And so the day finally came. Luciana and I walked into a grand auditorium teeming with hundreds of prospective students. The air resonated with nervous energy and the scents of sweat and faint perfumes. Young teenagers dominated the crowd. Their faces flushed with anticipation. A handful of late bloomers in their early twenties huddled in corners, shoulders hunched as if trying to fold their adult frames into smaller, less conspicuous shapes.

  Though humans were in the majority, I was relieved to see nearly every other race represented. There were elves who moved with their usual liquid grace. There were young dwarves, still beardless, but already quite stocky. Even beastkin of all kinds mingled about: lizardfolk, wolfkin, rabbitfolk, horsekin, and even some exotic varieties not native to the Morne Isles.

  Two fairies hovered near a window. Their gossamer wings caught sunlight, fracturing it into rainbow prisms. Their primordial nature, akin to dragons, made me seethe with curiosity. I longed to approach them and discuss their ancient magic, but I had to stick with Luciana for now. Only would-be students were permitted inside, so I acted as a makeshift bodyguard and diligently scanned the hall for possible danger.

  The impressive hall was as large as a basketball court. Vaulted stone arches held up the ceiling. I gathered it usually served as the dining hall. Today, the staff had cleared away the tables and chairs. Polished stone floors gleamed in the flood of light from arched windows on both sides. Unlike the Cathedral’s stained glass, these windows let in mostly clear light, with a few color-tinted panels that turned the simple stone floor into a dancing mosaic.

  Some moments later, my eyes caught movement heading directly toward us. Three kids, dressed in ostentatious clothes, approached. The one leading wore a midnight-blue velvet doublet trimmed with ermine. His fingers, adorned with signet rings, clinked softly as he gestured. Eyes the precise blue of a winter sky assessed Luciana with practiced interest beneath a sweep of raven-black hair. Everything about him screamed nobility of high standing.

  “Lady Luciana de Chastel, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you.” The boy bowed, the angle precise and practiced from years of instruction. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Thomin le Cler, the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Sonem.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” she replied, curtsying a little lower than his bow, acknowledging the subtle hierarchy between their stations with mathematical precision. “This is my friend, Zar,” she added, gesturing towards me.

  I bowed with appropriate demure, befitting my station. The prince barely glanced my way, already gesturing to his companions. “Yes, yes, these are Philippes and Rogier.” One boy, with a shock of copper hair and freckles, and the other, tall and willowy with honey-blonde locks, offered shallow bows.

  Turning to Luciana, the prince’s shoulders eased. “These trials must be taxing,” he purred. “Perhaps you might honor me with your company for a cup of relaxing tea once our examinations conclude?”

  “Absolutely,” Luciana answered, her voice melodic yet firm. “But another day. I couldn’t possibly sit for tea, in your esteemed company, while still covered in dirt and sweat.”

  The prince’s brow twitched. “Pardon me. I didn’t know you aimed to join the knights. How fascinating.” His tone suggested it was anything but. “In Sonem, our women excel in more delicate pursuits such as embroidery and music. It’s a man’s duty to bear steel in their defense. A natural order, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Things are a little different in Veridia,” Luciana replied, her chin tilting upward ever so slightly. “Our women excel in swordplay and statecraft with the same ease that we master needlework and music.” A smile played at the corners of her mouth, delicate yet unmistakably sharp. “It comes as naturally to us as breathing.”

  Crimson rose up his cheeks as he mumbled, “Ah, they’re starting. Let’s discuss tea after. Excuse me.” He turned abruptly and walked away with his group, their expensive boots clicking against the stone floor. Once they were gone, I offered a fist bump, a gesture I’d taught Luciana before. She smirked, lips curving into a knowing smile, and bumped my fist with surprising force.

  Not a minute later, the bustle of the hall shifted as attention turned toward the stage. “Welcome, welcome! So many new faces, that never gets old!” A familiar voice rang out, warm and melodic yet carrying an unmistakable edge of authority. I recognized Aunt Estrah instantly.

