, billowing, heads held high with practiced indifference.

  The main building loomed ahead, an architectural marvel that seemed to mock time itself. Tall arched windows lined weathered stone walls, reflecting the morning light. Before reaching it, we turned left and followed a narrower path along the outer wall toward a smaller, older structure, its stone worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain.

  At the entrance, stern seniors directed applicants and collected belongings. Tables lined the wall, where packs and weapons were arranged, each marked with a parchment slip bearing a name in wet ink.

  Rowan stepped forward, grinning at the seniors as he handed over his battered pack.

  "Rowan Clayman," he said, casual as if he were in a tavern.

  Alina followed, her polished black suitcase looking far more at home. She gave her name coolly, without flourish.

  I stepped up next, my sword catching a senior's eye as I set it on the table beside my pack.

  "Einar Emberheart," I said, voice clipped.

  Next came the check. A senior stepped forward, wand in hand, and began tracing it along my body. Faint light trailed behind the wand's tip, pulsing with energy that prickled my skin. It passed over arms, chest, and legs before the senior nodded approval. I stepped forward, following others into the building.

  The room smelled of ink, aged wood, and fish oil from lamps burning along the walls. Windows on either side let in pale light that danced across rows of long benches and tables. Everything carried history's weight.

  "This place is massive," Rowan muttered. He turned to Alina. "Come, sit beside us."

  "Not a chance," Alina replied. "I'm not risking whatever scheme you two might pull."

  She strode forward and took a seat one row ahead, posture straight and proud.

  Rowan and I dropped onto a bench near the back. The desk was large enough for two, with quills and ink pots set neatly at each station.

  The room's chatter died instantly when the woman entered. She walked with purpose, black robe swaying along with her long dark hair as she moved to the front desk. She couldn't have been past her early thirties. Her dark eyes were sharp, her expression unreadable.

  "Good morning, applicants,” She spoke. “I am Cynthia Vale. I teach of beasts and wilds, and more importantly, of nature herself. I will oversee your written assessment."

  Her voice was smooth yet edged with command.

  "Before we begin, ensure you've surrendered all your belongings," she continued. "If anyone is caught with parchments or any means of cheating equipment, you will regret it deeply."

  Tense silence filled the room. Even Rowan, usually quick to jest, sat perfectly still.

  "Very well," she said, her tone shifting almost pleasant. "You will be given two hours to answer these carefully prepared questions to test your knowledge and character. Higher scores improve your chances of passing the trials. Fail to meet the threshold, and you may only earn points in the next assessment. But remember that those who score poorly here will have a hard time ahead of them."

  With a wand flick, stacks of parchment floated into the air, gliding gracefully toward each row. The papers landed neatly on front desks, and she gestured for them to be passed back.

  I took the sheet and handed the rest behind me, coarse parchment rough beneath my fingers. The exam packet was thicker than expected. I glanced at Rowan, who held his copy as if it might bite him. He gave me a nervous laugh.

  "You may begin," Professor announced.

  The questions were as difficult as they were confusing. Not one was easy enough to answer directly without asking about my own thoughts. Magic, potions, history, beasts. Some answers flowed easily. Others stalled me long enough to curse under my breath before moving on. I did not linger. Time was a weapon here. When moral questions appeared, I hesitated longer. Not because I lacked answers, but because I knew they were not here to test my knowledge. It was a test of the heart.

  Quills scratched against parchment, and nervous coughs echoed through the silent room. My hand cramped as I scrawled final answers, eyes flicking over the page, checking for mistakes.

  "Times up," Professor Vale’s voice cutting through the stillness.

  Around the room, quills dropped onto desks. Rowan sighed audibly beside me, slumping back as though he'd survived battle. I glanced at Alina, who sat with her quill neatly placed on the desk, her expression calm and confident.

  Professor waved her wand, and test papers flew from desks, stacking themselves neatly on her desk.

  "You may leave the classroom," she announced. "Your seniors wait outside. They will lead you to your next destination."

  Rowan exhaled beside me, relief evident. "Well, that wasn't terrible. Probably passed, I think."

  "We'll see," I replied.

  "That wasn't difficult.” Alina joined us as we filed out. “I'm aiming for the highest score," she said casually.

  "Of course you are," Rowan muttered, shaking his head with a smile. "The rest of us will settle for scraping by."

  "Speak for yourself," I added dryly.

  Outside, the seniors waited, expressions unreadable as stone. The courtyard buzzed with nervous energy as students filed from their rooms, and I felt anticipation building for whatever came next. Rowan, ever optimistic, clapped my shoulder.

  "Onward to the next trial," he said, grin never wavering.