The wind howled, biting at her exposed cheeks like tiny needles. She walked up the steep, icy stone steps leading to the main entrance of the Aethelgard Order.

The black iron gates were easily forty feet tall. On either side stood two massive gargoyle statues, their stone faces twisted into permanent snarls. The air around them hummed with a heavy, oppressive magical frequency.

Alina reached into her jacket and pulled out the blood-stained transfer contract.

Before she could step closer to the gate, a harsh grinding noise echoed through the freezing air.

The stone skin on the left gargoyle cracked and peeled away, revealing a scrawny, hunched man with pale skin. Pip Riddle.

A second later, the right gargoyle shattered its stone shell. A massive man with a thick neck and a scarred jaw stepped down. Brock Mason.

Pip snatched the parchment right out of Alina's hand. He unrolled it, his eyes scanning the runes.

He let out a loud, grating laugh. "A Prismatic Dud? Silvercrest sent us a defective toy!"

Brock threw his head back and roared with laughter. The sound bounced off the black stone walls. "We take the crazy ones, little girl. But we don't take trash that can't even light a candle."

Alina didn't blink. She didn't cross her arms. She just held her hand out, palm up.

"Give it back."

Pip stopped laughing. He sneered, holding the parchment high above his head. "This piece of paper is toilet paper here, princess. Go home."

Brock took a heavy step forward. His massive shadow fell over Alina. "Turn around before you freeze to death. We aren't opening the gate."

Alina slowly lowered her hand. She looked directly into Brock's eyes.

"The Founding Charter of Aethelgard, Section Four," Alina said, her voice cutting clearly through the howling wind. "Any bearer of a legitimate transfer writ holds the right to face the trial of entry."

Both men stiffened. Their mocking smiles vanished.

"How does a spoiled brat know about the old laws?" Pip muttered, his eyes narrowing.

Pip looked at Brock, then back at Alina. A nasty, cruel smile stretched across his face.

"Fine," Pip said. "You want your trial? You can take the Gauntlet of Will."

Brock sucked in a sharp breath. He looked at Pip, his eyes wide. The Gauntlet was a death sentence used for executing high-level traitors.

Pip ignored him, leaning in close to Alina. "It's a corridor of pure, unstable arcane energy. It will peel the skin from your bones and shred your mind before you take ten steps. Still want in?"

Alina felt the thrum of her Primordial Core in her chest. It was starving.

She didn't argue. She didn't flinch. She just jerked her chin toward the massive black gates.

"Open it."

Pip's jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to hit her. Instead, he reached into his robes and pulled out a long, black bone key. He shoved it into the skull-shaped lock on the gate.

The ground shook. The iron gates groaned, slowly pulling apart.

A blast of violet light and violent wind exploded outward.

The air pressure was so intense it pushed Brock back a step. Inside the gates was a long, dark corridor. Swirling vortexes of purple arcane energy screamed through the space like trapped ghosts.

"Last chance to run, kid," Brock yelled over the noise, genuinely looking a little sick.

Alina tightened her grip on her canvas bag. She stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the violet storm.

Crack.

A sharp sound echoed over the roaring wind.

On the left wall of the corridor, an old, rusted iron lantern suddenly flared to life. A bright blue flame danced inside the glass.

Pip's eyes bulged out of his head. "No way. That's a soul-forged lantern. It only reacts to absolute mana purity."

Alina kept walking. Her posture was perfectly straight. The violent winds whipped her black hair around her face, but her feet never faltered.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Three more lanterns ignited. The blue light pushed back the heavy darkness of the corridor.

The chaotic arcane energy in the air suddenly shifted. Instead of attacking her, the purple streams of magic violently rushed toward Alina's body.

Brock gasped, expecting her to explode into a mist of blood.

The energy hit her skin-and vanished. It sank into her body without leaving a single mark.

The heavy iron gates slammed shut behind her with a deafening boom, cutting off the guards' view.

Alina was alone in the storm.

Chapter 3

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