With his foot firmly planted on a jagged piece of collapsed debris, Kliff closed his eyes and tuned his senses to the world around him.

  Every creature on the planet naturally emitted a Signature; it served as irrefutable evidence of their existence. According to ancient Ruenist texts, it was believed that a person's Essence formed the very core of their soul. Although Kliff didn't lean heavily on religion or philosophy, he acknowledged the merit of these teachings in relation to Magic Theory. The sheer volume of Essence a person possessed ultimately decided their fate—whether they would emerge as a mage or remain a mere dullard in the eyes of the magical community; a distinction he deemed absolutely crucial.

  Breaking off from his position, Kliff surged forward at an accelerated pace along the narrow road ahead. In the short span of twenty minutes since being drawn into this pocket prison, he had begun to adapt to the surreal creations that surrounded him. The cracked walls were smothered in thick, violet-colored vines, stretching on for what felt like an eternity. Above him, the sky loomed dark and oppressive, bereft of stars, yet illuminated by ethereal ribbons of light that danced like ghosts. Shattered pillars jutted out from the ground like the fingers of some long-forgotten giant, and staircases ascended into nothingness, their purpose lost to time.

  As he reached a fork in the road, two paths lay before him, both indistinguishable from the other. Kliff closed his eyes once more, reaching deep within himself to find where the infrequency of Essence resonated most loudly. The lesson Autumn had taught him echoed in his mind: Hone in on the glimmer amidst the flood. Typically, Essence remained silent, flowing through its environment and creatures as gracefully as ocean waves lapping at the shore. Yet, now and then, anomalies would arise, disrupting that fluidity—tears in the fabric of the world's design that beckoned attention.

  In his training, Kliff learned that these anomalies signified a Breach, that is, a split in the Realms of Existence that spirits and otherworldly entities used to infiltrate the Physical Realm. In this instance, it wasn't a spirit responsible; this anomaly was new. Pocket prisons themselves were composed exclusively of magical energy, and so the anomaly obstructing it was akin to a crack in a glass window or a fissure in an otherwise perfectly paved street. A discordant note, a broken wand, a blight. The way out.

  Guess that's why he called it Integrity's Rift, Kliff thought, smirking to himself. To escape, I'll need to track down where this labyrinth breaks.

  Inhaling sharply through his nose, Kliff darted down the path, the chilling winds battering against him with each rapid step, the echo of his footsteps resonating against the stone walls. It took him some adjusting, but Kliff eventually acclimated to the peculiar sensations of his enchanted uniform. Crafted from a fabric imbued with magic, it constricted and loosened seamlessly in tandem with his movements, conforming to his body like a second skin. Regardless of the extent of damage it might endure—be it a minor snag in the weave or a significant rip tearing through the sleeve—the uniform possessed an uncanny ability to repair itself almost instantaneously. Glyph Academy was, well and truly, an ingenious place.

  After five more minutes of his brisk jog, the narrow passageway opened into a diamond-shaped courtyard, an eerie relic of a once-grand structure now littered with collapsed debris—crumbling stones and shattered fragments of architecture that Kliff struggled to identify, increasingly entwined with violet veins snaking across their surfaces, pulsating as if alive. Some walls leaned precariously, caved in under an unseen weight, and through an archway of twisted, cracked stones, Kliff caught a glimpse of the corridor leading to the other side. As he carefully stepped over the jagged remains of a collapsed pillar, his eyes narrowed instinctively at a glint on the ground. Ice? Kliff advanced cautiously towards it, his hand hovering over the hilt of his wand, ready for anything. Yes, it was indeed ice, shimmering under the dim light, its surface reflecting fragments of the crumbling courtyard around it.

  Adeline must have passed through here, Kliff thought, frustration swelling within him.

  Details of his surroundings sharpened as Kliff devoted the appropriate amount of attention to them. Sheets of ice clung to particular segments of the stone walls. When he concentrated hard enough, he could just barely sense the Essence particles—tiny shimmering motes that danced in the air like fireflies—hovering in the charged atmosphere. A battle had unfolded in this desolate place, but the specifics eluded him. A scream echoed in the distance, a sharp cry that was soon followed by a high-pitched, famished screech, reverberating through the confined space. Kliff narrowed his gaze, his heart quickening. He had suspected this test wouldn’t be as straightforward as simply escaping a vacant maze of corridors. Their strict professor hadn't been lying; just what exactly was lurking in this prison with him?

