3. Chapter Three

The walls that encircled Sophrosyne were made of gleaming, polished limestone that sparkled in the sun. Somehow, they displayed no signs of aging or erosion, even though I knew they had stood there for centuries.

As our guides herded us through the Western Gates, my mouth parted in gentle surprise when a ripple of tangible power brushed against my skin like a low hum. Wards.

I don’t know why I was surprised by the sensation. Of course the City of the Gods would be warded. Even the smaller port cities of Samhaven carried that same buzzing, protective arcana.

And Sophrosyne was far more than just a city.

It was technically an independent city-state, an enclave within the territories of Pyrhhas that had retained its sovereignty when the Atlassian Houses were formed, several hundred years ago.

More importantly, it was home to the most prestigious college of arts and sciences that one could attend: The Arcane Studium. It was here that a Resonant could become a Conduit, learning to channel their elemental abilities into the complex arcana of the gods themselves—or at least something akin to it. We mortals would never be able to access the near-limitless powers of creation that our ancient, immortal ancestors once had.

The woman who led us through the gates and directed us towards the annex of a larger building was so tall and lithe that, at first glance, I had almost assumed she was one of the nineteen immortal patrons of this city.

I wouldn’t have been particularly surprised if I saw a pair of pointed ears and glowing eyes staring back at us as she turned, but alas. There were no pointed, feral fangs in her smile either. While our guide was stunning, she did not carry the telltale signs of our Elder species. Our physical differences were supposedly just happenstance, a random byproduct of evolution—but I envied the beauty of the gods, even if I’d only ever seen it depicted in paintings.

No matter, I reminded myself. I would face them soon enough.

Our guide reiterated this after gathering us all in the foyer. Her feminine voice sparkled as it echoed off the white marble columns of the entryway and the matching tiles, just as polished as the city walls.

“Those of you who have been selected for today’s round of trials, please be seated in the aisles to your right. Those of you who have been assigned to tomorrow’s round, please form an orderly line here,” she said, gesturing to the podium to her left. “I will distribute vouchers for your room and board tonight. Please bear in mind that you are expected to stay within this particular section of the Western district of the city until you have completed your trial.”

“What happens if we don’t stay in this particular section?” A thin, reedy voice rang out to challenge her. I didn’t even have to turn around to know the speaker would be deathly pale, with thin blonde hair and limpid blue eyes that lived beneath a permanently furrowed brow.

Of course it would be Percival who had to ask, who somehow couldn’t read between the lines and deduce what seemed rather obvious to me. Had he not felt the wards?

“You are welcome to try to enter the city on your own and see what happens, young Master Zephirin,” the tall, elegant woman said with a wry smile. “But I highly recommend against it. We would rather not send you back to the House of Gales in pieces.”

“Tsk,” was apparently all the young Master Zephirin had to say about that—and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Eventually, all of the prospective students who were not taking their trials today made their way outside of the annex, presumably to anxiously meander about this small section of the city. I offered a silent prayer of thanks to the Source that I was selected to take mine today, as my nerves were already beginning to fray.

Those same questions I had harassed Amaretta with before I ever set sail for Sophrosyne continued to swirl around my mind.

What if the Elders could sense that I was hiding something? What if they didn’t, but found me unworthy of being a Conduit anyway? What if I failed their tests, whatever they may be? What if I was sent back home? What would I even do with the rest of my life if that happened? What if I never figured out what I was, why I was like this?

What if, what if, what if?

I chewed furiously at my lower lip, one leg bobbing restlessly against the tiles as I waited, and waited, and waited in this shining, open room that had become far too quiet for my liking. You could hear a pin drop in here. Occasionally, the slender woman behind the podium would call out a name, and if I had to guess, we were being called up in order of our elemental Resonances, because it certainly wasn’t alphabetical.

“Arken Asher,” our guide’s voice finally called out. “Please proceed past these doors, where one of our scholars will run you through the details of your trial. Best of luck, young Resonant.”

With a single deep breath, I pushed through those heavy annex doors and on the exhale, found myself within a small, but elegant antechamber. Sitting at a desk in front of yet another set of doors, these ones larger and somehow even more ornate, was a stout and elderly looking gentleman who almost immediately reminded me of Amaretta. They looked to be about the same age, and there was that oddly familiar twinkle in his eye…

“Welcome, Miss Asher,” he said as he rose briefly to offer a small, polite bow. “I am High Scholar Wallace, and I will be handling the introduction to your trial, and the subsequent onboarding paperwork, should you succeed. Please, take a seat.”

The man gestured at an expensive looking, velvet-lined wingback chair across from his desk. As I sank into the plush cushion, he continued on.

“Before I explain what comes next, I just need to run through a few basic questions, is that alright?”

My voice cracked a bit as I spoke, but I managed to reply. “Yes, of course.”

“Your full name?”

“Arken Asher.”

“No middle name?”

“No, sir.”

Not as far as I was aware, anyway. One of the many mysteries of being abandoned at birth.

“Your age?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Your Resonant element of aether?”

“Light.”

And Shadow. And Fire. And Water. And Earth. And Air. But he didn’t need to know that. Amaretta made me swear on my life to keep them hidden here.

“This is quite exciting,” he exclaimed. “It’s been some time since we’ve seen a new Light Resonant come through these doors. Over twenty years now!”

I blinked.

Gods. I knew that both Light and Shadow had become increasingly rare Resonances these days, but twenty years? Perhaps I would be receiving more than just a small amount of extra attention during my time here. I hadn’t planned for this. I would have to find a way to skirt some expectations.

