The morning after Placement, the world still ached.

  Amara woke slowly, her body stiff from the beating she had taken. The bruises were deep, the aches settling into her bones, but it was nothing compared to the weight on her wrists. The Auris Threads—delicate, intricate, deceptively beautiful—coiled lightly against her skin. But they were more than just jewelry. More than just another reminder of her family’s reach.

  They were a weapon. One she didn’t know how to use.

  She flexed her fingers, feeling the fine golden strands shift with the motion. There was no immediate reaction. No hum of magic, no sudden burst of power. Just silence. Mocking her.

  Elira’s voice cut through the quiet. “You’re looking less like you got trampled by a pissed-off cave skitter. Progress.”

  Amara exhaled sharply and pushed herself upright. The act alone sent another wave of soreness through her ribs, but she ignored it. “What time is it?”

  “Late.” Elira stretched, utterly unconcerned. “If we don’t hurry, we’re going to get stuck with the scraps at breakfast. Unless you want to live off the stale bread and regret they leave for stragglers.”

  Amara rolled her shoulders, wincing at the tightness in her muscles. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  The dining hall was louder than usual. Voices carried, overlapping in a restless murmur. The air felt different. Something had shifted.

  Placement had solidified new rankings, and now, alliances were forming—some predictable, others entirely new. Amara saw it happening as soon as they stepped inside. The students who had done well sat with different groups than the day before. Those who had struggled were quieter, watching, waiting.

  Elira snagged a tray, unbothered by the change in atmosphere. Amara followed, her steps slower, more measured. The stares hadn’t stopped. The bruises hadn’t faded. People had seen her fall. They wouldn’t forget it.

  She caught a few whispers as they passed.

  “Should’ve known Aurelians aren’t as untouchable as they think.”

  “Barely lasted, didn’t she?”

  “She got the Threads, though.”

  A low chuckle. “Yeah. Wonder if they’ll do her any good.”

  Amara clenched her jaw and kept walking.

  Elira, predictably, didn’t let it slide. She turned her head just enough to glare at the speaker. “Choke on your porridge.”

  Amara fought the urge to sigh. Subtlety had never been Elira’s strength.

  They reached their usual table. Jaren was already there, his tray half-cleared, posture relaxed but eyes alert. He barely looked up as they sat, but after a moment, he nudged an extra plate toward Amara.

  “Eat,” he said. “You look like you might pass out before lunch.”

  Amara eyed the food—slightly better than what she’d grabbed for herself. She hesitated, then took it. “Thanks.”

  Jaren shrugged. “You’ll need it.”

  She didn’t ask what he meant. She already knew.

  Across the table, someone slid into an open seat with the easy confidence of someone who belonged wherever they sat.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Golden eyes. A smirk that felt like it belonged to someone always one step ahead.

  Myles Trask.

  He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking to the Auris Threads on her wrists. “Fancy. Didn’t take you for someone who likes to accessorize.”

  Amara hadn’t spoken to him before, but his reputation was hard to miss. Shadow magic, quick hands, and a mouth that could talk its way into—or out of—anything.

  She gave him a flat look. “They were given to me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they were.” His fingers drummed idly against the table. “And do they do anything interesting, or are they just for show?”

  She stiffened slightly. “I haven’t figured it out yet.”

  Myles hummed, clearly entertained by her irritation. “Well, that’s disappointing. I was hoping for something dramatic. Maybe a flash of light, a celestial prophecy, an ancestral spirit telling you your destiny.” He sighed theatrically. “Really, what’s the point of heirlooms if they don’t come with flair?”

  Amara’s lips twitched—just barely—but she suppressed it. “Give me time.”

  The morning chime rang through the hall, silencing conversations.

  A faculty member stepped onto the platform at the front of the room. The hum of energy in the hall shifted—sharpened. Everyone was waiting. Expecting.

  Instructor Renna’s voice carried easily. “Students of the Luminal Fringe. In three passing seasons, The Culling will begin.”

  The hall was silent.

  “These trials will determine the three groups that will represent our sector in The Gauntlet. You will compete against each other to prove your strength, skill, and adaptability. Your groups have been selected based on your Placement results.”

  Amara’s pulse quickened. Groups.

  Names were called. One by one.

  Her stomach coiled tighter with each announcement. Then—

  “Amara Aurelian. Orin Delvian. Myles Trask. Lorina Thalor.”

  A beat of silence.

  Then, Myles let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s interesting.”

  Amara turned her head slightly. Orin, at a nearby table, barely reacted. If he was irritated by the assignment, he didn’t show it.

  Lorina—silent, unreadable—gave a single nod, as if the decision had already been expected.

  Myles? He just grinned.

  The room buzzed with murmurs, students assessing their own groups, weighing their chances. The Culling had already begun in their minds.

  Elira nudged Amara’s shoulder. “You better hope they don’t kill you before the actual fight starts.”

  Amara exhaled slowly, adjusting the golden threads on her wrists. Three passing seasons.

  The corridors of the Citadel always felt colder after morning announcements. Or maybe it was just Amara.

  She walked with measured steps, her newly assigned team a few paces ahead—each member moving with a quiet confidence she didn’t yet have. The Auris Threads curled around her wrists, humming against her skin like they knew something she didn’t.

  Her team.

  Orin Delvian. Myles Trask. Lorina Thalor.

  The best and brightest of the Luminal Fringe. Which meant, by all logic, she didn’t belong among them.

  So why was she here?

  Ahead, Myles turned, walking backward with effortless ease. “Not gonna lie, Aurelian. Didn’t expect to see your name in the same breath as ours.”

  Orin gave him a look—flat and unimpressed—but said nothing. Lorina, as expected, didn’t even acknowledge the conversation.

  Amara forced her expression into something neutral. “Disappointed?”

  Myles let out a low laugh. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. Confused? Absolutely.” He tilted his head, studying her. “You were, what—dead on the ground yesterday? And now you’re supposed to help us make it to the Second Trials?”

  A sharp, direct hit. Not unexpected.

  She kept her tone even. “I’m sure you’ll carry me through it, then.”

  Myles pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “Oh, so you do have faith in me. That’s sweet.”

  “Wouldn’t call it faith.”

  “Pity, then?”

  “More like an unfortunate reliance.”

  That earned a grin. “I like you already.”

  Orin’s voice cut through the exchange—steady and blunt. “If you two are done flirting, we have things to discuss.”

  Amara stiffened. Myles, the bastard, just grinned wider.

  “No need to get jealous, Delvian. There’s plenty of me to go around.”

  Orin didn’t dignify that with a response.

  Lorina finally spoke. “Three passing seasons. That’s all the time we have before the First Trials.” Her tone was smooth, measured—like she’d already calculated how much of a waste this conversation was. “We need to assess where we stand. Strengths. Weaknesses.”

  Orin crossed his arms. “Weakness is obvious.”

  Amara met his stare without flinching. “If you have something to say, say it.”

  A pause. Then: “You’re untrained.”

  No hesitation. No malice, either—just fact.

  It stung more because he wasn’t wrong.

  Myles whistled. “Ouch.”

  Amara refused to let it show. “I learn quickly.”

  Orin held her gaze for a long moment, then gave a small nod, as if that was the only answer that mattered.

  Lorina, ever the tactician, didn’t dwell. “Then you train. And we don’t waste time.”

  Myles sighed dramatically. “You people are exhausting.”

  Orin didn’t bother with a reply. Lorina had already started walking.

  Amara inhaled slowly. Three passing seasons.

  She would be ready.

  She had to be.