Alina walked down the long, carpeted corridor.

The walls were lined with massive oil paintings of Padilla ancestors. Their painted eyes seemed to follow her, heavy with the same disdain her father carried.

Two maids carrying fresh linens stopped at the intersection. They saw Alina's canvas bag and plain clothes. They didn't bow. They didn't lower their eyes. One of them smirked, whispering something to the other.

Alina kept walking. Her boots made no sound on the carpet. Her mind flashed to the countless nights in her past life, burning her hands on alchemy cauldrons to brew potions that would keep those same ancestors' legacies alive.

She pushed open the heavy double doors leading to the central courtyard.

The morning air was crisp. In the center of the manicured lawn stood the Silvercrest Academy monument-a towering crystal array she had designed in her past life, completely uncredited.

Joesph Cannon stood at the base of the monument.

He wore his pristine white Silvercrest uniform. His blonde hair was perfectly styled. When he saw Alina in her black clothes, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. He marched toward her.

"You shouldn't have upset Karina," Joesph said. His tone was dripping with condescension. "If you just go back inside and apologize to her and your father, I can talk them into letting you stay."

Alina stopped. She looked at the man who had driven a blade through her chest in her previous life.

Her stomach didn't drop. Her heart didn't race. She just felt a profound, exhausting disgust.

"Move," Alina said.

Joesph blinked. He was used to her stuttering, to her looking at the ground when he spoke.

His face hardened. "Excuse me?" He reached out, aiming to grab her shoulder.

Alina didn't step back. She shifted her weight slightly to the left, dropping her shoulder a fraction of an inch.

Joesph's hand swiped through empty air. His momentum carried him forward, making his heavy boots stumble over the cobblestones. He caught himself, his face flushing dark red.

"You are going to regret this!" Joesph yelled, spinning around. "You won't last a month in a savage place like Aethelgard! You're nothing without us!"

Alina didn't look back. She kept walking straight toward the massive iron gates of the estate.

The guard stationed at the gatehouse saw her coming. He leaned against the stone wall, crossing his arms, making no move to pull the heavy lever that operated the gate.

Alina didn't slow down.

She walked up to the gate, seemingly casual, and tapped a specific node on the lock's casing three times with her index finger. With each tap, she injected a microscopic, chaotic sliver of her unrefined mana. It was the exact resonance frequency she had discovered while studying ancient mechanics in her past life. A few seconds later, the internal gears let out a sharp crack, the precision mechanisms violently shifting and breaking under the magical resonance.

With a loud, screeching groan, the massive iron gates swung open on their own.

The guard dropped his arms, his jaw going slack. He stared at the open gate, then back at Alina. A cold sweat broke out on his neck. He pressed his back against the wall, terrified to make a sound.

Alina stepped past the property line. The cold wind hit her face. Her lungs expanded, taking in air that finally didn't smell like expensive perfume and lies.

She bypassed the family carriage house entirely. She walked two miles down the dirt road to the public transit station.

She dug into her pocket, pulling out three silver coins. She slid them across the scratched wooden counter.

"One ticket to the Northern Border. Cheapest airship," she told the clerk.

Ten minutes later, she stepped onto the deck of a rusted, sputtering airship. The cabin smelled strongly of unwashed bodies, cheap ale, and engine grease.

She found a seat near a scratched porthole.

A massive mercenary, covered in scars and reeking of stale beer, lumbered over. He slammed his heavy hand on the back of her seat.

"Move, little girl. I like the window."

Alina slowly lifted her head. She locked eyes with him.

She didn't say a word. She just let the killing intent from a decade of frontline warfare bleed into her gaze. Her pupils dilated, turning her eyes into black, bottomless pits.

The mercenary's breath hitched. The color drained from his face. His hand violently jerked away from her seat as if the leather had burned him. He stumbled backward, tripping over his own boots, and practically ran to the other end of the cabin.

A few passengers laughed, but they all gave her a wide berth.

Alina pulled a worn magic theory book from her bag and opened it, resting it over her face.

The airship engines roared to life, vibrating through the metal floor.

Beneath the cover of the book, Alina closed her eyes and looked inward.

Her Prismatic Core was a mess. Five different elemental energies clashed violently against each other, tearing at her mana veins. It was agonizing.

She began to breathe in a specific, rhythmic pattern. The Primordial Conduit technique.

Slowly, the violent clashing stopped. The red fire, blue water, green earth, yellow light, and purple dark began to swirl together. They merged, dissolving into a pure, colorless stream of raw power.

