“Blegh. My mouth tastes like coal every time I use that highspell.” Sybil complained hoarsely.

Ben laughed and spilled hot yarrow tea on his thighs. “Hey, you’re not the only one suffering here. Gods, that hurt!”

It was a fine, early summer morning. There was a blue sky overhead, unblemished by rogue clouds or foul weather. The sun cast such a warm glow over Sweeney Manor that even the old chateau lost some of its lugubrious aspect. Birds chirped merrily, and a light breeze rustled through the sparse leaves of the trees that mottled the gardens.

Days had passed since the Battle of Brigid Festival—as the Grigori were now calling it—and after a brief period of recovery, they now enjoyed the last peaceful days in Ochrefriars at their own leisure. Encouraged by Wilhelm, Sybil had been devoting her time to mastering a fire highspell, while Ben honed the foundations of his own armspell training.

“Alright, here goes nothing,” Sybil said, harnessing the surrounding magic. She then intoned the corresponding incantation. “Blaze, Fiery Breath.”

She took in a deep gulp of air, her chest puffing out, and spewed fire from her mouth like a dragon. For a moment, white-hot flames roared forth, but they were quickly reduced to a single flame plume before extinguishing entirely. Black smoke billowed out instead, and Sybil started to cough again.

“Getting closer, Syb. At least you didn’t set your hair on fire this time.” Ben chuckled, careful not to spill his tea this time around.

Sybil glared at him through watery eyes, still coughing. “Very funny. Maybe you should try it yourself and see how easy it is.” She gave up and took a break as well, moving to sit with Ben on one of the courtyard benches. Shoulders slumped, she wiped the soot from her lips with the back of her hand. “I’ll never get it right at this rate.”

Ben offered her a sympathetic smile. “At this rate? It’s been half a week. Relax; you’ll get it eventually.”

She sighed, leaning back and closing her eyes. The sunlight felt good on her face, unlike the harsh flames she was trying to conjure. “Hm. Maybe you’re right.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Ben sipped his tea more carefully this time, his thoughts drifting back over the past few months.

He marveled at how far they’d come since they first started their training. Back then, the idea of casting even the simplest spell seemed like an insurmountable challenge. But now, after the Battle of Brigid Festival, they wielded their grimoires with a newfound confidence and control. Real-life experience had done wonders for their sorcery.

Yet, therein lay the problem. Ben clicked his tongue in annoyance as he remembered Bloodmask’s words: Your grimoires are still very limited. A shame. They needed to learn more spells, but that was easier said than done. Good thing we’re headed to Mag Mell Academy soon.

“Bloodmask. What an audacious fellow,” Sybil said out of the blue, as if reading his thoughts. “And he looked our age, didn’t he? I wonder how he got so powerful.”

Ben pondered for a moment as he swirled the tea in his mug absentmindedly. “Using those insane power-up ampoules?” He offered.

Sybil shook her head, her expression thoughtful. “He fought Orangier for a while before he used the first ampoule. Also, power-up or not, he confronted a whole Warlock Corps regiment, and he didn’t give Wilhelm an easy time at all. I doubt we could do that, even with the help of those ampoules.”

Ben nodded, conceding her point with a resigned sigh. “What was in those godsdamned vials, anyway?”

It had been a rhetorical question, but Sybil answered it all the same. “Sweeney says we’d need a sample for him to analyze to learn its properties, so I guess that’s in the books now. Nothing legal or safe, though, that’s for sure.”

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The mention of the mysterious ampoules reminded Ben of their precarious nature. Whoever had crafted them had clearly mastered a dark and dangerous art. He couldn’t shake the image of Bloodmask in a state of berserk, and, in that moment, he felt more pity than hatred for their enemy.

“There’s also the matter of this Tome of Agatos that the Necromancer mentioned,” Sybil added. “It seems like two questions sprout up for every answer we receive.”

“The World That Is Not. It hasn’t been long since we crossed into this realm—we’ve only scratched the tip of the iceberg. We’ll get all the answers we need in due time,” Ben said with renewed resolve. “But first things first. We have to pass the tests of the Triagonal Trials, no matter what.”

“You’re right in that regard, lad,” Wilhelm said from afar. Ben and Sybil turned around; he was strolling toward them at a leisurely pace. They looked at their mentor with a mix of curiosity and expectation.

“Mind if I join you?” Wilhelm asked, but he sat before they could respond. He crossed one leg over the other and rested his arms comfortably on the bench.

“Sure thing,” Ben replied. “We were just taking a breather.”