I offered the scholar a nod and a weak smile, all the while trying to prevent my leg from frantically bobbing again and exposing just how nervous I really was.

“And does Resonance run in your family line?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know. I was adopted.”

The old man gave me an understanding, apologetic smile before continuing on.

“Are you aware that, should you pass your trial, you will be expected to receive an arcane brand on the inside of your dominant wrist—a sigil that will both allow you entry to Sophrosyne and prove your status as a Conduit and student of the Arcane Studium?”

“Yes.”

“And you are aware that said sigil will prevent you from discussing any matters that are considered selective or exclusive knowledge of Sophrosyne and the Studium?”

“Yes.”

The Trial itself was known to be one such insight that was exclusive knowledge of the gods and Conduits alone. As such, none of us Resonants truly knew what to expect here. We were all going in blind.

“And do you consent to this?”

“Yes.”

“Last but not least, please specify your territory of origin.”

“Samhaven. The Brindlewoods,” I answered.

“Ah, you certainly are a long way from home now, aren’t you? Tell me, does Amaretta Sinclair still live around those parts?”

I blinked in surprise. “You know Amaretta?”

“Indeed! I take it you’re familiar as well…?”

“Yes, actually. She’s my… Well, she raised me. Amaretta is my mentor. Practically the reason I’m here today,” I explained.

“Oh, how absolutely marvelous!”

The old man clapped his wrinkled hands together with an emphatic nod.

“What a small world we live in, Miss Asher. The next time you see her, you must tell her that Ambrose Wallace sends his warmest regards. We studied together when we were your age, you know. I took over her position when she retired.”

So he was a cleric, then. Yeah, that checked out. It would explain why he reminded me so much of my mentor, at least.

High Scholar Wallace nodded again with even more enthusiasm before peering at me from behind his spectacles, which had fallen quite low on his nose now due to said nodding.

“Well then. A Light Resonant from the Brindlewoods, raised by none other than the illustrious Scholar Sinclair. I expect great things to come from you, young one. Great things! But oh dear, I do digress. Let me explain how we will proceed with your trial,” he said, offering a slight, apologetic wince for having so clearly strayed off-script.

Honestly, I had been grateful for the distraction, but it was time to focus. I had to do this. I had to get into the Arcane Studium. I was thousands of miles from home, having traveled for over six weeks on that gods-forsaken ship, just for the chance…

“In a few minutes, you will enter the Hall of the Seeing by passing through these doors behind me, and you will speak with the Nineteen. I trust that Scholar Sinclair provided you with some insight on the Aetherborne?”

I nodded. Indeed, I knew a great deal about the last nineteen gods residing in our realm, though Amaretta had informed me that I would learn much, much more once I began my studies. There were things even she could not disclose. Perhaps due to the arcane brand.

What I did know was that those same nineteen Aetherborne—the gods, as some mortals called them, or Elders, as they called themselves—were both the rulers and the benefactors of this city-state.

While they were neither omnipotent nor omnipresent in the way that some of the more religious zealots of this realm believed the Aetherborne to be, there was a reason we called them gods.

Beyond being the elder species and the first known intelligent life form on Aemos, they were exceptionally powerful beings who had held great influence over the people of Atlas, over humankind as a whole, and for all of history as we knew it.

And they held my fate in their hands today.

“Before you enter, you will select one of these three vials before you and drink the elixir within. While I cannot specify what any of the elixirs do, I can say that there is no wrong selection. They are all perfectly safe for human consumption, and you will be carefully monitored throughout your trial to ensure that remains the case. Your safety and well-being are of the utmost importance to us,” Scholar Wallace explained calmly.

“Alright,” I said slowly, with vague apprehension. I hadn’t really expected to imbibe any strange liquids today.

“What happens after that is entirely up to the Elders, so I am afraid I cannot offer much guidance there. The trial is tailored specifically to the individual, you see.”

Ah. So they make it personal when they take your measure. No pressure, then.

I grimaced.

“I am sure you’ll be just fine,” he said, a sweet attempt at reassurance. “And do keep in mind that even if this trial does not go as you may hope or plan, most are welcome to re-apply for entry to the Studium after a ten-year period.”

I was far from reassured. If I had to wait another ten years for access to the endless font of knowledge that was the Arcane Studium, I would lose my mind. Sure, I could attempt to find my answers elsewhere, but when? Where? How?

I had scoured the city of Elsweire for clues whenever Amaretta and I would take trips and found nothing of import. The libraries of Novos were rumored to rival even Sophrosyne, but that was practically worlds away from me now—a literal separate continent. I simply did not have the means to travel that far, at least not any time soon.

I had to pass this trial. I had to start searching now.

I eyed the glass bottles that were laid out before me with suspicion.

Maybe it’s poison.

I shook the intrusive thought from my head, and selected the vial on the left, turning it over in my palm and awaiting further instructions.

“Any moment now, this orb here will glow, signaling the time for you to enter—ah! And there it is.”

The crystal ball nestled beside a globe and stack of parchment on his desk, which I had presumed to be purely decorative, began to glow with soft, warm light.

“Please go ahead and drink that now, and then you may enter the Hall. Your trial awaits, Arken Asher.”

I carefully uncorked the crystal vial and knocked back its contents as if the liquid was a shot of the whiskey I’d shared on occasion with friends back home. It had a similar burn on the way down my throat, but tasted more… botanical. Herbal, maybe.

Here goes nothing.