Page 68

A movement beside Caelen catches my attention. Rhyven. He leans casually against one of the stone pillars bordering the platform. Hands folded across his chest. Golden eyes moving calmly over the returning students. He looks as though he hasn't slept. Or perhaps he simply always looks slightly annoyed to exist before sunrise. One exhausted first-year trips over his own boots while climbing the final steps from another arch. Rhyven catches his arm before he falls. Steadies him. Says something too quietly for me to hear. Then immediately returns to pretending he has never helped anyone in his life. I hide a smile. Still an asshole.

The courtyard slowly fills. One hundred and twenty-four first-years had entered the Trial. Not all have emerged yet. Eventually the Headmaster steps forward. Conversation dies instantly. He waits until every remaining student has taken their place.

Then— Another figure joins him. The entire courtyard changes. It isn't dramatic. No music. No announcement. Simply presence. A tall man dressed entirely in black ascends the stone steps beside the Headmaster. His coat bears a single embroidered crest. A crimson flame enclosed within silver branches. Vaelith.

My breath catches. My father. Don Vaelith. He does not acknowledge the gathered students immediately. His grey eyes sweep once across the courtyard. Measured. Precise. Emotionless. Students who have never met him straighten instinctively. Even professors seem subtly more formal. Respect. Fear. Perhaps both.

Nyra leans slightly toward me. "So...that's your father."

I don't take my eyes off him. "Yes."

She is quiet for several seconds. "I understand."

She doesn't explain. She doesn't need to.

The Headmaster speaks first. "You entered the First Trial believing it would measure your strength." His gaze moves across the students. "It did not. It measured your judgment. Your restraint. Your willingness to question certainty." He pauses. "Some of you discovered qualities you did not know you possessed. Others discovered habits that may one day cost lives." The words settle heavily. "No result is permanent. A Trial reveals. It does not define." He steps back. Turning toward the man beside him. "My lord." Don Vaelith inclines his head once. Nothing more.

He steps forward. No notes. No ceremony. His voice carries effortlessly across the courtyard. "You arrived carrying names older than yourselves." Silence. "Those names granted you the privilege of standing here." A pause. "They will not earn your place." No one moves. No one breathes. "Lineage is inheritance. Character is choice."

His gaze travels across the students. Slowly. Calmly. Then— It reaches me. One second. Perhaps less. Grey eyes. Cold as winter stone. No pride. No relief. No recognition that his daughter has survived one of the Academy's most demanding traditions. Only assessment. Automatically, my shoulders straighten. I hate that they do. He has already looked away.

"As future leaders your greatest threat will rarely be ignorance. It will be certainty." Another pause. "The world has no need of heirs who mistake confidence for wisdom." His expression never changes. "You have been shown your weaknesses. Whether you correct them is no longer the Academy's responsibility."

The speech ends. No flourish. No encouragement. No congratulations. Only expectation. He inclines his head toward the Headmaster. "I'll await you in your office."

The Headmaster nods. "Of course."

Don Vaelith descends the steps. Students move aside without being asked. He walks through the courtyard as though it belongs to him. Perhaps, in some ways it does. As he passes my row he does not stop. He does not speak. For the briefest instant, his eyes flick toward the mud staining my uniform. Then to my bracelet. Nothing else. He continues walking. The space he leaves behind feels colder. Only after the great doors close behind him does the courtyard breathe again. Someone exhales. Someone else shifts their weight.

Rowan whispers, "Gods."

Nyra nods faintly. "I've never met someone so terrifying who didn't raise his voice."

Cassian says nothing. He doesn't need to. He remembers. The Headmaster dismisses the students by residence. Professors begin calling names for individual evaluations. The crowd slowly disperses. I remain where I am for a moment longer. Watching the doors through which my father disappeared.

"Eirea." Caelen's voice. I turn. He has stepped down from the platform now that the formal ceremony has ended. He stops an appropriate distance away. Still every bit the officer. "You passed."

"I did." I sigh. I didn't realise I was holding my breath.

"I read your report." Of course he did.

"And?"

A tiny smile threatens. "It was exactly what I expected."

I raise an eyebrow. "I'm not sure whether that's encouraging."

Now he smiles. "It wasn't intended to be."

Typical. We stand in comfortable silence. Then another shadow falls beside us. Rhyven. He doesn't look at either of us immediately. Instead he studies something in his hand. A water flask. Without a word, he offers it to me.

I blink. "My flask's empty."

"I noticed." His tone is as flat as ever. I take it. "Thank you?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "I'd rather you didn't collapse before breakfast."

There it is. The insult wrapped around the kindness. I almost laugh.