Page 6 of Court of Twisted Angels

"I'm Andra." She settles below me, pulling a worn leather pack onto her lap. "I've been dying to come to the trials but never thought I'd get the chance to."

Other competitors filter in, claiming bunks and forming small clusters. A burly man demonstrates defensive hand positions to a group of wide-eyed newcomers. Two women practice channeling magic, small spheres of light dancing between their palms.

"Here." Andra passes up a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside, I find dried meat and bread studded with nuts. "The food they provide is meant to build our strength, but it's laced withenchantments. Makes you more susceptible to their magic. Bring your own when you can."

The dormitory fills with conversations – some talking about the upcoming trials, others giving tips they've heard or telling stories. I absorb every detail, even as my fingers trace the scar on my neck. The memory of my own worst day lurks at the edges of my mind, waiting for the preliminary exam to drag it into the light.

"You've got that look," Andra says quietly. "The one that says you're here because you have to be, not because you want to be."

I meet her gaze. "Don't we all have something worth fighting for?"

She nods, understanding passing between us. Around us, the air hums with nervous energy and whispered strategies, all of us preparing for trials designed to break us.

A xaphan official with steel-gray wings sweeps into the dormitory, silencing conversations with his presence. His boots click against the hard floor as he unrolls a scroll that shimmers with golden light.

"Listen well, candidates. Tomorrow's initiation will determine who among you is worthy to even attempt the trials."

Murmurs ripple through the room. Andra's breath catches below me.

"You will face the Void Chamber - a pocket dimension of absolute darkness where your senses will be stripped away. Navigate through magical threats using only your innate abilities. Those who survive must defeat the final guardian to earn their place in training."

My fingers dig into the wooden frame of the bunk. More than half the room won't make it past tomorrow.

"The reward remains substantial." His wings flex, catching the light. "Wings of your own, status within New Solas, and, of course, one thousand novas."

The dormitory erupts in whispers. A man near the door clutches a pendant, lips moving in silent prayer. Two women grasp hands, their faces pale.

"Look around," Andra's voice is barely audible. "There must be three hundred people here. More than I've ever seen at a trial gathering."

She's right. Every bunk is filled, with some contestants even sleeping on meditation cushions in the corners. The promise of wealth drew them like moths to flame.

"You'll be collected for initiation tomorrow," the official continues. "Those who hesitate will be consumed by the darkness. Those who falter will be drained of life force. Choose wisely if you wish to proceed."

Because we all know the rules. You can leave with shame before the trials start. Or you can die in the arena.

Magic ripples through the air as he exits, leaving behind a heavy silence. Someone starts to weep softly in the far corner.

"They're culling the weak ones early this time," a gruff voice says from nearby. "Smart. Makes for better entertainment later."

I stare at the ceiling, trying not to think about how many bodies will litter the Void Chamber by tomorrow's end. Mother's face floats in my mind - pale, drawn with pain. The medicine she needs is worth any risk.

The dormitory settles into an uneasy quiet, broken only by whispered prayers and the occasional sob. Tomorrow, we face the darkness. Tomorrow, we learn if we're even worthy to die in their real trials.

4

AZRAEL

The evening sun casts long shadows across the ancient trial grounds as I approach on foot. My wings remain tucked close, their pristine white feathers a stark reminder of my noble bloodline - and the curse that threatens to destroy it all.

The arena looms before me, its towering spires of polished obsidian reaching toward the crimson sky like grasping fingers. Magic thrums through the very foundation, raw power crackling along elaborate runes etched into the stone. The air itself feels charged, heavy with anticipation.

Something's different today. I pause at the western archway, noting the unusual gathering of xaphan near the contestant holding areas. Their wings twitch with barely contained tension - grays, browns, and the occasional flash of gold marking their social status. They cluster in small groups, heads bent close, voices too low to carry.

"Lord Azrael." A guard bows deeply as I pass, his mottled gray wings folding tight against his back.

I acknowledge him with the barest nod, my attention fixed on the subtle shimmer of protective wards along the arena's inner walls. The magical barriers ripple like heat waves, strongerthan I've ever seen them. Someone's reinforced the containment spells - recently.

More xaphan mill about the upper viewing galleries, their robes catching the dying light. A flash of gold draws my eye to a praexa's triple wings, the holy warrior deep in conversation with several others of his rank. Their presence at a mere trial screening is... concerning.

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