The doors groaned open, and we stepped into a chamber so vast it could have swallowed the entire ballroom twice over. The ceiling arched into darkness, streaked with veins of silver light that pulsed like veins beneath skin. At the center of the floor lay an intricate circle of runes, etched deep into black stone—shimmering faintly, alive.
I wasn't the only one holding my breath.
All twenty of us were gathered here now—first years at the Academy, arranged in uneven clusters. Some stood close to their friends, others—like me—hovered at the edge, pretending the emptiness at my side was intentional.
Reis was at the far end, of course, surrounded by a ripple of respect like gravity bent toward him. Kael lingered near, leaning on a column with that easy smile, as if this were a game he'd already learned the rules for.
A low voice rolled from the shadows. "The second trial," the proctor announced. His face was obscured beneath a hood, but his words carried sharp as glass. "You enter together. You will not leave that way."
I stiffened. A murmur swept the room. Before I could glance at anyone else, the floor shuddered.
The runes blazed white-hot.
Walls erupted from the ground—smooth slabs, sliding like closing jaws. Students yelped, stumbled, clutched at each other before being ripped apart as the floor split, the light dragging barriers into place. The chamber fractured into a dozen twisting corridors, carving us into separate teams like meat.
I staggered backward, heart hammering, as the floor locked with a hiss. When the dust cleared, I wasn't alone—but I wasn't with Kael or Reis either.
And then I saw him.
Lorian. Of course fate had a sense of humor. And other two first years.
His lean figure lounged against the far wall like this was a leisurely stroll instead of a death trial. His mouth curled into a grin the moment his dark gaze found mine.
"Well, well," he murmured, pushing off the stone with a lazy stretch. "Looks like luck decided to make me your shadow today."
I stiffened. "Don't flatter yourself."
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, Firebird." His grin widened. "But I will take credit for being the most charming member of your little team."
My teeth ground together. Before I could answer, the floor gave a sudden pulse beneath our boots.
A glyph blazed into existence, burning white-hot on the stone floor—spirals and sigils curling like molten veins, alive and humming with a strange rhythm. It cast sharp shadows up the walls, making the room look like a cage of light and ink.
The whispers began next.
Soft at first, like wind brushing through leaves. Then growing—a chorus of voices curling through the air, seductive and venomous. The walls rippled, darkness peeling away like tar to form shapes that shouldn't move, shouldn't breathe—yet did.
Faces. Hands. Shadows with teeth.
One of the first-years whimpered. The other gripped his wrist like it would keep the shadows out.
I tried to focus on the runes. Words shimmered at the center of the glyph in a script that bent and twisted, but somehow I understood:
"Through sight, through shadow. Only what is true shall break the seal."
Lorian crouched, studying the glyph with maddening calm as shadows slid closer. "Truth, hmm?" He looked up at me, smirk intact though his eyes were sharp now. "You're good at that, Firebird? Telling truth from lies?"
Before I could retort, a voice—smooth, warm—slid into my ear like silk.
"Cressida."
My breath froze. My mother's voice.
The shadows gathered, thickening into a figure draped in familiar shapes—a worn blue shawl, long fingers I'd held as a child. My mother's face formed in the gloom, smiling.
I stumbled back, pulse hammering so hard it drowned everything.
"Come home," she whispered, arms opening like she could gather me up again.
The first-years cried out as their own illusions rose—one saw a boy with blood dripping down his chin, another a burning house.
I knew it wasn't real. I knew it.
But gods, it felt real.
"Cressida." Lorian's voice sliced through the fog. Firm. Grounded. "Eyes on me."
I dragged my gaze to him. His illusion was forming too—a silhouette coiling out of the dark like smoke, whispering promises I couldn't hear. His jaw tightened, and for one raw heartbeat his mask slipped—something dangerous and hungry flickered in his eyes.
Then it was gone. He smirked again like nothing touched him.
"Charming party," he said lightly, though his sword was out now, cutting through a claw that lunged too close. "But I think they want us to play truth or dare."
The glyph pulsed brighter as the shadows thickened. The message burned in my mind:
Only what is true shall break the seal.
What did that mean?
I staggered closer to the runes, the whispers clawing at my skull. My mother's voice was louder now, pleading, loving—real.
And then my fingers brushed the glyph.
Light exploded.
Not white. Not silver. Fire.