  “Gather around, and listen carefully,” she commanded, tapping a ceremonial staff against the worn stone platform. “My name is Professor Estrah Ceedorec. As I have been away from the Academy for several seasons but still retain my seniority here, Chancellor Morhier has asked me to shepherd all of you through today’s trials. He will give a speech in the evening, welcoming all the successful candidates in person.”

  Aunt Estrah cleared her throat. “All exams take place today in sequence. First, general studies. Mandatory for everyone, covering arithmetic, history, geography, and basic theology. One hour, written format.” She ticked off her fingers. “Second, magic course, practical format. Mana sensitivity required. I know that some years ago, it was possible to ‘audit’ the course without it, but that is no longer the case. Public lectures will be organized for all students who wish to learn magic theory and the operation of magic devices.”

  She glanced toward Luciana and me for a split second. “Third, lordship and stewardship courses. Interview format. Those are formalities. Most of the people attending have already been assigned a spot through negotiations with their respective families. This is to ensure no one is using a false identity to get in. Sadly, this has been an issue in the past,” she explained.

  Aunt Estrah paused, scanning the crowd as she continued, “Fourth, the theology course. The Academy staff will be stepping back to a supporting role, while the test is administered by representatives of three faiths.” Her fingers kept the count, and as they reached five, her open palm raised above her head with dramatic flair. “Finally, the knight course combat trials. They’re scheduled last to accommodate potential injuries.” She smiled thinly. “Healing magic will be provided, so don’t hold back and do your best!”

  Once she finished, she tapped her decorative staff three times, and the Academy staff ushered us all back outside. There we found a cluster of lilac canvas tents that had sprouted across the courtyard’s emerald lawn. Names echoed across the grounds, each syllable unnaturally crisp and resonant, a magic device carrying them. Luciana’s name rang out among the first, alongside Prince Thomin’s. Academy staff soon flanked them both and escorted them to separate tents. Security precaution, no doubt.

  “Zar Ceedorec.” The disembodied voice jolted me from my observations. Aunt Estrah’s name on my identity felt strange, almost intrusive, but not unwelcome. Just like her. Wondering why she did that, I straightened my shoulders and approached the tent from which my name was called out, its entrance flap rippling impatiently. “Present,” I announced, ducking beneath the heavy canvas.

  A middle-aged man with a forgettable face and ink-smudged fingers sat hunched behind a rickety desk that seemed too small for his frame. “I see here you are applying…" he squinted at the form through spectacles that had slipped halfway down his nose, “to all courses? Ambitious. Here is your form, please don’t lose it.” He extended the parchment with a hand marked by paper cuts and calluses.

  “All courses?” I took the form, the heavy parchment cool against my fingertips. “I’m sorry, there must be a mistake. I only intend to apply to theology, magic, and knight courses.”

  “No mistake here,” he replied, tapping a yellowed fingernail against a section of the document. “See this space for character references? Already filled, quite impressively so. You have backing from two royal houses.” His eyebrows arched meaningfully. “The stewardship course is selected with the rest. In practice, it’s the same as the lordship course. Only the final exam and,” he glanced at my attire, “the lack of noble status is what separates them. Retainers usually take it to help their lords govern. Now, for the general studies exam, you’re assigned to Examination Hall B. Follow the signs and take a seat.”

  “Oh, one question before I go. I was asked by Professor Irleophiss to put his name on the form. You know, the one living underground?” I said pointedly. “Could you show me where?”

  The clerk’s face drained of color like water from a tipped basin, panic flickering briefly in his eyes. He buried his face in his ink-stained hands, elbows pressing onto the desk as his shoulders curled forward until they nearly touched his ears. Exasperation and worry bled into his words as he muttered, “Why, why doesn’t he tell us these things…” His voice was muffled against his palms, trembling hands causing the parchment between us to flutter as his elbows jostled the rickety desk.

  “Is there… a problem?” I asked, concern clear in my voice.

