The front gate of the Academy rose like the mouth of a fortress carved from night itself. Black stone and Aethersteel blended into a monolithic structure, its surface traced with pulsing blue runes that shimmered like veins beneath skin.

  As Aelric’s carriage approached, the gate awakened.

  Light flared in branching patterns, scanning every inch of the vehicle and its occupants.

  Kaela braced her boots against the floor. “Here we go.”

  The scan washed over Joren.

  Bran steadied him.

  Lira tensed.

  Sera whispered reassurance.

  Tyren buzzed with restless excitement.

  The moment the light reached Joren’s chest, the pitch shifted.

  The runes flickered—

  twice—

  then snapped into alert brightness.

  The walls vibrated as a pulse of energy swept outward.

  The soldiers along the battlements stiffened.

  Mages halted mid-step.

  Several trainees paused their drills, watching with wary curiosity.

  The gate had found something it did not like.

  A pair of instructors stepped forward through the half-open archway.

  One was a broad-shouldered man with scarred arms and a stance carved from combat experience. His gaze swept Joren like a blade cutting through fog.

  “Vael,” he said to Aelric. “You brought trouble.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Aelric answered calmly. “You asked for recruits who could endure your teaching.”

  “I asked for talent. Not a breach waiting to happen.”

  The woman beside him was his opposite—slender, sharp, bright-eyed behind a lattice of crystalline hairpins. Her robes shimmered with silver thread, her attention locked wholly on Joren.

  “So this is him,” she whispered. “Fascinating.”

  Kaela murmured to Joren, “That’s Sel Nyra. Try not to explode. She’ll take notes.”

  Nyra circled him once.

  “Any pressure? Echo overlap? Sudden dread? Shard resonance?” she asked.

  Joren blinked. “…Occasionally.”

  She beamed. “Wonderful. He’s stable enough.”

  The scarred man scowled. “Sel. Control yourself.”

  “You control the soldiers, Draven,” she replied. “Let me control my excitement.”

  Aelric cleared his throat. “Marshal Draven Tor. Arcanist Sel Nyra. This is Joren of Graythorn.”

  Draven crossed his arms. “Before he steps inside my Academy, he passes a test. Combat. Control. Instinct.”

  Joren swallowed. “Now?”

  “Now.”

  Kaela patted Joren’s shoulder. “If you die, I’ll avenge you.”

  “Kaela,” Aelric said.

  “What? It’s supportive.”

  They entered a circular arena behind the gate. The ground was inscribed with glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Runes along the walls responded as Draven stepped into the far end of the arena.

  “Draw,” he said. “Your test begins as soon as you do.”

  Joren unsheathed his blade.

  Draven moved instantly.

  He crossed the arena in a blur, fist wreathed in Aether. Joren blocked, the force shuddering through his bones.

  “Too slow.”

  A kick swept his legs out.

  A strike forced him to roll aside.

  Aether crackled around each blow.

  “You think before you act,” Draven snapped. “Wrong.”

  Joren gritted his teeth. “I’m trying.”

  “Try faster.”

  Draven drove a palm strike straight toward Joren’s chest.

  The Shard reacted.

  A cold pulse burst outward, warping the air around Joren. The arena runes flickered in surprise. Draven’s strike slid off-target, redirected by a force neither of them fully understood.

  Nyra gasped. “He shaped the resonance—instinctively!”

  Joren didn’t understand. He only moved—

  And the next moment, his blade struck Draven’s shoulder. Not hard enough to wound, but enough to prove reflex.

  Draven stepped back, rubbing the spot.

  “Messy,” he said.

  “Barely controlled.”

  A pause.

  “…Acceptable.”

  Nyra clapped once. “He’s in!”

  Joren blinked. “…That’s it?”

  Draven pointed to him. “You barely passed. Get inside before I change my mind.”

  Nyra handed Joren a silver bracer etched with tiny runes. “Limiter and monitor. Wear it.”

  It felt cold as it clasped around his arm.

  Aelric approached. “You did well.”

  Joren nodded softly.

  Draven jerked his thumb toward the inner gate. “Welcome to the Academy of Aethersteel. Don’t die.”

  Nyra added brightly, “And make friends! Preferably non-explosive ones.”

  The gates opened fully.

  Joren stepped inside.

  The Academy swallowed him whole.