A golden-red flare roared up from the sigil where my skin touched it, ripping through the illusions in a blistering sweep. Shadows shrieked as they burned away like ash in a gale. The voices died mid-cry, torn apart by that impossible light.
The shadows didn't break when I struck them. They multiplied.
For every one that fell to my blade, two more rose. We were drowning in them, gasping in a darkness that felt alive. Lorian swore under his breath, yanking one off before he sank it into its throat.
"This isn't working!" I shouted, slashing through another phantom that dissolved like smoke. "They're endless!"
"No," Lorian snarled, eyes darting across the chamber like he was seeing something I didn't. "Not endless. Anchored."
"Anchored?" the first year coughed, blood streaking his jaw.
Lorian's gaze cut toward the floor—those faint glyphs glowing at odd angles, weaving across the stones. They weren't random. They formed something. A circle. A lock.
"The glyphs," I breathed. "They're not decoration."
Lorian was already moving, slicing through shadows as he lunged toward the largest sigil at the center. "They're feeding the shades," he yelled. "Break the seal—NOW!"
I dropped to my knees beside the nearest glyph, tracing the carved lines with trembling fingers. Ancient symbols, sharp and curling. Something in me remembered them—like echoes in blood.
The first year who I now recognized as Coral slammed her dagger into one, but it only sparked. "They won't break!"
"They're not meant to," I said, voice hoarse. "They're meant to be unbound."
And before I could question it, my hands were moving. Not like they were mine—like they belonged to the woman in the vision. Glyphs blooming under her fingertips. Fire flickering in the grooves.
The symbols pulsed, alive, resisting—until I spoke. Words I didn't know I knew.
"Veythar an solis."
The glyph shattered in a burst of light.
The shades screamed. All of them. Like a thousand voices ripped from the dark. They unraveled into smoke, sucked toward the broken seal as if the chamber itself was breathing them in.
When the light cleared, silence fell. The air tasted of ash and old magic.
The lock was broken.
Lorian stared at me, his blade dripping black ichor, eyes burning with questions I didn't want to hear.
Coral gave a shaky laugh. "Remind me never to play cards against you."
I couldn't laugh. My hands still glowed faintly, glyphs curling across my skin like living embers before fading.
And the fear in my chest wasn't about what I'd faced.
It was about what I'd just done—and why it felt like coming home.
The heavy stone door ground open, groaning like it hadn't been moved in centuries. The three of us stumbled out, smoke still clinging to our clothes, the taste of ash bitter in my throat.
For one breathtaking moment, there was silence. Then the instructors saw us.
Whispers swept across the hall like wind through brittle leaves.
Three figures stood at the forefront: Archon Veyric, silver hair braided back like steel threads; Mistress Elira, who could freeze blood with a glance; and the ever-watchful Master Corren.
Their expressions were a study in contrasts.
Shock. Calculation. A flicker of something sharper.
Veyric stepped forward, boots echoing like hammers against the marble. His gaze cut over the three of us, lingering on the faint scorch marks curling up my arms before I could shove my sleeves down.
"Impressive," he said softly. Too softly. "You completed the trial."
"Barely," Lorian muttered, sliding his sword back into its sheath.
Elira's eyes narrowed like blades, glinting with frost. "Barely," she repeated, voice silk over steel. "And yet… the last team to face the Shade Trial was wiped out in under five minutes. How long were you in there?"
Lorian managed a crooked smile. "Long enough to break a sweat."
A ripple of laughter from the crowd. It didn't touch the instructors.
Corren finally spoke, and his voice was rough as gravel. "The glyphs were meant to be unbreakable. A binding ward older than any of you. Tell me, Miss—" His eyes bored into me, sharp as glass. "How did you know what to do?"
Every breath in the hall turned to ice.
My heart hammered so loud I was sure everyone could hear it. My tongue felt heavy, chained.
"I…" I started, but Veyric raised a hand, silencing me like a blade drawn mid-strike.
"Enough." His voice rang out, final and cold. "The trial was completed. That is all that matters."
But as his hand fell, his eyes locked on mine. Piercing. Burning. Like he had just read every secret written in my bones.
"Dismissed."
We walked away under a rain of whispers and stares. I could feel the heat of their gazes trailing like phantom claws, and for the first time tonight, the darkness in the chamber felt safer than the light of this hall.