  “No,” he sighed, lowering his hands to reveal eyes now ringed with exhaustion. “Except for the fact that Professor Irleophiss hasn’t taught a class in over sixty years. He probably just assumes the dusty lecture hall is still there, waiting for him with students frozen in time…” Adjusting his spectacles, he added, “Well, you know what ‘his’ kind is like. The centuries blur together for them.” A nervous chuckle slipped out. “Thanks for letting us know. I will inform the Chancellor immediately.”

  I just nodded, my confusion settling like sediment in still water, my mind struggling to filter through all the new information that had been thrown at me all at once.

  The general studies exam proved laughably simple. My quill practically danced across the parchment as I dispatched arithmetic problems and historical events with surgical precision, the scratch of my writing echoing in the vaulted examination hall. When I handed in my completed work, the proctor’s eyebrows arched slightly at my early finish. Stepping into the corridor with its polished stone floor and tapestried walls, I nearly collided with Prince Thomin emerging from the opposite hall.

  “You… eeeh,” he stammered, adjusting his collar.

  “Zar.”

  “Yes, Zar.” His voice regained its aristocratic composure. “You serve Lady Luciana, correct? Can you tell me about what she likes? Favorite flowers, sweets she fancies?” His eyes darted hopefully to mine.

  “Before I answer, may I ask a question of my own?” I shifted my weight, my tail flickering with subtle annoyance.

  “I suppose you can.” He sighed, his shoulders tensing underneath layers of expensive fabric.

  “Would you want your servants to tell everyone about your private affairs?” I let the question hang in the air between us. “It’s rhetorical, I am sure we both know the answer.” Without waiting for his response, I pivoted on my heel and continued toward the magic course examination rooms.

  It proved to be even less of a challenge. Inside a circular chamber with walls of lustrous obsidian that reflected the blue-white glow of arcane runes etched into the floor, a stern-faced examiner with gold-threaded robes observed me with narrowed eyes. All I was asked to do was to move wild mana around and cast two spells of my choice.

  Aunt Estrah’s rigorous lessons had clearly exceeded Academy standards. What felt elementary to me seemed to impress them. Perhaps this unexpected enrollment in additional courses was not such a big deal after all. I could still focus on subjects that interested me while maintaining decent grades in all others. I noticed Prince Thomin on my way to the next exam. Our sights crossed, but this time he didn’t approach.

  “Zar Ceedorec, interview room five,” called a voice that seemed to emanate from the very stones of the corridor.

  I stepped inside a small chamber that resembled a scholar’s office more than an examination room. Polished wooden shelves lined the walls, bowing slightly under the weight of ancient scrolls and yellowed parchments bound with faded ribbons of crimson and azure. Two high-backed chairs faced each other across a polished mahogany desk that caught the light from a crystal lamp overhead.

  Behind the desk sat a plump man whose intricate beard cascaded in silver-streaked rivulets down to his chest, contrasting vividly with his gleaming bald head. Wire-rimmed spectacles perched precariously on his bulbous nose, a fashion statement I’d noticed repeatedly among the Academy’s staff. His robes billowed around him, embroidered with golden quills and feathers that appeared to glisten with their own inner light. Far more extravagant than Aunt Estrah’s academic attire. I had to wonder if this was a statement of superior rank or merely the peacocking of an insecure academic.

  “Please extend your arm upon the table,” he instructed, his voice mellow as honey yet firm as oak. “Don’t worry, it will cause no discomfort.” He placed his own arm beside mine, and I noticed a ring on his finger that radiated mana.

  “Ah, a ring enchanted with lie-detecting magic. I get it.”

  “Seen one before, have you?” he smiled. “Exercise caution when admitting such familiarity. Typically, it is only criminals who possess such intimate knowledge of these particular magical implements.”

  “Sadly, sometimes you end up in jail even if you are not a criminal.” I traced a finger along a small scratch in the mahogany, remembering the damp stone walls and the iron bars of that jail back in Veridia.

  “Sad indeed, and true,” he conceded, the corners of his mouth tightening beneath his silver-streaked beard. “Now, for the record, is your name Zar, and do you hail from the Sleeping Valley?”

