If there's one thing Emberthorn Academy does better than ancient enchantments and unannounced explosions, it's organized chaos.
Specifically, chaos disguised as "Orientation."
✦ ✦ ✦
Riven led me through the castle like she was late for her own fireball duel.
"Quick tips," she said, weaving around floating candles and half-asleep statues. "Don't touch the cursed door on the third floor—it bites. Never accept tea from a gremlin. And if someone dares you to race a storm raven? Do not race the storm raven."
I followed her down a spiraling hallway of living marble—literally, the floor rearranged its pattern as we walked—and into what I can only describe as a magical coliseum masquerading as a classroom.
"Welcome to the Arena Wing," Riven said. "Where the school decides if you're gonna explode, cry, or summon a volcano."
"Oh," I said faintly. "Fun."
The arena was massive. Stone tiles scorched with old battle marks. Floating platforms orbited overhead like lazy moons. Dozens of first-years sat on benches carved from obsidian, each looking somewhere between amazed and vaguely terrified.
At the far end stood a platform—and on it, a woman in dark crimson robes.
Sharp as glass. Calm as a still lake. And radiating power like she breathed it.
"That's Professor Talwyn," Riven whispered. "Teaches combat magic. Very stabby."
Talwyn raised her hand, and the room silenced.
Like, magically.
"First-years," she said, voice echoing without shouting, "welcome to Emberthorn. Today, you will be evaluated. This is not a test. This is a measurement."
I swallowed.
"This academy will challenge you, reshape you, and at times, nearly kill you."
Oh good.
"You will now enter the Trial Ring. One at a time. Show us who you are."
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The first student went up—a red-haired boy with earth magic. He summoned a small mountain, flexed, and promptly passed out from overexertion.
The second, a quiet girl, whispered to the wind—and made the torches flicker in a perfect waltz.
Riven? She conjured a mini-storm cloud, rode it into the air like a surfer, and struck a dummy with lightning.
Applause. A few gasps. One teacher nodded like they were filing paperwork in their mind.
Then they called:
"Elira Wren."
My legs didn't move.
Riven nudged me. "You'll be fine. Probably."
I stepped into the ring.
Silence.
Ten thousand thoughts screamed in my brain, all at once:
I don't belong here.I don't know how to cast anything.What if I just stand here and burst into flames—
Wait.
The air... shifted.
Heat bloomed behind my ribs like something stirring.
Professor Talwyn watched, unblinking. "Whenever you're ready, Miss Wren."
I breathed in.
Closed my eyes.
And something whispered:
Burn.
I opened my hand—
—and fire exploded from my palm.
Not red. Not orange.
White-gold, laced with silver threads and singing with soundless power. It twisted upward like a living ribbon, then curled gently into the shape of a bird—wings wide, eyes burning.
The crowd stared.
The professors exchanged looks.
Talwyn's eyes narrowed, just slightly.
The flame bird hovered above my shoulder.
And then, with a soft pop, it vanished—leaving only sparks and silence behind.
"Well," someone muttered in the back, "guess we found the weird one."
I turned. Walked off the platform. Sat down next to Riven without a word.
She stared at me, stunned.
"You made a phoenix. Out of nothing."
I looked down at my hands.
They weren't shaking.
They were glowing.
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Later that night, I sat by my dorm window, staring out at the endless sky and the glowing towers.
My heart was still racing.
I had magic. Real, terrifying, whispering-in-my-bones kind of magic.
But that flame—It knew me.
And worse…
I think something else saw it, too.
Because far below, in the shadowed courtyard where no lanterns touched, a figure in black robes stood perfectly still.
Watching.
Waiting.
As if they already knew—
The girl who burned too bright was going to burn the world.