Chapter 2: The Final Trial (Continued)
The crowd did not speak. For a heartbeat, it was as though time held its breath.
Jean turned away from Kael without another glance. The light that had burst from her saber faded just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a shimmering trace in the air, like a sunbeam slipping beneath the waves. Her blade whispered into its scabbard with the finality of judgment.
Up on the marble balcony above the courtyard, the instructors murmured to one another—words exchanged behind fans, hands half-raised in warding gestures. Some spoke her name. Others whispered "divine interference."
Only one voice cut through.
"Jean."
She looked up.
High Instructor Saren Valen, commander of the martial division, stood with his arms folded. A man forged from wars and silence. His silver hair was tied back in a soldier's knot, eyes sharp as obsidian.
"Remain after the trial," he said. "Now. All of you—dismissed."
The crowd of students slowly dispersed, whispering, casting wary glances over their shoulders at the girl with the ghostlight eyes. Jean ignored them. She remained still until Kael was carried away, his pride shattered more than his body. Then, and only then, did she relax the grip on her saber hilt.
The courtyard emptied. The moons passed behind the spires. She felt their light ease from her skin.
---
Inside the instructors' sanctum, the walls were lined with weapons too sacred to touch and scrolls older than the nations outside. Jean stood in the center, shoulders square, gaze fixed straight ahead.
Saren stood before her, alone now. His gaze was unreadable.
"You did not cast that light," he said.
Jean said nothing.
"You're not a light mage. Your records are clean. Too clean."
"I passed your trial."
"You lit the sky."
"I still passed."
Saren's jaw tightened, but he gave the ghost of a nod.
"You've always been quiet," he said. "You don't flaunt your name. Don't make enemies. Don't make friends either."
He stepped closer.
"That kind of silence makes people nervous, Jean. Especially when you do things no one can explain."
Jean met his gaze, voice low. "Maybe they should stop trying to explain me."
Saren stared at her for a long moment. Then he gave a short breath—half a sigh, half a laugh.
"You're a Luther, all right. And yet… you're not. You've always walked like your path lies elsewhere."
Jean felt a flicker in her chest, like something awakening.
Saren turned away, walked to a sealed chest, and drew out a scroll wrapped in midnight blue and wax. He handed it to her.
"Your assessment orders," he said. "You'll leave within the week."
She took the scroll. The seal bore a crest she didn't recognize. It wasn't from the Academy. Or the Luther Clan.
"Who's sending me?"
"The High Council," Saren said. "And someone higher."
Jean raised a brow. "Celeste?"
"No. Her voice doesn't speak directly anymore. But someone's pulling threads. And they want you in the Shattered Marches."
She'd heard the name. A land plagued by rebellions, wild magic, and lost temples.
"Two years," he said. "Survive, complete your task, and return. Do more than survive… and they may name you an Envoy Knight."
Jean tucked the scroll into her cloak. "And if I die?"
Saren's expression darkened.
"Then the Luther Clan loses its last honest blade."
She left the sanctum in silence.
---
That night, Jean stood alone in her quarters at the highest tower of the Academy. A single candle flickered beside her bed. Her saber rested against the wall.
She unwrapped her bandaged palm.
On the skin beneath, faint and glowing, was the mark that had appeared during the trial. A sigil of light—radiant and ancient, shaped like twin wings curved around a sword.
She stared at it, heart pounding, thoughts racing.
It hadn't come from her.
And it wasn't fading.
She whispered, half in prayer, half in defiance:
"What do you want from me?"
No answer came.
Only the flicker of the candle.
And far beyond the mountains, beneath the clouds, something stirred—a beast of silver fur and ancient eyes—Whitney, the dire wolf guardian, lifted its head to the stars and began to walk.
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