  I met his gaze steadily. “Yes on both counts.”

  “Have you ever committed a crime?” His eyes, magnified by spectacles, studied my face with practiced scrutiny.

  I shifted in the high-backed chair, feeling the smooth wood press against my spine. “I was accused of a crime once, but to my knowledge, I have never actually committed any crimes.”

  “Good enough.” He made a small notation with a quill that sighed against the parchment. “Why do you want to join the stewardship course?”

  “I…” My voice faltered as dust motes twirled in the shaft of afternoon light between us. “I don’t? It seems like something my guardian desires me to do, and she signed me up without consulting me.”

  The silver threads of his beard caught the light as his face crinkled with amusement. “Yes, Professor Estrah does like to play her little games sometimes. I am sure this is all for your benefit, so don’t stay mad at her.” His ring glinted as he adjusted his spectacles with a plump finger. “I will rephrase the question. If you did want to join the stewardship course, what reason could there possibly be for that? Think of it as a philosophical exercise.”

  “Hmm…” I scratched the back of my ear with my free hand, thinking it over. “I suppose, if I ever end up founding my own nation, I would need skills to manage it? I don’t plan any revolutions, though, just for the record.”

  “Ahahaha, that is perfect. Just perfect,” he wheezed, his entire body quaking with mirth. His voice grew softer as he wiped a little tear from a corner of his eye, leaning forward, the chair creaking beneath his weight. “I believe other students, especially the prince and princess attending this year, could benefit from interacting with someone of your acuity.” His expression sobered, eyes narrowing behind those wire-rimmed spectacles. “The course isn’t simply about ledgers and laws, but about cultivating fresh perspectives for the future development of the three kingdoms. We’ve learned the hard way that in some aspects we are severely lacking in that regard, compared to our eastern neighbours.”

  “You mean the Empire?” The word felt heavy on my tongue, like a forbidden spell.

  “Yes.” His voice dropped to a near whisper, his eyes darting to the window as if Imperial spies might be perched on the sill. “It is a big threat to all of us that still looms on the horizon. This year, we are even going to teach the Imperial language to all attending the lordship and stewardship courses.” His stamp came down on my form with a decisive thud that boomed through the small chamber. “Agile minds like yours are rarer than phoenix feathers. You’ll thrive there,” he concluded, his ringed fingers making a shooing motion as delicate as a courtier’s fan.

  I stepped out into the cool corridor, my mind still replaying the interviewer’s words about the Empire as the heavy door closed behind me with a soft thud that resounded off the stone walls.

  “Zar?”

  I raised my head to see Prince Thomin standing a few paces away. His disinterested demeanor towards me changed somewhat, replaced by furrowed brows and widened eyes, a fusion of curiosity and disbelief that transformed his sculpted features.

  “I… I apologize,” he said, his voice lowered to just slightly above a whisper. His fingers fidgeted with the embroidered edge of his sleeve. “You were right. It was stupid of me to flat-out ask something personal about your mistress. Thank you for the wise lesson you taught me.” His gaze flicked to the door I’d just exited as he asked. “And you are not just a simple servant, you are Luciana’s retainer, are you not? Since you are taking a stewardship course, I assume you will help her manage her royal obligations in the future?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head, noticing the weight of my growing mantle brush against my neck. I should really get a haircut, I thought, before responding. “That didn’t even occur to me. Luciana and I are friends. I have worked for her before, but not anymore.”

  The door behind me creaked open, releasing a waft of parchment-scented air. The interviewer’s silver-streaked beard emerged first, followed by his plump figure.

  “Prince Thomin, please, it is your turn for the interview.”

  Thomin’s eyebrows arched, his fingers ceasing their fidgeting with his sleeve. “Chancellor Morhier? What a surprise, I didn’t expect you to conduct interviews. This is just a formality after all.”

  “It is also an opportunity to interact with some of our best and brightest.” The Chancellor’s robes shimmered as he turned to me, golden quill embroidery catching the light. “Speaking of… Zar, you should go to the theology exam. They are about to start.”

