Page 25 of Shadows of Change

Aspen looks up from his tea, his calm presence cutting through Finn’s antics. “It’s probably nothing. Orientation-related, most likely. It’s pretty common.”

“Orientation with Thorne?” Torric scoffs from across the table. “That sounds more like a prelude to torture.”

Malrik doesn’t say anything, but his silence speaks louder than Finn’s theatrics or Torric’s cynicism. His silver eyes flicker with something that makes my shadows curl tighter, and the knot in my stomach twists a little more. He gives me an almost imperceptible nod, his silver eyes glinting with something unreadable. Does he sense it too—the way Aspen's words don’t quite match the tension in his tone?

Now, as I descend the winding stone staircase toward the combat arena, I can’t shake the growing sense of dread. My shadows trail after me, their tendrils darting nervously at my feet. Bob insists on scouting ahead, while Patricia sticks close, probably taking mental notes. And Finnick is doing some type of dance? They’re more jittery than usual, which does nothing to calm my nerves.

"So, Shadow Faction," Finn says, watching Bob investigate a particularly suspicious-looking step. "I hear they throw the best parties. What do you think?"

I roll my eyes, even as Finnick attempts to trip him. "Sure, if you want to party with brooding emos who think they're too cool for school."

"Sounds perfect," Finn quips with a wink that I definitely don't find charming. He gracefully sidesteps Finnick's attempt at sabotage when he tries and fails to trip him, which only encourages the shadow's antics.

“I have no interest in throwing a party,” I complain, even though I know he’s just trying to distract me.

Aspen's steady presence anchors me, his calm energy a contrast to my jittery nerves. He must see it all on my face though, because he leans in closer, heat radiating from him. "Don't worry," he says softly. "We'll face whatever it is together."

Before I can respond, Torric's voice booms off the stone walls, making my shadows jump.

"They use these meetings to weed out the weak," he says with a predatory grin. "Make the newbies fight to the death."

My stomach drops. "Tell me you're joking." Bob immediately puffs up while Patricia frantically starts cataloging escape routes.

I glance at Malrik, hoping for reassurance, but he's unnervingly quiet, silver eyes distant. My shadows reach toward him before I can stop them, and I swear his lips twitch in response.

Mouse prowls beside us as we reach the underground training area. The shadows here feel alive, pulsing with barely contained energy that makes my skin tingle.

That's when I spot Alenya, glaring at us disdainfully like we're something nasty she stepped in. Bob immediately starts making rude gestures that I'm glad only Finn can see.

"Well, well," she drawls. "If it isn't the misfit squad. You should stick to the shadows where you belong—out of sight."

The barb stings. My shadows quiver, but Malrik steps forward, looming over Alenya with dangerous grace.

"Watch that forked tongue," he says, voice low. The shadows around him seem to deepen. "Unless you'd like me to remove it."

Alenya’s perfect mask cracks for a split second as her gaze flicks between Malrik and me. She recovers quickly, but I catch the unease in her eyes before she stalks away. I'm caught between feeling touched by his defense and unnerved by the casual threat.

"Geez, Mal," Finn whispers while Finnick makes exaggerated swooning motions. "Remind me never to piss you off."

As more students file in, Bob takes up a protective stance, Patricia organizes the other shadows into formation, and Finnick practices dramatic death scenes. At least someone's enjoying themselves.

The voices die down as Professor Thorne strides to the center, his dark robes billowing. His sharp gray gaze scans the room, lingering on me a heartbeat too long. My shadows twist closer.

"Welcome, first-years," his smooth voice carries effortlessly. "Today marks the beginning of a hallowed Arcanum tradition—the Dignus Trials."

A collective intake of breath ripples through the crowd. Even Finn is uncharacteristically silent. Bob abandons his stance to peer intently at Thorne while Patricia vibrates with the need to document every word.

Thorne's lips curl into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "These trials separate the exceptional from the adequate. In a few weeks, you face your first lone trial—a test of individual prowess and magical mastery."

My stomach flips. A few weeks? I can barely control my shadows on a good day. Finnick, sensing my distress, attempts a cartwheel that only makes me more nervous.

"Following that," Thorne continues, "you will undergo team trials within your factions. Your success—or failure—determines your standing here." His gaze fixes on me again, though I don’t think anyone else notices. "Some of you may require... additional guidance to reach your full potential."

I glance at my group—Aspen's jaw is set with determination; Torric looks ready to either be sick or punch something; Malrik's face is unreadable, but tension radiates from him like heat.

"Remember," Thorne's gaze sweeps over us, "at Arcanum, mediocrity is not an option. The trials will test not just your magical ability, but your very essence."

As the crowd disperses, murmuring anxiously, I remain rooted. The weight of Thorne's words crashes over me like a tidal wave. My shadows mirror my anxiety, writhing restlessly around my feet while Mouse presses against my leg, a solid warmth against the cold dread settling in my stomach.

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