  It struck him as ironic. He had been taught that pocket prisons could be so immense that, should fifty ordinary humans be placed within one, the odds of any two people ever crossing paths were next to zero. Did this imply that Integrity’s Rift was not as vast as he had initially believed? Kliff sighed, shaking off these needless considerations. Adeline had already cleared this area, and there was no telling how many students had reached the exit before him. He didn’t have a moment to waste. Yet another scream, this one more desperate, clawed at his attention, evoking memories he had fought to bury time and time again. The part of him—the part inspired by Ark Regaleo, the greatest sorcerer to have ever lived—longed to intervene. It yearned to help, just as the ethics of a sorcerer demanded. But Kliff knew he couldn’t afford to fail; his mother was depending on him.

  So, you want to be like Ark, do you? Autumn chuckled inside the memory that replayed in his head.

  That imaginary, young fool nodded eagerly. I do! He's my hero. When I grow up, I don't just want to be a Professional Sorcerer. I want to be as great a sorcerer as he was.

  Hmm, an admirable goal, Little Flame, Autumn commended. But to be the greatest, that road won't be a cakewalk.

  I know...but if you agree to let me serve as your apprentice, then I know I can be just as strong as he was. Maybe even stronger!

  Kliff cringed as he remembered himself making the idiotic declaration. His naivety back then was enough to elicit a gag.

  It isn't only about strength, Kliff. Ark valued more than just magic power. What made him truly great was what he stood for. An Autumn that didn't exist pointed her finger directly at him. I can teach you how to temper your magic, your fire, but that won't make you a true sorcerer. If you want to be like him and be made a legend, remember to value your honor above all else.

  Honor? Kliff often pondered it as a nebulous concept, difficult to grasp and often elusive. He could almost hear Autumn’s voice in his head, filled with disappointment as she imagined his current predicament. If she knew the depths of his actions, he feared she would never be able to face him again, her trust shattered like glass. But a flicker of hope ignited within him; he could help, couldn't he? He had the power to make a difference for his fellow classmates, to support them in their time of need. Drawing in a shaky breath, Kliff steeled himself, focusing intently for the signs of the Essence—where it pulsed strong and vibrant and where it grew weak and dim. Suddenly, a sharp click echoed behind him, jarring him from his thoughts, but he didn’t dare to glance back. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he dove toward a nearby wall, just as an enormous claw descended with a terrifying speed, smashing down on the ground where he had stood only moments before.

  With a swift, fluid motion, Kliff rolled into a crouch, his heart racing in his chest as he glared defiantly at the plated creature that loomed before him. The creature hissed menacingly, its voice a strange, unsettling blend of clicks and hisses. Kliff’s breath quickened; this was not just a beast—this was a challenge he could not back down from. Deathstalkers? he thought, analyzing the arachnid. He'd never seen one before, but just as their name implied, they were predators not to be crossed.

  But he had a wand.

  Swiping the Salamander Wand from out of its holster, Kliff pointed its tip at the monster and shouted, "Fire Magic: Ignax!" The heat whistled up the shaft of the wand, kissing the fingers of his dominant hand with a smolder. A bright, orange-colored light shone in front of him as a fireball launched out of the wand and hurtled towards the deathstalker.

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  It hit!

  A bubbling explosion engulfed the creature with fire and smoke, causing it to flail its claws uncontrollably and stagger back on its scrambling legs.

  In a duel, don't strive to impress or flaunt, Autumn reprimanded him. Do whatever you need to do to end it as quickly as possible.

  "Always," Kliff muttered under his breath.

  Most beginner sorcerers these days could stand to learn that lesson. He wasn't like the rest of them. There wasn't a need for him to bolster his skills and reveal all the techniques he'd amassed over his years of training. They were resources that shouldn't be divulged to the common and untrustworthy eyes. The deathstalker ground its mandibles together, clouds of foam bubbling out. It locked its abnormal number of eyes directly onto him and charged forth with its right claw poised to strike. Kliff wouldn't allow it to reach him, however. Quickly, the boy engaged in a hopping retreat, pouncing from one spot to the next. Behind him, there was a discharge of magic, a spell fired from a wand.

  Kliff glanced back to where he'd heard the distinctive noise, only to be met by the sight of a vein-infused wall. The deathstalker hissed at him again, thrusting its claw at a rapid speed. Kliff crouched to his knees and leaped away from it. Had he been a second late, the deathstalker would have cut him in half, his torso cleaved from the rest of his body. But his dodge hadn't been entirely flawless. The creature had snagged a piece of his uniform. That was fine; it would grow back in a few moments. The bruise that stung his waist, well, it'd heal by the end of class; no need to pester the Medical Mages.

  Fritz! Kliff cursed.