  “Thank you, I will be on my way,” I said, relief pouring over me like cool water as I backed away from what promised to be another exhausting interrogation.

  The theology exam awaited me in a vaulted ceremonial hall, its ceiling half as high as the dining hall but somehow more imposing in its sacred stillness. Unlike the Academy’s usual rough-hewn stone walls, these gleamed with pristine white marble veined with gold that caught the light from stained glass windows.

  Three ornate altars dominated the raised platform at the front: the first bore God’s shield of burnished gold and diamonds, the second Goddess’s scales wrought in silver and moonstone, and the third Mother Nature’s burning tree with leaves of emerald and flame-colored amber.

  No wooden benches interrupted the polished floor. Instead, quilted silk pillows in jewel tones were arranged in concentric circles, silently inviting applicants to kneel in prayer. As the last of us filed in, a middle-aged woman in midnight-blue Temple robes glided to the podium, her face serene but her eyes sharp as she surveyed the gathered students.

  She withdrew a golden sphere from an embellished box, its interior pulsing with sapphire light that cast dancing shadows throughout her stern features. The sphere itself seemed almost liquid in its perfection. No seams marred its surface.

  “Divine grace is bestowed at birth to those with potential to thrive. Divine favor is earned through prayer and merit,” she proclaimed, her voice resonating against the marble with unexpected power for her slight frame. Her fingers caressed the sphere with practiced reverence before passing it to a grey-robed member of the Church whose hands wavered slightly at the responsibility. The sphere pulsed once, then shifted color to amber light as he disappeared through an arched doorway into the adjoining chamber.

  “With theology applications at an all-time high,” she continued, smoothing her midnight-blue vestments, “we have to prioritize those already touched by divinity. This sacred instrument will reveal if you possess such grace, a new requirement for admission.”

  A ripple of unease passed through the gathered students. A freckled girl with worry lines etched between her brows whispered too loudly, “I wish they’d told us before. I traveled all the way here from Veridia.” A girl beside her pressed a finger to her glossy lips. “Shh, we all are faithful. Of course, we were graced at birth.”

  “We ask that you form a line and touch the divine instrument inside the antechamber. It will glow if you were indeed bestowed divine grace by one of the divines,” she said, stepping inside with a swish of midnight-blue silk. A priest with sweat beading his tonsured scalp emerged from the chamber, followed by a man whose outfit resembled a tapestry that had been shredded, dyed in clashing emerald and crimson, then hastily stitched back together. Brass bells dangled from his pointed hat, tinkling with each movement. Is this what chaos cultists wear? Yeah, that tracks. Lost in observation, I found myself shuffling toward the back of the line, my claws clicking against the polished stone.

  I noticed a fairy hovering in the air, suspended at shoulder height between two humans whose perfumed oils couldn’t quite mask their nervous sweat. She was barely larger than my hand, and her eyes darted nervously across the chamber. Further ahead stood a horsekin with a gleaming dark mane and several rabbitfolk whose long ears twitched in the most adorable fashion. Not a single wolfkin among them, though. A lone dwarf with an intricately braided beard, so probably not very young, and two elves whose age is even harder to judge. The sight loosened something in my chest. While the Temple’s current generation might scowl at non-humans, the Academy was already cultivating their future replacements.

  One by one, students emerged from the antechamber, some with faces blank as untouched parchment, others with shoulders visibly lighter. A few stumbled out with tears cutting silvery tracks down their cheeks, including the fairy, whose wings drooped like wilted petals as she fluttered past me. The air around her smelled of crushed hopes and rain-soaked lilacs. Okay, I couldn’t smell that, I admit. However, her facial expression was enough to convince me of what that smell was.

  Then the chaos cultist beckoned with fingers adorned in rings of mismatched metals, and it was finally my turn. As I walked inside, the priestess’s nostrils flared, her lips thinning to a bloodless line beneath the shadow of her midnight-blue hood.

  “Ah, another beastkin,” she said, the words dripping with disdain. “None of your kind seemed to be graced by the divine. One would wonder if there is even a point for you to be here, with those… claws… touching our sacred instrument.”

