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"Was that one of your brother's friends?" She asks. "Yes."

"Will he tell us?"

"No."

"You sound certain."

"He enjoys suffering." I almost smile.

"His own?"

I consider it. "Usually other people's."

We search the catalogues anyway. Academy Trials. Nothing. First-Year Assessments. Restricted. Leadership Evaluations. Available only with faculty authorization. Nyra rests her forehead against the catalogue desk.

"They planned this." She says.

"The institution built around planning future rulers planned ahead."

"Cruel." She sighs.

"Deeply."

We eventually stop searching. Not because we have answers. Because the dinner bell rings. Outside the library, dusk has settled across the Academy. Students move beneath floating lanterns. Their laughter has returned. Not completely. Enough. Somewhere near the southern courtyard, music begins. A group of second-years has dragged chairs into a circle and produced several bottles they almost certainly are not old enough to possess. Life continues. Assignments remain due. Professors continue teaching. Students continue finding reasons to laugh. The Trial waits three mornings away. The Academy refuses to let it become the only thing that matters. I think I understand that. Maybe seriousness does not require misery. Maybe people can prepare for something frightening without surrendering everything before it arrives.

Nyra walks beside me. Her black bracelet catches the lantern light.

"Eirea?" She says.

"Yes?"

"What if we fail?"

The answer rises immediately. I almost say we won't. That would be comforting. It would also be a lie. So I tell her the truth.

"Then we learn why." She looks toward me. The upper-year's words. Not reassurance. Something steadier.

Nyra nods slowly. "And then?" She asks.

"We decide what to do with it."

A small smile appears. "That sounded almost wise." "Don't spread it around." I smile.

"I wouldn't want to damage your reputation."

We continue toward the dining hall. Behind us, the library doors close. Ahead, the Academy glows against the darkening mountains.

Three mornings. No answers. One Trial. And for the first time since the Headmaster's announcement, the uncertainty does not feel like an empty space waiting to swallow me. It feels like a question. One I intend to answer.

The Academy becomes obsessed with the Trial. Not officially. Officially, classes continue. Assignments remain due. Professors refuse to adjust deadlines. Meals are served at the same hours. Bells ring with the same indifference they always have.

Unofficially, every first-year has lost the ability to discuss anything else. By the following morning, someone has produced a handwritten list titled: TWENTY-SEVEN POSSIBLE FIRST TRIALS.

It appears on the dining hall notice board between a missing textbook announcement and a warning about feeding enchanted birds near the eastern residences. The possibilities include: Mountain navigation. Magical endurance. Interrogation. Underwater combat. Public speaking. Dragon encounter. Poison identification. Surviving Professor Vale's disappointment.

Rowan stands in front of the list with her arms crossed. "I still think drowning is likely."

Aricia studies the page. "Public speaking frightens me more."