That's when I spot Alenya, glaring at us disdainfully like we're something nasty she stepped in. Bob immediately starts making rude gestures that I'm glad only Finn can see.
"Well, well," she drawls. "If it isn't the misfit squad. You should stick to the shadows where you belong—out of sight."
The barb stings. My shadows quiver, but Malrik steps forward, looming over Alenya with dangerous grace.
"Watch that forked tongue," he says, voice low. The shadows around him seem to deepen. "Unless you'd like me to remove it."
Alenya’s perfect mask cracks for a split second as her gaze flicks between Malrik and me. She recovers quickly, but I catch the unease in her eyes before she stalks away. I'm caught between feeling touched by his defense and unnerved by the casual threat.
"Geez, Mal," Finn whispers while Finnick makes exaggerated swooning motions. "Remind me never to piss you off."
As more students file in, Bob takes up a protective stance, Patricia organizes the other shadows into formation, and Finnick practices dramatic death scenes. At least someone's enjoying themselves.
The voices die down as Professor Thorne strides to the center, his dark robes billowing. His sharp gray gaze scans the room, lingering on me a heartbeat too long. My shadows twist closer.
"Welcome, first-years," his smooth voice carries effortlessly. "Today marks the beginning of a hallowed Arcanum tradition—the Dignus Trials."
A collective intake of breath ripples through the crowd. Even Finn is uncharacteristically silent. Bob abandons his stance to peer intently at Thorne while Patricia vibrates with the need to document every word.
Thorne's lips curl into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "These trials separate the exceptional from the adequate. In a few weeks, you face your first lone trial—a test of individual prowess and magical mastery."
My stomach flips. A few weeks? I can barely control my shadows on a good day. Finnick, sensing my distress, attempts a cartwheel that only makes me more nervous.
"Following that," Thorne continues, "you will undergo team trials within your factions. Your success—or failure—determines your standing here." His gaze fixes on me again, though I don’t think anyone else notices. "Some of you may require... additional guidance to reach your full potential."
I glance at my group—Aspen's jaw is set with determination; Torric looks ready to either be sick or punch something; Malrik's face is unreadable, but tension radiates from him like heat.
"Remember," Thorne's gaze sweeps over us, "at Arcanum, mediocrity is not an option. The trials will test not just your magical ability, but your very essence."
As the crowd disperses, murmuring anxiously, I remain rooted. The weight of Thorne's words crashes over me like a tidal wave. My shadows mirror my anxiety, writhing restlessly around my feet while Mouse presses against my leg, a solid warmth against the cold dread settling in my stomach.
How can I possibly measure up?
As we file out of the combat arena, my mind whirls like a tempest. The Dignus Trials. The words echo in my head, each repetition amplifying the dread that's settled deep in my bones. My shadows writhe anxiously, their usually playful movements now frantic and erratic. Bob keeps darting ahead, then rushing back as if he can't decide whether to scout or protect. Patricia's busy muttering to herself, probably compiling lists of every magical skill I need to master in the next few weeks. And Finnick? He's alternating between dramatic fainting spells and what I can only describe as shadow push-ups.
I hang back as the others start up the winding staircase, my gaze drawn to Torric's broad shoulders. Unlike the rest of us, he and Aspen hadn't seemed shocked by Thorne's announcement. Curious and desperate for any insight, I fall into step beside him.
"Hey," I say, trying to keep my voice casual. "Can I ask you something?"
Torric grunts, which I take as assent. Up close, I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his golden eyes flicker with something that looks suspiciously like concern.
"You didn't look surprised," I press on. "About the trials, I mean. Did you... know about them?"
He's quiet for a long moment, and I start to think he's going to ignore me. But then he sighs, running a hand through his wild mane of hair. "Yeah," he admits gruffly. "I knew."
"How?" I ask, my curiosity piqued. I would have asked Aspen, but something he'd said earlier about their father had made me hesitate. "I mean, everyone else looked like Thorne had just announced we were going to be fed to dragons or something."
A wry smile tugs at Torric's lips. "Dragon-feeding is next semester," he quips, but there's no real humor in his voice.
We reach a landing, and Torric pauses, leaning against the cool stone wall. The torchlight casts flickering shadows acrosshis face, making him look older, more serious than I've ever seen him.
"Our father," he begins, his voice low, "he's... well, he's friends with Thorne. Has been for as long as I can remember."
I blink, surprised. "Your dad is friends with that... that..."
"Pompous, terrifying asshole?" Torric supplies helpfully.
I can't help but laugh, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "Yeah, that."