  “Just to clarify,” I asked, feeling my fur bristle along my spine, “are you a member of the teaching staff at the Academy?”

  “No,” she replied, fingering the silver divine symbol hanging at her throat. “I am here… to balance things out.”

  “Good. I thought so,” I said, reaching for the device. The sphere felt unnaturally frigid against my paw pads, like touching winter glass. To my horror, it remained as lifeless as a river stone, not even the faintest glimmer emanating from its core.

  “Just as I said,” she smirked, satisfaction darkening her features like a shadow passing over the moon. “A waste of time. Please step aside, so the next examinee can try.”

  Inexplicably, a child’s whisper tickled the fur inside my ear, so close it raised the hackles along my spine. “This. Is. Broken.” The voice was so faint it might have been the murmur of leaves, yet carried the weight of absolute certainty. I whirled around, my claws scraping against the polished marble floor, tail bristling in alarm, but the antechamber held only shadows and the persistent scent of incense.

  “Examinee, what is the problem?” The priestess’s voice cut through my confusion, sharp as a winter wind.

  “A problem, yes…” I steadied myself, feeling my hackles slowly settling. “This device is broken.”

  “Are you an expert in divine instruments?” Her fingers tightened around her silver pendant, knuckles paling white beneath paper-thin skin.

  “No, but perhaps we could summon one?” I gestured toward the sphere. “All we have is your word that this golden orb is even real. And you’ve made your prejudice clear when you declared my entire race unworthy of standing on these polished floors.”

  Her eyes bulged, veins throbbing at her temples. “BLASPHEMY!” she shrieked, spittle flying from her lips. “This sacred instrument was consecrated in the blood of martyrs!" She snatched the orb with trembling fingers, and it erupted with blue light so bright it cast harsh shadows covering her contorted face. “SEE? The divine recognizes ME while rejecting YOUR tainted soul!”

  “Test me with another,” I growled, my claws digging into my palms until I smelled my own blood.

  “GET OUT!” she roared, her face flushing crimson. “Guards will DRAG your mangy hide through the streets if you don’t leave NOW!”

  I sank to my knees on the cold marble, feeling the ancient stone press against my fur. My claws clicked softly as I folded my bloodied paws in my lap, a gesture of peaceful defiance that contradicted the rage I felt in my heart. “I am not moving,” I said, my voice a low rumble that barely disturbed the incense-heavy air of the antechamber.

  “INSOLENCE!”

  “What is going on in here?” The chaos cultist walked in, bells on his hat jingling in a discordant melody.

  The priestess’s voice quivered with barely contained rage. “Ah, Elder Konsteus. This beast-kin,” she spat the word like a rotten fruit seed, “didn’t receive divine grace and refuses to vacate the sacred chamber. He has the audacity to claim our holy instrument is defective!”

  Elder Konsteus turned toward me, his eyes, one green and one blue, I now noticed, studied me with the patient curiosity of someone examining an unusual insect. “Why are you so certain it is broken?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle.

  I met his mismatched gaze, my tail swishing against the cold floor in slow, deliberate arcs. “I have faith that is the case,” I replied, feeling my whiskers twitch with conviction.

  He approached the device with deliberate steps, his mismatched robes swishing against the polished floor. When he placed his long-fingered hand on the golden orb, emerald light bloomed beneath his palm, spreading outward in pulsing waves that cast uncanny shadows across his face and made the tiny bells on his hat glimmer.

  “See! I told you,” the priestess hissed triumphantly, her hands caressing her silver pendant, above it a thin face flushed with vindication. “It works perfectly fine.”

  “You say that, Priestess,” Elder Konsteus replied, his voice like coarse gravel wrapped in silk, “but there is in fact a problem.” His mismatched eyes narrowed as he withdrew his hand, leaving the orb’s light to fade slowly like a dying ember.

  The priestess’s voice rose an octave. “What problem can there be? You are an elder, a devotee of the Goddess of Chaos, the esteemed Mother Nature herself.” She gestured at the sphere. “You are obviously graced with her touch, just as the divine instrument clearly shows.”