  That was a rookie mistake, and Kliff knew it. He was getting sloppy. With a frustrated grunt, he attempted to widen the gap between himself and his relentless target. The deathstalker, with glistening obsidian exoskeleton and piercing violet eyes, pursued him with unyielding determination, its massive form thrumming with predatory intent. Like most sorcerers, Kliff preferred to engage his foes from a distance, relying on the potency of his long-range spells. The magic he wielded was volatile and unpredictable, capable of incinerating anything in its path, including himself. It was vital, therefore, that he remained outside the danger zone, as he knew firsthand the perils of miscalculating his power—this would not be the first time he had narrowly escaped being consumed by his own infernos.

  Fire was powerful. Fire horrified him.

  In a heartbeat, the deathstalker lashed out, its tail darting towards him like a blackened whip, the stinger extending to pierce his flesh. Kliff instinctively dropped to the ground, allowing his shoulder cape to flutter behind him like a ghostly banner as he slid across the dirt, narrowly evading a lethal strike aimed at his throat. Kinetic energy surged within him as he lunged into the air, landing in a solid stance several feet away from the beast. With a swift motion, he pointed his wand at the creature, channeling all his focus into a barrage of Ignax Spells—a series of fiery projectiles bursting forth like vengeful meteors. Each fiery orb hit its mark with a resounding crack, illuminating the area with a fierce glow, but the deathstalker merely staggered, its thick armor absorbing the brunt of the attacks. Kliff scowled as he realized that despite his efforts, the arachnid monster was far from subdued; its nearly impervious exoskeleton laughed at his flaming onslaught.

  I want to be strong, a younger voice whispered in his ear. But what if I duel someone stronger than me? What then?

  Remember this, Little Flame, Autumn had once told him. An apprentice can still best the most powerful sorcerer in the world, should their opponent succumb to anger or pride. Emotions are a dangerous element when it comes to casting magic. They could lead to a Rejection. They can lead to a mistake. Should you face an impossible entity where using your spells is obsolete, count on your other weapons to get the job done.

  My other weapons?

  Strategy, Autumn smirked. A dullard with a brain shines brighter than a sorcerer lacking one. You have a sharp mind. Use it to pinpoint your enemy's weak spots.

  And what if they don't have any weak spots?

  Kliff blushed as the memory arrived at its climax. Silly Kliff. Everybody's got a weak spot. All you need to do is find it.

  There! The opportunity shone brightly in his eyes. Taking a step, Kliff thrust his wand and shouted, "Fire Magic: Igralus!"

  A rope of orange light ignited from the tip of Kliff's wand. Although it didn’t zip through the air with the blinding speed of his Ignax Spell, it was hardly sluggish. Instead, this unorthodox beam of fire lashed forth with a purposeful grace, slithering across the air like a fiery serpent. The deathstalker took the bait, lunging forward in an attempt to catch the ribbon with its sharp, skeletal claws. Kliff, with a deft flick of his wrist, maneuvered it over the creature's head. Like a skilled dancer, the flame began to whip around in an elegant ring, its height tantalizingly just out of reach of the deathstalker’s snapping appendages.

  Beads of sweat trickled down the sides of Kliff’s face, stinging his eyes as he fought to maintain focus. Igralus, while not an overwhelmingly powerful spell, required a delicate touch and less Essence than his more brute-force incantations. Yet, it posed its own formidable challenges—its control was utterly demanding. Every fiber of Kliff's concentration was devoted to coaxing the spell into the precise motions he envisioned, threading the ribbon while evading the creature’s desperate attempts to seize it. With the deathstalker now engaged in a futile flurry of activity, snapping and screeching wildly at its elusive light source, Kliff couldn't help but feel the tantalizing flavor of victory on his tongue. Yes, there was a thrill to a duel; it always urged him to triumph.

  "It's time to end this," Kliff muttered, amassing a puddle of Essence, feeling the magical energy rush through his veins. Twirling the wand overhead, Kliff whispered, "Fire Magic: Orde Igna."

  This was his most powerful spell, one that nearly vaporized his very existence. A bolt of crimson energy zigzagged from the tip of his wand, keeping on a collision course with the unsuspecting deathstalker, having had its attention diverted and its stomach exposed. A second passed; Kliff fortified his stance so that he wouldn't be blasted away by what was to come. Another second, the deathstalker, in a brief moment of hesitation, turned to face the spell soaring for it. A final second and a thunderous explosion struck Kliff's eardrums. An intense heat wave incinerated the air, sending forth rolling whirlwinds that blazed like mini infernos, effortlessly scattering pillars and chunks of debris across the courtyard. A bright orange light flared to life, flooding the entire expanse with a harsh glow. The ground groaned and cracked beneath his feet, fissures snaking across the surface like the twisted legs of a monstrous spider, threatening to swallow everything in their path.

