Chapter 3
Raven
Bang... Bang... Bang...
“First years, time to go...” Balor’s voice echoes in the hallway like thunder rolling through stone corridors, and I slide off the bed quickly, my feet hitting the cold floor with barely a whisper of sound.
Today is assessment day, and we can wear whatever we want today for the last time.
The freedom feels both liberating and terrifying, knowing that after today, our paths will be chosen for us.
I choose the black basilisk leathers with the matching hood, the material supple as silk beneath my fingers and smelling faintly of the oils used to preserve the scales.
The leather fits like a second skin, molding to my body with the precision that speaks of master craftsmanship.
The mask, however, is different—also covered in basilisk scale but edged with green that gleams like poison in the morning light.
The mark of a poisoner trained in the Sovereign nest, a heritage that runs in my blood like liquid fire.
Little does the population know, Mom trained her progeny to be Shadowblades, each of us more deadly than any other dragon on the continent.
The knowledge sits heavy in my chest, a secret that could change everything if the wrong people discovered it.
My hood rests on my shoulders, the weight familiar and comforting, and my mask hangs loosely around my neck, the scales cool against my throat.
I take the new blades and slide them into the sheaths on my ribs, feeling the perfect balance of steel and bone.
If I get assigned to Shadowcarve, their gauntlet is this afternoon.
I’ll need to be ready just in case, every muscle and reflex honed to deadly perfection.
Carefully, I strap the twin blades down my spine, positioning them so they won’t inhibit my wing movement, the leather straps secure but not restrictive.
With every movement I make, I swear I hear my mother’s voice walking me through the preparation, her instructions as clear as if she were standing beside me.
I glance over at Thorne and move to help her wrap her horns with the black tape, my fingers working with practiced efficiency.
“I’ve got you,” I smile as I help her, the gesture born of twenty years of watching out for each other.
The sound of the tape unrolling is the only thing we hear, a soft ripping noise that seems unnaturally loud in the quiet of our suite. When we’re finished, we hug Lily, her arms warm and familiar around me, before stepping out into the hallway where destiny waits.
Daddy Balor stands there with his sunglasses sitting low on his nose, revealing eyes that gleam with predatory satisfaction and a smirk on his face that promises trouble.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say there’s a pair of assassins in the dorm,” he observes, his voice carrying approval and pride in equal measure.
He turns and starts leading us downstairs, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
“Anything we need to know?” Thorne asks as she tilts her head, looking around as we step outside into the crisp mountain air that carries the scent of pine and the promise of snow.
“Your brothers survived the gauntlet this morning. They opted to go first. Sick bastards were waiting for the instructors to arrive.” Balor laughs a little to himself, the sound rich with paternal pride and amusement.
“They flipped a coin over who would go first.” He shakes his head and huffs out a laugh that makes his shoulders shake.
“Who was faster?” I just have to know, curiosity burning in my chest like dragon fire.
“Orpheus.” Balor beams when mentioning his son’s success, his entire posture straightening with pride that makes my heart warm with affection for both of them.
“We’ve been working hard on the new obstacles,” I mention as we head inside the Arcanum Campus, our footsteps muffled by thick carpets that smell of age and accumulated wisdom. Balor leads us through hallways lined with portraits of past graduates, their painted eyes seeming to follow our progress.
“Everyone, take your seats, please.” A woman who’s half serpent says, her voice carrying the authority that makes spines straighten automatically.
She wears an ornate head wrap on her head, and I swear it moves, the fabric shifting in ways that suggest something alive beneath.
She’s a gorgon—Samara, if I remember correctly—her presence commanding the room with an intensity that makes the air itself feel charged.
My eyes drift around the interior of the room, automatically marking the exits and where the windows are, cataloging escape routes with the thoroughness Mother drilled into all of us.
Next, I mark where the instructors and teachers are positioned as the assistants pass out the test booklets, their footsteps soft on the carpet as they move between rows.
“The rules are simple. Complete the test and bring it to me as soon as you’re done.
” She motions to the empty rows on the right of the auditorium with a gesture that makes her jewelry chime softly.
“Once I have the booklet, take a seat over there and wait for the time to be up.” When the last booklet is placed, she smiles, revealing teeth that gleam like pearls. “Begin.”
I use my pencil to break the wax seal, the red material cracking under pressure with a satisfying snap, and turn to the first page.
Standard stuff—name, species, surname—all quickly filled out with strokes that flow like water across the paper.
On the next page, the test begins. Math, to be exact.