  “Not many people know this about me, Priestess,” he said, each word deliberate as a falling stone, “but last time I checked, I was graced by both goddesses at birth. Mine and yours.”

  Her eyes twitched like ensnared rabbits, mouth falling open to reveal teeth stained yellow from too much ceremonial wine. He ignored her stunned silence, beckoning the Academy staffer hovering anxiously by the doorway. The Elder’s bony fingers curled around the young man’s ear as he whispered something that drained all color from the staffer’s face. Then he straightened his hunched back and strode outside, where anxious students huddled like frightened birds. “The exams for the theology course,” he proclaimed, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling, “shall be delayed by one hour. Anyone who took the first test, whether they passed or failed, will have to retake it. Please let everyone know, especially those who might have already left. Support staff, please track everyone down and bring them back at once.”

  We waited in silence, broken only by the priestess’s agitated breathing. The incense smoke curled like spectral fingers around the columns. Following what felt like an eternity, the antechamber doors swung open with a resonant groan. Five priests, no, five paladins entered in perfect formation, their silver armor catching the light from high windows. The centermost figure, a broad-shouldered woman with a face weathered like ancient granite, cradled an ornate chest of polished ebony bound with silver clasps that dazzled like trapped stars.

  “Thank you for answering our summons with such haste,” Elder Konsteus said, his mismatched eyes solemn as he offered a bow that made the bells on his hat chime softly.

  “When we received your message, Elder, we could not ignore such a grave accusation,” the woman replied, her voice deep as mountain stone. “Tampering with divine instruments is sacrilege of the highest order.”

  The paladin then reverently presented the chest, its silver hinges singing as Elder Konsteus lifted the lid. Nestled on midnight-blue velvet lay an identical golden sphere. The moment his weathered fingers caressed its surface, it awakened, pulsing with intertwined ribbons of emerald and sapphire light that cast dancing shadows throughout his wrinkled face.

  “This one responds as it should,” he murmured, placing it carefully on the marble pedestal. His mismatched eyes fixed on me, penetrating as winter moonlight. “You, what is your name?”

  My throat suddenly dry as desert sand, I answered, “Zar, sir.”

  Elder Konsteus gestured toward the new orb with long, bony fingers, his mismatched eyes glinting with curiosity beneath his motley cap. “Let’s test that faith of yours, shall we?”

  I approached the sphere, my hands shivering. What if the voice had been my imagination after all? What if I were about to prove the priestess right? No, we already established she tampered with the device… but there is still a chance, after all this, I don’t have the divine grace. My soul is not native to this world after all. It was possible. Doubt nibbled at me like a hungry rat as I touched the sphere, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, torn between desperate hope and bracing for the terror of disappointment.

  Elder’s voice cut through my fear like a silver knife. “Well, now. I thought you were special, but this is something else entirely.”

  I opened my eyes to find my trembling paws bathed in an impossible light. The divine instrument pulsed with a vibrant purple, not the amber, emerald, or sapphire we’d seen before, but a royal amethyst that spiraled outward in hypnotic whorls, casting violet shades across my fur that made it shimmer like nighttime stars.

  “Priestess,” Elder Konsteus said, his mismatched eyes wide with wonder, “your shame knows no bounds, and you will be punished for what you have done here, but at least you can take solace in knowing you just witnessed history unfold before your unworthy eyes.”

  “No, that can’t be,” she murmured, her face drained of all color, eyes bulging as though they might pop from their sockets. Her fingers clutched her pendant so tightly her knuckles turned white as bone.

  “Ehm, what exactly is going on?” I asked, my voice scarcely a whisper as the purple light continued to dance between my trembling claws.

  Elder Konsteus knelt next to me, his weathered face illuminated by the otherworldly glow. “Child,” he said with reverence that made my fur stand on end, “you might very well be the first in all recorded history who has been graced by a new divine power. The fourth deity has been born into the world, and you, you alone, bear their sacred grace.”