  From the heart of the chaos, a searing plume of smoke surged some twenty feet into the sky, unfurling like a titanic, smoggy mushroom, casting a suffocating veil over him. Through the haze, Kliff could feel the oppressive heat pressing against his skin, blurring the edges of his vision. Yes, now he truly understood why Autumn had adamantly refused to teach him this spell; it was raw, uncontrollable power incarnate, and he was standing on the precipice of its devastating potential.

  Before him, burning inside a bleeding blaze was the corpse of the deathstalker, its legs sticking lifelessly above the rest of its ruined body. It tainted the smoky winds with a putrid sort of odor, one that Kliff was familiar with—the stench of burning flesh. Kliff watched the fire have at its prey with a stilled expression. Maybe at some point when he was younger, he would have found the sight horrific or repulsive. Now, a soul being claimed by flames was nothing new. Sighing, Kliff gave the inferno his back and proceeded quietly towards the anomaly.

  *

  * *

  Kliff materialized at the front of the classroom in a sharp burst of violet-colored light. No one else was present—only his professor, the austere Professor Marsh, and his avian companion, the sleek crow perched on the sorcerer's shoulder, its eyes glinting with curiosity. This solitude confirmed that he had indeed been the first to arrive, the first to complete the test. Kliff wasn't particularly surprised by the outcome; his magic had been honed over countless grueling practice hours, transforming his skills into a dependable blade ready for any challenge.

  As he slid his wand back into its holster at his side, he started for the closest desk. Despite his early success, Kliff knew he would likely have to wait until the others finished the test themselves. Settling into a wooden chair, Professor Marsh’s expression remained unreadable, a mask of mild irritation that shrouded any hints of approval. There were no encouraging words or appreciative nods for his accomplishment, only the weight of the professor’s disappointment directed at him. "I must say, I'm impressed," Professor Marsh said, hands shoved in his cloak's pockets as he approached.

  "Really?" Kliff said doubtfully. "You have a bizarre way of showing it, sir."

  "Any sane person would have tried to flee from a deathstalker, much less take one head-on in a fight. Although I have been informed that you excel at Fire Magic."

  Kliff nodded to himself as Professor Marsh passed him. "The beasts are intimidating, but even a beginner like me is capable of besting one, should they know where to strike."

  "Ah, yes," Professor Marsh agreed. "The deathstalker is well-armored, but its underside is vulnerable. First, you distracted the creature, exposing its weak point. Then it was only a matter of finishing it off with a powerful spell, yeah? It was a sound strategy, to say the least."

  "I think you will come to find, professor," Kliff said with an air of confidence and pride, "just how strong of a sorcerer I can be."

  "Yes, I suppose I will. For now, though," Professor Marsh replied, "I think the grade of B minus will suffice."

  Kliff's eyes stretched open in a cold surprise, and he couldn't control the gasp flung out of his mouth. "Only...a B...?"

  "Minus."

  "But, sir!" Kliff loudly protested, shooting out of his chair to face him. "I located the exit without fail. I cleared any obstacles you threw at me. Not only that, I was the first to escape Integrity's Rift!"

  "Yes, that is so."

  "Even yet, my grade is so...so average?" Kliff exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief as he balled his fists tightly at his sides. Kliff's boiling rage became a fierce dragon, its scorching breath aimed squarely at Professor Marsh, who stood across the room, a calculating glint in his eyes. Was this man deliberately provoking him, trying to incite a blaze of fury for his own amusement? “No...this can't be. I won’t accept it!” he declared defiantly, clenching his jaw as he battled the urge to unleash his pent-up anger.

  "I take it you're dissatisfied, then?" Professor Marsh said. The crow on his shoulder ruffled its feathers, letting loose a muted squawk or three. "And how would you evaluate your performance, Dresden? What grade do you think you deserve?"

  "Perfect!" Kliff shouted. "A perfect score, that's what I'm owed!"

  Professor Marsh chuckled to himself. "If you truly believe that, then you have much more growing to do."

  Kliff hesitated. "Wh..what?"

  "You were so caught up in escaping the pocket prison," Professor Marsh said drily, "that you failed to notice the real objective of this test."

  "What objective?!"

  Instead of answering him, the sorcerer lifted his chin to glance at the numerous, flickering magiscreens hovering in the air, upon each displaying a different student inside the pocket prison. All in real-time. Silence stilled him as Kliff began to reconsider. Had he truly missed a vital aspect of the test? Was there a hidden factor he hadn't accounted for? No, plainly that was the case. He'd been so motivated to escape the Sunken Labyrinth that he didn't even pause to think if there could be another goal to be realized.

  "Take a seat and watch, Dresden," Professor Marsh told him, not moving his eyes off the floating screens. "For now, let's see how your classmates fare."

  Kliff settled himself at a desk, gazing up at the magiscreens. Perhaps his classmates could excavate the answer he was too blind to see.