The second trial begins at dawn.

“The Scale Hunt,” Xavier announces, his voice carrying across the assembled competitors. “Eight black dragon scales wait among the cliffs where wild wyverns nest. Khaira herself shed them and placed them in the rocks. Only eight of you will advance. The rest go home.”

Eight scales. Fifteen remaining competitors. The math makes my stomach clench with dread.

The coastal cliffs tower before us—sheer rock faces battered by relentless wind, narrow ledges overlooking deadly drops to the churning sea below. Wild wyverns circle the heights, smaller and more aggressive than true dragons, fiercely territorial over their nesting grounds.

“Those things will tear your face off if you get too close,” Mira warns quietly beside me. “Watch for sudden dives. They aim for the eyes first.”

“Lovely,” I mutter darkly. “Any other cheerful observations to share?”

“Don’t fall. The rocks at the bottom are sharp.”

“Your encouragement is truly unparalleled, Mira.”

Xavier raises his horn. “Begin!”

I throw myself at the cliff face, and something unexpected happens. My body remembers. Years of scaling Mintia’s mountain peaks flood back—secret training on cliff faces after Father banned me from official grounds.

My fingers find holds the others miss. My balance on narrow ledges stays sure where others hesitate. The muscle memory I’d buried for survival now saves my life.

I spot my first scale wedged in a crevice near a wyvern nest, black as midnight against the gray stone. My heart pounds as I begin my approach, mapping each handhold carefully.

But another competitor reaches it first.

He moves with home-territory confidence, a man who knows these cliffs like his own skin. His fingers close around the scale just as I reach the ledge. His grin is triumphant as he descends past me without a backwards glance.

“Better luck elsewhere, houseless,” he calls over his shoulder.

I bite back a curse and keep climbing. Refusing to surrender, I push higher into more dangerous territory where the wyverns grow bolder. Their shrieks echo off the stone, territorial warnings that make my ears ring painfully.

A shadow passes overhead. I look up just as talons rake the air inches from my face.

I press myself flat against the rock, cheek scraping stone, heart hammering against my ribs. The wyvern wheels past, screaming its rage, close enough that I feel the wind from its wings against my exposed skin.

“Not today,” I whisper desperately. “Please, not today.”

The creature circles above, considering another attack. I hold my breath, muscles burning from the awkward position, until it finally loses interest and returns to its nest above.

I resume climbing with shaking hands. Time slips away relentlessly. Below, I hear the horn sound—one scale claimed, then another. Desperation fuels my ascent into increasingly dangerous heights where fewer competitors dare to venture.

Then I see it.

A black scale sits abandoned on a narrow ledge above me, glinting dully in the morning light. Fresh scrapes mark the rock beside it. Someone was here moments ago. Someone dropped it.

I haul myself onto the ledge and claim the scale with trembling fingers. Below, a competitor dangles from a lower outcrop, face pale with terror. Others pull him to safety. A wyvern attack must have made him panic. He fell, barely caught himself, and lost his prize in the chaos.

His loss. My survival.

The fifth horn sounds just as I begin my descent—the final scale claimed. I made it by seconds. Barely.

My results are better than yesterday. My mountain experience showed in every confident movement, every sure-footed traverse. But finishing eighth out of eight isn’t exactly impressive. It’s surviving by the thinnest margin possible.

The compound feels quieter as evening falls. Most competitors celebrate advancement or mourn elimination in equal measure. I find a quiet corner near the training yard and sit alone, examining the scrapes on my palms.

Riven finds me there.

He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t demand explanations. He just settles onto the bench beside me, his presence warm and steady in the gathering darkness.

“You climbed well today,” he says finally. “Better than anyone expected. Where did a houseless rogue learn to scale cliffs like that?”

I shrug, offering nothing. My secrets are the only things keeping me alive.

He lets the silence stretch, comfortable with my refusal to answer. Most people push. Most people demand. Riven simply waits, patient as stone.

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