Again, he was alone. Maybe he was cursed. Maybe Lud had died because of him. The guilt gnawed at his core, heavy and unrelenting.

  If he hadn’t been there, hadn’t drawn attention—maybe the creature would never have come. The thought festered, clouding everything. Desperate to feel something else. Anything else would be an improvement. River reached for the crystal ball and pressed his hands to it. He focused, poured his thoughts into it, willing it to respond. But the orb only flickered, unsteady and chaotic, shifting between every color like it couldn’t decide who he was either. He sighed and let his hands fall away. River hadn’t looked back—he didn’t want to see what might be behind him. He walked for over a day, hours blurring together in silence. Only when the sun dipped low again did he finally stop. He slipped the satchel from his shoulder, grabbed it by the handle, and gently set it on the ground. He’d been meaning to inspect it since... Lud had died. But the truth was, he hadn’t dared to stop—hadn’t trusted himself to. Peering inside, he found nothing—just darkness. He reached into the bag, but there was no end, no bottom he could feel. Puzzled, he ran his fingers along the soft interior, tracing the seams. Then, suddenly, he felt something—an engraving. He flipped the bag over and squinted at the base. A thin line of runes etched into the material shimmered faintly in the fading light. As his fingers brushed over them and he focused, he could feel essence being drawn into the symbols, pulled from the air around him. The bag was absorbing energy, powering itself somehow.

  River sighed. He wasn’t going to figure this out alone. Setting the bag aside, he turned to the only thing he could do: practice. He pulled out the crystal. Soul strengthening still felt dangerous without Lud around. Just the thought of the man—the first person who had ever treated him with even a shred of respect—tightened something in his chest. He closed his eyes and focused, reaching for the essence and shaping his intent. Again and again, until he could go no further. His eyes stung with unshed tears; he’d forgotten to blink. His head throbbed, his legs were stiff, but he still wasn’t hungry. He still wasn’t tired. He wasn’t sure if it was due to fear—or if something had changed. Gathering his things, River stepped back onto the path and continued walking. Time blurred to dust and drills; by dawn the road thickened with carts and voices. He shoved the feeling down. Distraction was dangerous.

  On the third day, just as the early morning light painted the sky in pale hues, River saw it— Dougan rose in color and noise; above it the academy bit straight into the mountain—balconies cut from rock, light caught on runes. Close to power, far from mercy. Close enough for noble heirs to reach; far enough for the Court to call it “independent” when it suited them, the school’s image intact.

  Intricate designs glimpsed in the morning sun, casting soft glows and long shadows. He wished Lud could see this.

  He should’ve been here—grinning, rambling about every carving like they mattered. But he wasn’t. Magical, River thought. Then he chuckled under his breath. “Oh, shit. Right—actually just magic.”

  It took him longer than expected to reach the city. As he entered, the silence of the road vanished. The streets buzzed with life—people moved with purpose in a kind of organized confusion. River was overwhelmed. He wasn’t sure how to find the school, but after some wandering, he approached one of the guards at the main gate. The guard was huge, his beard spilling from the helmet. River opened his mouth—

  “Third right.” The man pointed uphill. River nodded quickly, not wanting to add to the man’s irritation. “Thank you.”

  Near the school, Dougan’s upper city changed—glass-bright cobbles, guards looking past him; the kind of polish nobles paid for.

  The mountain’s door waited, black and sheer. Runes stirred. The slab groaned and swung inward. The cold air brushed his limbs; for a breath his heel skidded.

  He slipped inside and glanced around. The mountain swallowed him whole, and the door shut gently behind him. A steward pointed. “Here for the entrance exam?” the man asked plainly. River nodded. The man gestured up the stairs. “Follow the hall. You’ll know where to go.” River climbed the steps, his fingers brushing the carved railing. At the top, a wide blue door stood closed, but muffled sounds leaked from the room behind it. Beside the door sat a man at a tiny desk, perched on an unnaturally bright red chair.

  A man slumped at a tiny desk—the red chair did most of the work. As River approached, the man barely looked up. “Name, age, affinity?”

  River froze. This probably wasn’t Alerus. He couldn’t be that lucky. Swallowing, he met the man’s gaze and said, “River. Fourteen. Don’t know.” The man raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know? That’s a first.” He scribbled something on a slip of paper, then handed it to River. “Go inside. Sit down. Take this.”

  The paper read:

  #62 - Name: River - Age: 14 - Affinity: ?

  The clerk made a second copy without looking up “one for the school, one for records,” he muttered, not minding River even as he fidgeted.

  River opened the heavy blue door and stepped inside. His eyes widened—then dropped to the floor. It was overwhelming.

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  The silence. The flicker of a hundred faces turning toward him. The towering banners that loomed like monuments. Too clean, too bright—too noble. Jewelry flashed with house crests; even a few seats had bodyguards standing behind them. His stomach clenched. He curled his hands into fists, knuckles white. He didn’t belong here—and everyone could probably tell.

  Gold and glass blazed from the walls; banners showed a lone mage, lightning in one hand, earth in the other.” Between each banner, torches larger than anything he had ever seen lit the vast auditorium. This was real. This was magic. Something he had feared to even dream of.

