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A wolf raises his hand. "Then why suppress it?"

"I did not say suppress."

The wolf stills. "Control?"

"Eventually." She looks toward the six inheritance symbols. "First, you identify it." Another line appears beneath the first. An instinct denied becomes an instinct disguised. Professor Neris turns toward us. "And disguised instincts are significantly more dangerous than honest ones."

I think of my answer from our first class. Desire must never precede judgment. Vaelith control begins with refusing desire power. Professor Neris insists control begins by admitting desire exists. The difference continues to disturb me. Which probably means I need it. We are given a written exercise. Not magical. Worse.

Professor Neris asks us to describe our first response to uncertainty. Not the response we consider admirable. The honest one. Around me, pens hesitate. Mine does too.

What do I do when I do not know what is coming? Prepare. Observe. Plan. Those are respectable answers. They are also incomplete. I think of the First Trial. The rumors. The library. The questions I have asked everyone except myself. Then I write: I attempt to control every variable available to me. The sentence looks accusatory. I continue. When that fails, I create more variables to control. Worse. I consider crossing it out. Professor Neris passes our row. Her eyes lower briefly to my page. She does not stop. She does not need to. I leave the words untouched. Beside me, Nyra stares at her own answer.

"What did you write?" I whisper.

She covers the page with one hand. "Something honest."

"That bad?"

"Yes."

I nod. "Good."

She looks toward me. "How is that good?"

"I refuse to suffer alone." Her mouth twitches. Professor Neris closes her book at the front.

"Private conversation is not an inherited ability, Miss Vaelith."

I still. "No, Professor."

"If it becomes your manifestation, inform me."

Several students laugh quietly. I lower my eyes. Nyra's shoulders shake beside me. Traitor.

After class, Rowan intercepts us in the corridor.

"I know what the Trial is."

Selena walks behind her. "She does not."

Rowan ignores her. "It tests honesty."

Nyra adjusts her books. "Because of Professor Neris' exercise?" She asks.

"Yes."

Aricia joins us. "That lesson was scheduled before the Trial announcement."

"Could still be preparation." Rowan insists. "Everything feels like preparation now," I say.

That quiets Rowan. Because it is true. Every lecture. Every instruction. Every professor's pause. The Trial has become a lens through which we interpret the entire Academy. Perhaps that is intentional too.

The second day passes slowly. The third arrives too quickly. At breakfast, the upper-year tables are nearly empty. Not because of the Trial. At least, no one says so. Chief Wings Officers and senior students often begin duties before sunrise. Still, first-years notice.

We notice everything now. A closed door becomes a hidden instruction. A professor carrying rope becomes evidence. A dragon landing near the eastern cliffs becomes confirmation that the Trial involves flight. Someone sees medical staff moving supplies and spreads the news across three residence towers before lunch.

By afternoon, one first-year has written farewell letters to his entire family. He is loudly mocked until someone asks whether they should do the same. Then the stationery room runs out of paper. Nyra and I spend the final afternoon in the library. Not researching the Trial. We have accepted that the Academy has defeated us there.