Rolling my eyes, I fire through the questions one after the other, the numbers, and equations as familiar as breathing.
Forty minutes into the hour-long test, I put my pencil down, the soft click echoing in the sudden silence, and I hear three more within seconds of mine—the sound of my siblings finishing with the same ruthless efficiency.
I stand and walk down the stairs, my footsteps silent on the carpet, and head toward Samara. I offer her my booklet and drop my pencil into the basket with a soft clink of wood against wicker.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see my siblings—all four of us are done within minutes of each other, our synchronized completion a testament to our shared upbringing.
We head over to the seats and take up the four chairs in the front row, the leather cushions creaking softly under our weight.
We use the hand signals our mother and Balor taught us to talk while we wait, our fingers moving in the complex patterns that look like casual gestures to anyone who doesn’t know better.
Allister is complaining about several of the politics questions being wrong, his hands sharp with indignation.
Orpheus and I complain about a poison being incorrectly identified, our shared expertise making the error glaringly obvious.
Thorne brings up that one math problem didn’t have a correct answer listed, her movements precise with frustrated accuracy.
We were so engrossed in our conversations that the last twenty minutes flew by like minutes.
“Allister Ragnar.” We stop talking and realize Samara has called names, her voice cutting through the murmur of nervous students like a blade through silk.
Allister heads up and gets his envelope, the paper crisp in his hands, and we already agreed to meet outside of the auditorium to open the envelopes together.
Several dozen names are called, and then Thorne’s name rings out across the space. Orpheus bumps my shoulder, his elbow warm against my arm. “Think they have something against us?”
I laugh a little, the sound barely audible. “What, a basilisk and a black dragon? No, never...” We laugh together until his name is called, and we fist bump, our knuckles meeting with a soft tap that carries twenty years of shared victories and defeats.
Balor is a ball of anxious energy standing on the sidelines, his posture tense as a coiled spring. Corvis is beside him. When did he get there? His presence makes something flutter in my chest, though I can’t quite name what it is.
“Raven Mrithun.” My heart is in my throat as I stand and walk over to the table to receive my envelope, the paper warm from Samara’s touch. She smiles at me, her expression carrying something that might be approval, and I lower my head slightly to her before turning to leave.
I make it outside and see our family gathered together, waiting for me to open our envelopes together.
The mountain air is crisp against my skin, carrying the scent of pine and the promise of change.
“This is so exciting!” Mom practically squeals, her voice bright with anticipation and pride that makes my chest tight with love.
Smiling, I look at Allister, and he tears his envelope open quickly, the paper ripping with eager impatience.
He reaches in slowly and pulls out a blue sash and a letter, the fabric smooth as water between his fingers.
“Politics.” Klauth is overjoyed and hugs his son, and as soon as he lets go, Mom swoops in next, her embrace warm and fierce.
Thorne opens hers slowly and reaches into her envelope, pulling out another blue sash that catches the light like sky-colored silk.
Mom furrows a brow, looking at the sash and then over at my dad with questioning eyes.
Thorne laughs, the sound bright as silver bells.
“Honestly, I don’t enjoy fighting. This is perfect for me.
” She hugs Mom and all three of her dads, their group embrace warm with shared joy.
Orpheus pulls a coin out of his pocket, the metal catching the sunlight. “Call it.” The coin flips up into the air, spinning end over end, the sun glinting off the metal like captured lightning.
“Tails.” I watch it hit the ground with a soft ping, and it’s heads up. “Not it!” We laugh together, the sound echoing off the walls, and he opens his envelope with dramatic flair.
Orpheus pulls out a dark green sash, the color deep as forest shadows, and Balor dives in with an enthusiasm that makes his sunglasses slip down his nose.
“A chip off the old block!” They high-five and chest-bump, their celebration making me shake my head at their antics while warmth spreads through my chest.
I step closer to my dad and lean against him, feeling his solid warmth through his shirt and breathing in his familiar scent, as I tear the top off my envelope.
The paper gives way with a soft ripping sound, and it’s like my entire family is holding their breath, the silence so complete I can hear my heartbeat.
I reach in and pull out a dark green sash, the fabric heavy in my hands and dark as midnight, and stare at it.
Dad kisses my temple, his lips warm against my skin, and Mom hugs me gently, her arms encircling me with love and pride that threatens to overflow from my chest.
It’s time to go to Shadowcarve and run the gauntlet. The thought sends electricity through my veins, part terror, and part anticipation, as I prepare to prove I’m worthy of the legacy that runs in my blood.