15. Kaia
The summons arrives at breakfast, tucked neatly beside my plate like some kind of smug afterthought. I barely have time to grab my granola bar before Finn snatches it up, his grin all mischief as he reads aloud in an exaggerated, overly proper tone.
“Shadow Faction,” he announces, ignoring my glare. “You are hereby required to attend a meeting with Professor Thorne in the combat arena at precisely eleven o’clock. Attendance is mandatory.”
“Sounds ominous,” I mutter, snatching the note back before he can add anything more. My shadows coil protectively around the parchment like they can shield me from whatever unpleasantness Thorne has in store.
“Mandatory Thorne time?” Finn grins. “Count me out. Or better yet, can I bring popcorn?”
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.
How can I possibly measure up?
As we file out of the combat arena, my mind whirls like a tempest. The Dignus Trials. The words echo in my head, each repetition amplifying the dread that's settled deep in my bones. My shadows writhe anxiously, their usually playful movements now frantic and erratic. Bob keeps darting ahead, then rushing back as if he can't decide whether to scout or protect. Patricia's busy muttering to herself, probably compiling lists of every magical skill I need to master in the next few weeks. And Finnick? He's alternating between dramatic fainting spells and what I can only describe as shadow push-ups.
I hang back as the others start up the winding staircase, my gaze drawn to Torric's broad shoulders. Unlike the rest of us, he and Aspen hadn't seemed shocked by Thorne's announcement. Curious and desperate for any insight, I fall into step beside him.
"Hey," I say, trying to keep my voice casual. "Can I ask you something?"
Torric grunts, which I take as assent. Up close, I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his golden eyes flicker with something that looks suspiciously like concern.
"You didn't look surprised," I press on. "About the trials, I mean. Did you... know about them?"
He's quiet for a long moment, and I start to think he's going to ignore me. But then he sighs, running a hand through his wild mane of hair. "Yeah," he admits gruffly. "I knew."
"How?" I ask, my curiosity piqued. I would have asked Aspen, but something he'd said earlier about their father had made me hesitate. "I mean, everyone else looked like Thorne had just announced we were going to be fed to dragons or something."
A wry smile tugs at Torric's lips. "Dragon-feeding is next semester," he quips, but there's no real humor in his voice.
We reach a landing, and Torric pauses, leaning against the cool stone wall. The torchlight casts flickering shadows across his face, making him look older, more serious than I've ever seen him.
"Our father," he begins, his voice low, "he's... well, he's friends with Thorne. Has been for as long as I can remember."
I blink, surprised. "Your dad is friends with that... that..."
"Pompous, terrifying asshole?" Torric supplies helpfully.
I can't help but laugh, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "Yeah, that."
Torric nods, his expression growing somber again. "Aspen and I, we've been training for these trials our entire lives. Father made sure of it."
The weight of his words hits me like a physical blow. My shadows curl protectively around my ankles, sensing my distress. "Your entire lives?" I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper.
Torric's golden eyes meet mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. He nods slowly, his voice dropping even lower. "Typically, magic manifests around twelve or thirteen, when puberty hits. It's this whole big thing – a coming of age moment, you know?"
I nod, even though it’s not the same as what happened to me. I’ve always had my magic and my shadows, as far back as I can remember.
"But for us," Torric continues, his voice tight, "it was different. On our fifth birthday, our father..." He pauses, his fists clenching at his sides. "He forced these runes on us."
My eyes widen in shock, and I instinctively reach out to touch the fiery wolf emblazoned on his chest. Torric flinches slightly but doesn't pull away. Under my fingertips, I can feel a faint pulse of magic, wild and barely contained. It doesn’t escape me how he shivers at my touch.
"Forced?" I whisper, horrified. "But how? Why?"
Torric's laugh is bitter, devoid of any real humor. "To give us an edge. To make us stronger, faster, more powerful than our peers. The runes aren't natural, Kaia. They're..." He struggles for a moment, searching for the right word. "They're cheating, essentially."
My shadows writhe in agitation, picking up on my distress. Bob puffs up indignantly, while Patricia seems to be furiously taking mental notes. Finnick, in a rare moment of seriousness, wraps a comforting tendril around my wrist.
"But that's not the worst part," Torric continues, his voice barely above a whisper. The torchlight flickers, casting deep shadows across his face, making him look haunted. "When we hit puberty, when our natural magic should have manifested... nothing happened."
The ache in my chest grows for this man. What he and Aspen must have endured. "You mean..."
He nods grimly. "The runes interfered with our natural magical development. Aspen and I, we should have had powerful shadow magic, like you. But because of what our father did..." His voice trails off, thick with emotion.
The torchlight flickers, casting restless shadows across Torric’s face. His fists clench at his sides, and I can hear the strain in his voice as if the words themselves are painful to say.
The corridor suddenly feels too small, too confining. My heart aches for Torric, for Aspen, for the choices that were stolen from them before they were old enough to understand. My shadows stretch out, instinctively seeking to comfort, to protect.
I thought about the way my shadows seemed to have a life of their own, how they sometimes acted without my permission. Would I feel the same loss as Torric if someone had tried to cage them?
"That's why," Torric says, his eyes fixed on my writhing shadows with a mix of longing and resignation, "that's why I sometimes come across as... well, an ass. Especially about magic. It's not that I don't respect what you can do, Kaia. It's just..."
"You're mourning what you lost," I finish softly, understanding dawning.
He nods, a vulnerability in his eyes that I've never seen before. He takes a deep breath, his mask slipping back into place before he turns abruptly, leaving me there alone.
A tear escapes for those poor boys and what was done to them. I brush the tear away, trying to steel myself. Torric had been forced to fight with borrowed power, but my magic is my own—wild, unpredictable, and untamed. How can I possibly shape it into something worthy of the trials?