The energy flowed through her damaged veins, knitting the torn tissue back together. The pain faded, replaced by a deep, thrumming heat.

Three days later, the airship violently shook as it broke through a thick layer of storm clouds.

"Northern Border!" the conductor shouted over the engine noise. "End of the line!"

Alina pulled the book off her face. She looked out the porthole.

Perched on the edge of a jagged, snow-covered cliff was a massive fortress built of black stone. It looked like a sleeping beast.

Aethelgard Order.

Alina grabbed her bag and stood up.

Alina's boots crunched against the thick snow.

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.

The second the gates sealed, the Gauntlet escalated.

The howling wind solidified into physical blades of arcane pressure. They slashed across Alina's leather jacket, tearing the fabric with loud, ripping sounds.

Alina stopped walking. She closed her eyes.

She let go of the mental barrier holding her Prismatic Core in check.

The core spun. A terrifying, ancient vacuum opened inside her chest.

The deadly arcane blades flying toward her suddenly warped. They were sucked into the invisible vortex radiating from her body. The violent magic shattered into raw, harmless particles the second it touched her skin, flooding directly into her mana veins.

Pain exploded behind her eyes. Her veins stretched, burning as the massive influx of power forced them wider.

Alina bit down on her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, but she didn't make a sound.

Deep inside her, the chaotic colors of the Prismatic Core began to bleed out. They darkened, shifting into a deep, abyssal black. The true form of the Primordial Conduit.

She took a step forward.

The sheer density of the magic she was compressing leaked into the physical world. The heavy stone slab beneath her boot cracked, spider-web fractures shooting out in all directions.

The soul-forged lanterns lining the walls sensed the terrifying purity of her core.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

They ignited in rapid succession. Ten. Twenty. The blue flames roared, illuminating the ancient, blood-stained runes carved into the corridor walls.

Alina opened her eyes. The black of her pupils seemed to swallow the blue light around her. She could feel the fractured pieces of her soul from her past life slowly knitting back together, fed by the Gauntlet's energy.

A deep, guttural growl echoed from the darkness ahead.

Three massive Arcane Hounds, beasts formed entirely of unstable purple magic, materialized in the center of the path. They lunged at her, jaws unhinged.

Alina didn't chant. She didn't draw a weapon. She simply braced herself. The exact fraction of a second the beasts made contact with her skin, it was as if they had slammed into an invisible, bottomless black hole. The violent arcane magic comprising their bodies was frantically siphoned away. The three hounds froze mid-leap, letting out high-pitched, distorted whines as their forms rapidly destabilized. With a heavy whoosh, their bodies collapsed entirely, dissolving into a heavy rain of pure purple energy that was immediately sucked directly into her.

Alina breathed in sharply, sucking the fallout directly into her lungs. The energy hit her core like a shot of adrenaline. Her skin flushed with heat.

She picked up her pace. She walked faster, treating the deadly execution chamber like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Thirty lanterns. Fifty lanterns. Eighty lanterns.

The entire corridor was blazing with blinding blue light.

At the very end of the Gauntlet stood a set of silver double doors. The exit to the inner courtyard.

When Alina was exactly ten steps away, the Gauntlet's ultimate defense triggered.

All the remaining arcane energy in the corridor rushed to the ceiling, condensing into a massive, crackling bolt of purple lightning. It dropped straight down, aiming directly for the top of her head.

It was a strike meant to vaporize an Adept-level mage.

Alina didn't dive out of the way. She stopped, planted her feet, and threw her arms wide open.

The lightning struck her dead center.

A deafening explosion shook the stone walls. Blinding white light swallowed her entire body.

Outside the silver doors, three inner-sect disciples were staring at a monitoring crystal. The crystal flashed white, then cracked down the middle.

"She's dead. Vaporized," one of the disciples muttered, his face pale.

Inside the corridor, the light faded.

Alina stood exactly where she had been. Smoke curled off the torn edges of her jacket. Her muscles twitched, overloaded with raw power.

She swallowed the lightning.

A sharp, physical pop echoed inside her chest. The bottleneck shattered. Her magic reserves expanded violently, instantly jumping from a basic apprentice level to the absolute peak of an initial-tier mage.

Alina let out a long, slow breath. The smoke cleared from her lungs.

She took the final ten steps.

As her boot hit the stone in front of the silver doors, all one hundred soul-forged lanterns flared brighter than the sun for a fraction of a second.

Then, simultaneously, they all blew out. Pitch black.

The Gauntlet was completely drained.

The silver doors sensed her presence and slowly pushed open.

Alina brushed a piece of ash off her shoulder and walked out into the daylight.