Chapter 1: The Stone That Waits
I was seventeen the winter the Dominion sent for me, the climb to the Academy tasted like iron, frost chewed through my boots, and the hill leaned away as if it wanted no part of me, every step pressed into stone that hummed in my jaw, not with sound, but with the same pressure I had carried all my life, the silence that was never silent.
The gate rose through fog, black walls and iron lattice, seals of red wax that looked too fresh, like the stone had been fed only yesterday, two guards waited there with spears planted, their faces unreadable, their eyes sharp enough to make me want to bow though I didn't.
I gave them the writ that had pulled me from the border village, parchment with the brand of Gifted Candidate burned in its margin, as if I had asked for it, as if it were a prize, the guard with the cracked lip skimmed it, grunted, then dropped a lead token into my palm.
"North Bastion," he said, his voice flat as stone, "intake bell at dawn, if you are late, the hill keeps you."
The token was colder than the frost around us, etched with three interlocked triangles, and the instant it touched my skin a hum ran up my wrist and into my teeth, the same hum I had known since I was a child, when my mother told me the world speaks if you are willing to listen, then she died, and I had to keep listening alone.
Inside, the courtyard held a crowd of children who pretended they were not children, some older, some younger, some trying to look dangerous, others trying not to look afraid, breath fogged the air, boots scuffed stone, nobody smiled.
I kept to the edge, safer there, easier to watch, but even the edge has wolves, one boy with cropped blond hair, pale eyes sharp as ice, flicked his token into the air and caught it with a smirk, "Border rat," he said, just loud enough, "you'll be back in the ditch before sundown."
I let my eyes fall to his hand, the token jumped once when it landed, and so did the vein in his wrist, "Your hand is shaking," I told him, my voice calm, "better pray the dirt doesn't take you first."
His smirk twitched, and when the line moved, he shoved his shoulder into me, but I felt it coming, the way I always felt a door opening in a storm, I leaned just enough, his push slipped, and he stumbled, catching himself before glaring as if I had stolen something from him, I let the small victory keep me warm.
A bell tolled, deep and heavy, the stone beneath us shivered, the sound wrapped itself inside my ribs, no one else seemed to notice, I pressed the token harder into my palm, and the hum steadied me.
From the steps above the courtyard, a woman came forward, hair cut close, no cloak despite the cold, armor dull, unadorned, she carried stillness like a blade, and everyone straightened when they saw her.
"I am Matron Sereth," she said, calm, cold, final, "the Dominion believes you might be sharpened into something useful, half of you will not see the thaw, if you want kindness, you should have died at home."
No one laughed, no one dared, her gaze moved across us, and for a moment it stopped on me, I held it though my stomach twisted, she glanced at the token clenched in my fist, then looked away, as if she already knew.
"The stone chooses truer than you do," she continued, "listen to it, it will guide your steps better than your pride."
Listen, the word pressed through me like fire, my mother's last word before the silence took her, listen.
Tutors in black coats moved through the lines, marking wrists with ash, sorting us by tokens, faces unreadable, quills scratching, when one reached me, he didn't even look at me, he grabbed my hand, smeared ash across my wrist, muttered, "North Bastion, Veilbinders probation, if you bleed, not on the books," then shoved me on.
The blond boy grinned as he passed, lips barely moving, "You'll bleed first."
I flexed my hand, felt the token's hum against my skin, steadying me more than his words could ever shake.
The northern yard opened wide, a bowl of stone and frost, at its center stood a massive arch, taller than the gate, carved with lines that bent the eye, not letters, not runes I knew, but something that made my jaw ache just to stare, the arch seemed alive, like a rib torn from the earth itself, waiting.
That was when I heard it, not the arch, but something smaller, broken, a whimper.
I turned, only a glance, behind a barrel near the wall, a small creature crouched in frost, fur matted, one ear torn, a horn snapped jagged above its brow, its eyes yellow and too bright for the gray morning, when they met mine, the token in my palm pulsed in answer, my breath caught.
I looked away quickly, heart pounding, no one else noticed, tutors barked orders, recruits shuffled, the arch groaned as if something inside it wanted out.
The bell rang again, sharp, final, the Trials were about to begin, the token in my hand hummed without pause, and the creature's eyes never left me.