“Preparing for the Trials, I see. An admirable effort, you two. Everything’s set up and ready for you to be there. Just remember what your name is, eh, my pupil?”

“Amber Sweeney,” Sybil repeated tiredly. “Distant niece to the Lord Ambrose Sweeney, twice-removed.”

“Good, good.” Wilhelm cheered. “To maintain a fake identity in a world of sorcerers is no easy feat. The Circle has already registered your magical activity, but they still don’t have a name or face to match it with. Not until the Triagonal Trials, that is. Lady Dio has already made sure that no one will contest your version, so you should be safe once you’re in Mag Mell.”

“You sound awful sure that we’ll pass the Trials.” Ben remarked.

Wilhelm beamed a broad smile at them. “I trained Sybil, and I vouched for you, Ben. Remember, you’re part of the Grigori Society now. Of course you’ll pass.”

Sybil arched an eyebrow, curious. “What exactly are the Triagonal Trials about, Wil?”

Wilhelm chuckled softly, his gaze momentarily distant as he contemplated how best to explain. “Ah, if only I could tell you,” he said with teasing regret.

“What do you mean? You can just tell us,” Ben demanded.

“Remember the Water of Vows when you swore your oath to the Society? The Trials operate under a similar principle: it’s binding sorcery. Those who undertake them can’t discuss the specifics with anyone who hasn’t faced them yet.”

Ben exchanged a glance with Sybil, understanding dawning on them. “So, we’ll be going in blind?”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking,” Wilhelm affirmed. “But you’ll be okay. Everyone else is going in blind, too!”

“What even is the point of the Triagonal Trials?” Sybil asked.

“Its purpose is twofold,” Wilhelm explained. “It tests the adaptability, resourcefulness, and magical prowess of the candidates, and serves as an opportunity to showcase their potential to other full-fledged sorcerers of the Circle. You never know who is watching, who is impressed, or what implications this might have. Second, it serves as an effective way of weeding out those who aren’t cut out to be sorcerers.

Ben shuddered. The thought of being banished from the World That Is Not and losing his status as a sorcerer was a terrifying prospect. He stood up, prepared to resume his training immediately. “We’ll have to be quick on our feet, then.”

Wilhelm smiled approvingly. “Precisely. And you’ve shown yourself to be good at it, so don’t be too worried. Orangier and I will be in the audience to support you as well. Anyhow, that’s all I wanted to discuss. Got places to be—no rest for the wicked, you know how it is. Toodledo.”

He bid them farewell and left them to their own devices. Motivated by Wilhelm’s words, they spent the rest of the afternoon immersed in rigorous training. As the sun traversed the azure sky, they pushed themselves to the limits of their abilities.

Thus, the day drew to a close, the setting sun casting long shadows across the grounds of Sweeney Manor. Tired as can be, they retired to their respective quarters of the household. Ben collapsed on his bed, the single fae-lamp on his nightstand flickering dimly in the dark.

Ben sat on the edge of his bed and reflected on everything that had transpired since his adventure started—the loss of his friend Nut back at St. Dunsany’s and the evil witches that ran the orphanage; the Lupari hunt that he had joined in the Blackwoods, much against his will; the eerie visions that he had experienced in the Hengeway, and the countless wonders he had witnessed since he had arrived in Dool. A year ago, he could never have envisioned being entangled in such fantastical circumstances, yet now, there was no denying his reality.

Despite the dangers that loomed ahead, be it Bloodmask, the Necromancer, or the Trials, Ben felt a sense of purpose and belonging that he had never felt before. He was prepared to face the challenges ahead, unwavering in his resolve to safeguard the precious, makeshift family they had established in Ochrefriars 404 with unwavering dedication.

As his thoughts drifted, a gentle knock at the window interrupted his reverie. Ben approached and opened it, only to be surprised by Sybil. She hovered midair, two spheres of condensed air beneath her feet keeping her afloat.

“It’s time to resume our nighttime outings.” Sybil declared with a mischievous grin.

Ben grinned back at her. “I can’t argue with that.”

With a silent nod, he jumped from the third-story window, tugging at the magic that swirled around him as he went. He cast an armspell just before he landed. “Fortify!” A reddish sheen enshrouded him and absorbed the impact of the landing without a hitch.

Sybil followed suit and landed gracefully beside him. They slipped away through the arched gateway, their footsteps blending with the other sounds of the city. Darkness fell on Dool, and they had it all for themselves. Climbing on a rooftop, they surmised the moonlit port below them. Ben smiled. Some things just never changed, orphan or sorcerer. They vaulted toward the next roof and disappeared into the night.