"Every personality is associated with a color in Raze's mind, and so every time she acts out a personality she becomes the mask, her face hardens, softens and becomes gentle or tough depending on the role she needed to play, the girl of a hundred faces. And yet at the end of the day she was barely sixteen."

Razalea woke to the echoing sound of a bell tolling through the stone halls of the academy barracks. Dawn had barely broken, and already, movement filled the room. New recruits scrambled out of their bunks, donning their academy-issued tunics and securing weapons or satchels. The air buzzed with nerves and excitement. Aiden stirred beside her, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Is it time?"

"Looks like it," she muttered. She would coo at his adorableness if it weren't a stalk reminder of how in over their heads they were.

She could fend for herself well enough, but how in the abyss was she supposed to keep him out of harm's way? Her makeshift family had taught her more than just performance—self-defense, and, when necessary, the art of striking first. A few weeks after Hyrus had taken her in, offering a place among the troupe, he'd seen through the careful control in her movements, the sharp instincts that set her apart. Oh, how adept she was.

He hadn't pried. After all, secrets were the lifeblood of the playhouse, and every performer carried talents meant to be hidden. Instead, he had ensured she honed her skills, sending her from one troupe member to another, month after month. Swordplay from one, sleight of hand from another. Acrobatics, lockpicking, even the delicate art of mimicry—each skill layering over the next until nothing about her seemed singular everything unexpected. Nothing about her seemed natural. Every talent looked learned, picked up through time and exposure, and yet woven into her very being, burying whatever truth lay at her core. Ridian trained her when Hyrus couldn't, refining what she already knew and sharpening what she didn't. Every lesson, every skill, another layer of misdirection—another mask to wear..

She was a masterpiece, and yet it leaves one wondering where does the act begin and when does it end?

She stood, stretching out the stiffness in her limbs. The academy was far grander up close than she had ever cared to notice. Towering spires of stone, banners rippling against the cold morning air, and the sheer weight of centuries of history pressing down on the students within its walls. It wasn't just a school; it was a proving ground. A sharp rap at the barracks door silenced the murmuring crowd. The door swung open, revealing a figure clad in dark robes, a golden insignia embroidered across their chest. Razalea gagged involuntarily. She was lucky only Aiden noticed. At this rate, she might just end up blowing everything if she wasn't more careful." All recruits, outside. Now. "Razalea and Aiden followed the flow of soon-to-be students pouring out into the courtyard.

There, hundreds of recruits gathered in neat rows, murmuring amongst themselves as the academy's upper-ranked members stood before them. A woman with stern eyes and silver-streaked hair took a step forward. "I am Grand Inquisitor Rhenna. You stand on the threshold of greatness—or ruin. The trials are your first step into this academy. If you fail, you will no longer be with us." Razalea noticed how she was careful to avoid saying we'd most likely be dead although it was practically the same thing, those who failed but didn't die were few and they usually left with crushed dreams and a missing limb, if not worse

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" If you break, you will be discarded. If you prove your worth, you will earn your place."

Ah. There it was. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, a slow-building wave of speculation and unease. Razalea remained still, her gaze sweeping past Rhenna to the figures gathered behind her. She recognized Rein and Dyker among them, their expressions unreadable. But there were others—figures whose presence carried more weight than the academy instructors, their very stance dripping with authority. Some, she noted, held themselves with an arrogance that surpassed even the Inquisitor's.

Arrogant, haughty, self-righteous pricks.

A silver-haired young man with a face that was the very personification of a freshly dug grave looked amused. He glanced her way, a single pierced brow lifting in silent appraisal. She didn't look away, didn't flinch. She merely blinked, cool and measured, before continuing her assessment of those around her.

Rhenna gestured toward them. "This academy is divided into divisions, each honing a different skill set. Some of you will become Mages, wielders of spells, fortification barriers, and alchemical mastery. Some will become Riders, bonded to beasts of war—griffins, serpents, and dragons. Others will train as Assassins, masters of stealth, or Tacticians, the mind behind the battlefield. Each division is a path, but your journey through the trials will determine where you belong. "Aiden shifted beside her, his hands clenched into fists. He had no idea where he belonged. Neither did she but she would do everything to make sure they were together, well until she knew he was safe. Surely once they were fully fledged students, he'd be fine.

Rhenna continued, "But above these divisions exist the Three Circles—our academy's elite. These students are not defined by divisions but by their influence, skill, and status. "She turned toward the first group. "The Silver Order. They are strategists and politicians, trained not only in battle but in manipulation, negotiations, and control. They hold the academy's favor and ensure its public image remains untarnished." A group of well-dressed students stood in formation, their gazes sharp, assessing. Razalea spotted Rein among them, unsurprised. Dyker stood at the very top and center of his Circle, signifying his rank, she wasn't too surprised there either. "The Veilkeepers." Rhenna's voice was quieter now, almost reverent. "They are the academy's intelligence network. Masters of secrets, whispers, and hidden truths. If there is knowledge to be gained, they will have it first."

A group clad in dark navy robes remained motionless, their presence more like shadows than people. Razalea felt the weight of their eyes, unseen yet suffocating.

Finally, Rhenna's gaze hardened. "And then there are the Black Talons. The most feared and infamous among the student body. They act without care for perception or favor. If they take action, it is because they deem it necessary, not because they need permission. Their methods are unconventional, their reputation often ruthless."

Rhenna blew out a breath and not so subtly glared at the group who either ignored her or flashed her shameless grins.

The final group stood apart from the others. Their presence was undeniable—each figure radiating a confidence that teetered on arrogance. The tallest among them, a young man with inky black hair and striking golden eyes, tilted his head as though amused by the attention. He stood at the same position as Dyker in his Circle , she noticed the silver hair was in the last group too. Razalea didn't like the system already.

She didn't like any of them.

"You will earn your place in the academy," Rhenna concluded, voice ringing through the courtyard. "Your first trial begins in 10 minutes after you are briefed by Dyker, highest ranker of the Silver Order. Survive, and you may yet call this place home. Fail, and you will never set foot within these walls again."

Or die. Why do they always forget to mention they might die, Razalea growled in her head. The ground beneath them rumbled. Aiden tensed beside her. Razalea narrowed her eyes.

What now?