  “Forty-three!” The line crept forward. River sat, palms damp. Don’t flicker, just earth.

  River found an empty chair and sank into it. His legs throbbed with each movement, and he was sure his feet were covered in blisters. He hadn’t worn shoes regularly in years, and it was starting to catch up with him. At least it gave him time to think. He hadn’t figured out how to trick the crystal yet. What would he do when it was his turn? He could only pray, just this once, that it wouldn’t flicker into all those colors again.

  Trying to distract himself, he glanced to his side—and immediately tensed. Next to him sat someone massive. The boy had to be at least two heads taller than River and three times as wide. River stifled a nervous chuckle. The giant extended a hand. “My name’s Albert. Albert Godfried. Son of the Duke of Atrium.” River's heart skipped. Atrium… That was one of Norvil’s biggest northern trading partners, he remembered. Avoiding direct eye contact, River muttered, “I’m River. It’s nice to meet you.” He reached out and clasped Albert’s hand quickly, then let his gaze drop again. To his relief, Albert didn’t seem to mind. He smiled—relaxed and kind, despite his towering frame.

  They chatted. Nothing too deep—just enough to pass the time. River quickly learned that Albert was a gentle soul. His affinity was nature magic, and he’d grown up tending to animals and gardens on his family’s estate. It felt good—surreal, almost—to speak with someone who wasn’t trying to con him, ignore him, or chase him off. River kept his own answers vague. What would happen if he revealed too much. He told Albert he liked being outdoors doing things such as climbing or running. Things he wasn’t exactly fond of but had done a lot of. Survival did that. He also admitted he didn’t know his affinity yet. Albert nodded thoughtfully. “You’ll find out soon. That’s why we’re here, right?” He explained that the crystal—like the one River had trained with alongside Lud—would draw out the most dominant element from his essence. If the concentration was strong enough, the administrators would mark him as apt. Otherwise, he’d fail. River offered a faint smile. For the first time that day, he didn’t feel completely alone. Albert smiled back, but for a brief moment, a flicker of puzzlement crossed his face.

  Then—“Fifty-six!”

  The call rang out again from the platform. Albert groaned and stood, seeming even larger now that he was upright. “My turn. Good luck,” he said with a grin. “Thank you,” River replied. The next few minutes passed in an agonizing crawl. He shifted in his seat, his body tense. His nerves frayed more with every name called.

  “Sixty.”

  “Sixty-one.”

  His heart thundered in his chest. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking, couldn’t stop biting his nails.

  “Sixty-two!”

  He froze. For a moment, he didn’t think he could move. His knees wobbled as he stood, each step forward heavier than the last. What if he couldn’t control it? The thought screamed in his head. Eyes followed him as he made his way awkwardly toward the platform. As he climbed the steps, one foot caught—and the floor rose up to meet him. Laughter rippled through the room. He ignored it, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself up again. Standing now at the platform. His voice moved so softly that River almost didn’t make out what he said. “Are you all right, boy?” “I’m fine, thank you,” River answered, managing only a small tremor in his voice.

  He handed over the slip of paper he’d been given outside. The man took it, gave a short nod, and motioned him toward a long wooden table. Three other students were already there, hands pressed against their own crystal spheres. One crystal glowed green.

  Another remained dull.

  The third flickered with a strange, sickly yellow.

  “Pass.”

  “Fail.”

  “Fail,” the administrator called out in succession.

  The girl on the end, the one who passed, nearly collapsed with relief. The boy in the middle, whose crystal hadn't responded at all, turned red with frustration.

  “It’s faulty! Let me try again!” The administrator shook his head and placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Do you know who my father is?” the boy snapped. It didn’t help. The administrator didn’t even flinch as he guided him away. The last boy sat silently, staring at the dim yellow crystal. “But it glowed…” “I’m sorry, lad,” the administrator said gently. “It just wasn’t enough.” His name hadn’t been called, but he knew. It was River’s turn. His hands trembled as he took his place, palms resting on the familiar cool surface of the crystal.

  Memories flooded him—his last attempt, the chaos of colors, the panic. What if this crystal did the same? His instincts screamed at him to run. Each possible outcome seemed worse than the last. But Lud had told him to do this. And River trusted him. Focus on earth, he reminded himself. You’re surrounded by a mountain.

  He closed his eyes. He pictured the deep, rumbling strength of the ground. The smell of stone and soil. The vast, unshifting presence of it. He thought of weight, pressure, and patience. And slowly… the crystal turned a shimmering, earthen brown. He exhaled, relief flooding through him. The administrator’s eyes flicked up, then down, scribbling something on the paper. It was working—he’d remembered Lud’s lesson. But as the tension left his body, his concentration slipped. The crystal shifted. The brown hue deepened, then bled into vibrant, fire-like reds—molten and alive. The administrator froze. “Interesting…” he murmured, scratching something out and writing again. And then, it started. Other colors flickered. Green. Yellow. Then more. River yanked his hands back in a panic, scanning the room. Had anyone seen? No. Everyone was still focused on their own tests. The administrator raised the slip of paper.

  “Pass! Two affinities!”

  Silence fell as every head turned.