Chapter 1 #2
“Rynlee?” I turned. Gianna was walking toward me, her long raven braid bouncing against her spine with each purposeful step.
Sunlight caught against her deep chocolate skin, giving it a quiet glow, and her dark mahogany eyes lit with surprise when they met mine.
There was softness in her face, rounded cheeks, full lips quick to curve into a smile, but nothing fragile about her.
She moved like someone who’d grown up sparring in a backyard instead of playing in it, shoulders squared out of instinct rather than fear.
Seven older brothers had seen to that. Kindness lived openly in her expression. Strength resided in her stance. I had known she would be here today, but clearly, she hadn’t expected to see me.
“Hey, Gia,” I said, forcing my voice steady.
“Your father?” she asked quietly. I nodded.
Gia knew all about my father; she had been there through most of it, listening to me vent, listening to my fears.
She understood the dream I had once held so tightly.
My grandmother gave my back a soft, reassuring pat, the kind that said she wished things were different but couldn’t change them.
I managed a faint smile in return. The only part of this ordeal that made it bearable was knowing I might see Alaric again.
Ahead, an older man stood before the exam tent, his black Arcanna armor catching the light.
His gray beard framed a weathered jawline, and his pale blue eyes held not even a trace of warmth.
When his stare shifted to my grandmother, he gave a respectful nod, recognition, perhaps.
She had been one of the most successful commanders at the Eastern Encampment, after all.
“Name?” he asked, his tone brisk, gaze flicking between us.
“Gianna Mintz,” Gia replied with a polite smile.
“Rynlee Yarrows,” I answered, my voice quieter.
He gave a curt nod and led us inside. The tent was vast and echoing, filled with rows of long wooden tables.
Dozens of other young adults from town had already gathered, some whispering nervously, others sitting stiff-backed with false confidence.
We took our seats as the man strode to the front of the room.
“Alright,” he paced, his hands clasped behind his back.
“It seems we have everyone. My name is Professor Anders, and I oversee third-year combat instruction. Today marks your entrance exam for Arcanna War College. If you pass this stage, you will move on to the physical trials. If you fail,”—his gaze swept the room, landing briefly on me— “you’ll surrender your issued uniform. ”
He pulled a pocket watch from his satchel and flipped it open.
“You have one hour. Begin.” I stared down at the parchment.
Most of the questions centered around encampment strategies, elemental theory, and Arcanna’s history—topics my father had drilled into me long before I was ready, and my mother had balanced with her lessons on healing.
The quill felt heavy, but my hand moved easily.
Answers came without thought. An hour later, papers were collected.
Professor Anders graded at the front, his expression unreadable as he marked each one.
The room was silent except for the scratching of his pen and the nervous shifting of chairs.
One by one, students were dismissed, some with relief, others with tears.
Part of me hoped my name wouldn’t be called, that maybe this was where the path ended and my father would finally have no choice but to send me to Sylvara instead.
But fate, or the gods, had other plans. “Rynlee Yarrows,” Anders said, glancing up from my paper.
“Accepted.” My heart sank and soared all at once.
It took two days to reach the site for Arcanna’s physical trials, an obstacle course that resembled a soldier’s gauntlet more than a student’s exam.
In the distance, the castle-like structure of Arcanna rose from the earth itself.
It was massive, perched at the base of Arcane Mountain as if the stone had grown around it rather than been carved.
Dark rock formed its walls and towers, the kind that swallowed light instead of reflecting it.
Tall spires speared the sky, their pointed roofs jagged and sharp, while narrow bridges stretched between towers, suspended over open gaps that made my stomach twist just looking at them. It wasn’t just a castle.
And it wasn’t just a fortress. Arcanna looked like both, built for war, for defense, for survival; ominous and imposing, as if it were watching us approach, measuring us before deciding who would be allowed inside its walls.
At least four hundred of us gathered at its base, all from different regions, all staring up at the same structure.
Some seemed awed. Others were terrified.
A few, mostly those born to warrior families, appeared eager.
I just felt small. All of us lined up, the air thick with nerves and anticipation.
Gia positioned herself beside me, eyes wide as she gazed up at the course.
Towering ahead was a twenty-foot wall, followed by a narrow run of balancing beams suspended over mud, a stretch of moving planks that shifted beneath the wind, and finally, if we survived all that, a duel against a third-year student waiting in their pristine black leather armor.
I swallowed hard. My heart pounded, but I would not back down. I’d give it everything I had. I was a Yarrows and if I failed, then at least I’d know I tried. Then I could go to Sylvara and leave my father’s ambitions behind.