The morning of the Shadow Trials dawned, the sky pressing down on the academy like a held breath.
Nyra stood at the window of the Undercroft dorm, watching the mist curl around the towers. She had slept poorly, dreams of silver light and dark forests and a voice calling her name from very far away.
"You’ve been staring at that window for twenty minutes," Finn said from his bunk. He was already dressed in his training gear, his hands wrapped, his knee bouncing with nervous energy. "The fog isn’t going anywhere."
"Neither am I. Not yet."
"Philosophical. I hate it when you get philosophical before breakfast."
Marek grunted in agreement from his corner, where he was doing slow, deliberate stretches. Jasper sat on the edge of his bunk, his ever-present book closed in his lap. He hadn’t turned a page all morning.
"The pairings are still the same," Jasper said quietly. "I checked the board at dawn. Thorne against Draven."
"I know."
"Something’s wrong about it. The academy doesn’t repeat pairings. It’s statistically improbable."
"Everything about my life is statistically improbable," Nyra said. "Why should this be different?"
Finn stood and crossed to her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Just... watch yourself out there. Draven’s not just fighting to win. You humiliated him twice. He wants blood."
"I know what he wants."
"Do you? Because I don’t think you do." Finn gripped her shoulder. "He wants you dead. Not defeated. Dead. And the Mistwood is a very convenient place for accidents."
Nyra met his eyes. The concern there was real she could see it, feel it, the warmth of a friend who genuinely feared for her life.
"I’ll be careful," she said. "I promise."
"You’d better be. I’m too young to mourn a prince."
Marek rose to his feet. "We should go. The hall will be packed."
They left the dorm together, walking through the cold morning corridors, and Nyra felt the weight of the coming trial pressing down on her shoulders like a physical thing.
The main hall was chaos.
Students packed the stone chamber in tight, anxious clusters. The torches had been lit despite the morning hour, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The air smelled of sweat and anticipation and the faint metallic tang of fear.
Nyra and her friends found a spot near the middle of the hall, close enough to see the dais where the senior lecturers were assembling. Soren stood at the edge, Ragnar at his side. His dark eyes swept the crowd and found hers. Held. For one heartbeat, two, and then he looked away.
Corvin was seated in the front row of spectators, Lucian and Orion flanking him. When he caught Nyra’s eye, he inclined his head slightly an acknowledgment, a warning, she wasn’t sure which.
Valeria stood among the lecturers, her dark beauty a stark contrast to the grim faces around her. She was watching Nyra with an expression that might have been anticipation.
Proctor Vesper Kane raised his hand, and silence fell like a blade.
"Students of Shadowmoon Academy. Today, you face the Shadow Trials."
His voice rolled through the chamber, ancient and cold as the stone itself.
"The rules are known to you. Each pair will enter the Mistwood at their designated gate. You will navigate the terrain, overcome its obstacles, and make your way to the central clearing. The first of each pair to reach the clearing wins the trial. The other forfeits their ranking for the season."
He paused, scanning the crowd. Nyra felt his gaze pass over her like a cold wind.
"The Mistwood is dangerous. The academy takes no responsibility for injuries sustained during the trials. If you are not prepared to face the forest, do not enter. If you enter and cannot continue, fire flares will be provided. Light one, and a rescue team will retrieve you. But be warned lighting a flare is an automatic forfeiture. You will be marked as a failure. And Shadowmoon does not celebrate failures."
A ripple of unease passed through the students. Finn shifted beside her.
"Pairings were posted three days ago. If you have forgotten your opponent, the lists are available at the rear of the hall. The first pairs will enter the Mistwood in one hour. Use that time to prepare." He looked out at the sea of faces. "And may the strongest survive."
The hall erupted into motion.
Finn turned to Nyra immediately. "Draven. I still don’t like it."
"Neither do I," Marek said. "But she beat him once. She can do it again."
"That was before the poisoning. Before he had time to study her. Before—"
"Finn." Nyra put a hand on his arm. "I’ll be fine."
He didn’t look convinced. But he nodded.
Jasper was already moving toward the lists. "I want to confirm the gate assignments. Something about this doesn’t feel right."
Nyra watched him go, a strange unease settling in her stomach. Jasper’s instincts were rarely wrong.
Corvin intercepted her in the corridor outside the hall.
"A word, Prince Thorne."
His voice was smooth, but there was an edge beneath it something urgent. Nyra gestured for Finn and Marek to go ahead. They left reluctantly, Finn throwing a suspicious glare over his shoulder.
"Your friends are dedicated," Corvin observed.
"They’re good friends."
"Yes. Loyalty is rare in this academy. Most people only look out for themselves." He fell into step beside her. "I wanted to remind you about the potion. Take it before you enter the forest. The effects will last approximately six hours. It won’t make you invincible, but it will slow any toxin that enters your bloodstream."
"Assuming Draven tries to poison me again."
"Assuming anyone tries to poison you. Draven isn’t the only threat in the Mistwood."
They walked in silence for a moment. The corridor was quieter here, away from the chaos.
"You’re close to figuring something out," Nyra said. "About me. I can see it in your eyes."
"I am."
"And when you figure it out? What happens then?"
Corvin stopped walking. He turned to face her, and his expression was unreadable all sharp angles and guarded intensity.
"I don’t know," he admitted. "I thought I did. I thought I just wanted to solve the puzzle. To know what you are. But it’s become more than that."
"More how?"
"You matter, Thorne. Not just to the academy. Not just to your kingdom. You matter to forces you don’t understand yet." He paused. "You matter to me. And I don’t say that lightly."
Nyra stared at him. "Corvin—"
"Don’t." He held up a hand. "Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. I’m not asking for anything. I’m not Soren. I’m not going to hover at your bedside or follow you to lakes or give you cryptic warnings about the full moon." His voice dropped. "But I am telling you that if something happens to you in that forest, I will burn it down to find who did it."
The silence between them was heavy.
"Take the potion," he said finally. "Come back alive. That’s all I ask."
He turned and walked away before she could respond.
Soren found her ten minutes before the trials were scheduled to begin.
She was standing near the eastern gate, staring out at the treeline of the Mistwood. The forest was visible from here dark and twisted, shrouded in a fog that never seemed to lift. It looked like something out of a nightmare.
"You’re early," he said.
"So are you."
He moved to stand beside her, not quite touching. The silence between them was different from the silences they’d shared before. Less hostile. More uncertain. As if neither of them knew what to say.
"I wanted to give you something," he said finally. "Before you go in."
Nyra turned. He was holding a small object a pendant on a leather cord, silver and unadorned. It pulsed faintly with a light she recognized.
"It belonged to my mother," he said, his voice rougher than usual. "She gave it to me before I came to the academy. It’s supposed to bring protection. I don’t know if I believe in that kind of thing. But I believe in—" He stopped. Started again. "I want you to have it. For the trial."
"Soren." She looked at the pendant, then at him. "Why are you giving me this?"
"Because I need you to come back."
"Why?"
The word hung between them. He struggled—she could see it, the war behind his eyes, the words he wanted to say and couldn’t.
"I need you to come back," he repeated, "so you can return it to me yourself."
He pressed the pendant into her palm. His fingers lingered against her skin, warm and rough.
"That’s not an answer," she said quietly.
"It’s the only one I have right now."
She fastened the pendant around her neck. It settled against her collarbone, warm despite the cold morning air.
"I’ll return it," she said. "When this is over."
"I’ll hold you to that."
He walked away without another word. Nyra watched him go, her hand pressed against the pendant, and tried not to think about what it meant.