The carriage passed through the gates without a sound.
No creak of iron. No grind of stone. The massive doors simply parted, their runes flaring briefly before dimming again, as though satisfied. Genevieve felt the sensation immediately, a gentle but unmistakable pressure moving across her skin, not unlike a hand brushing past her in a crowded room.
It lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Then it was gone.
She drew a careful breath as the carriage rolled forward into Agragore's outer grounds. The air itself felt different here, thinner somehow, yet heavy with intention. The familiar hum beneath the carriage floor deepened, resonating faintly in her bones.
Sylvester shifted beside her. "We've been noticed."
"I know," she whispered.
The road curved upward, revealing more of the academy with each passing moment. Towers rose from the stone like living things, their surfaces etched with patterns that seemed to shift when she tried to focus on them directly. Bridges connected buildings at impossible angles, suspended without visible support. Light moved through the space in deliberate paths, gliding along unseen currents rather than flickering like flame.
Agragore was not built.
It was maintained.
The carriage slowed at the base of a wide courtyard paved with pale stone. Other carriages stood nearby, their passengers already disembarking. Genevieve's pulse quickened as she stepped down, boots meeting stone that felt warm despite the cool air.
The moment her feet touched the ground, the pressure returned.
Stronger this time.
Her magic stirred in response, not surging, but aligning, as though something within her had snapped into place. She clenched her hands at her sides, forcing herself to remain still.
A woman in dark blue robes approached, her movements smooth and unhurried. Her hair was pulled back neatly, her expression composed but not unkind.
"Genevieve Rose," she said.
It was not a question.
"Yes," Genevieve replied.
"Welcome to Agragore," the woman said. "I am Mistress Elowen. Follow the path indicated by the lanterns. You will be guided to your initial assessment."
Assessment.
Not greeting. Not orientation.
Genevieve nodded and followed as instructed, Sylvester close at her heels. The lanterns lining the path glowed softly, responding to her presence with subtle shifts in brightness. She resisted the urge to reach out toward them.
Around her, other candidates moved in quiet clusters. Some spoke in hushed tones. Others remained rigidly silent, eyes darting across the grounds. She caught fragments of conversation as she passed.
"…felt it when we crossed the gates…"
"…never seen runes like that before…"
"…they're watching…"
The path led into a vast hall supported by towering columns. The space was open, airy, and unsettling in its symmetry. Light poured in from high windows, refracting into soft patterns across the floor.
At the center of the hall stood a raised platform. Upon it rested a single crystal sphere, perfectly smooth and faintly luminous.
Mistress Elowen gestured toward it. "You will approach one at a time. Place your hand upon the sphere. Do nothing else."
Genevieve swallowed.
One by one, the candidates stepped forward.
The first was a tall boy with dark hair and confident posture. The moment his hand touched the sphere, it flared brightly, flooding the hall with warm golden light. A murmur rippled through the gathered observers. The light faded, and he stepped back, visibly relieved.
Others followed. Blue light. Green. Pale white. Each reaction slightly different, yet predictable.
Genevieve watched closely, her magic growing increasingly restless.
When her name was called, the hall felt suddenly too quiet.
She stepped forward, heart pounding, and placed her hand against the crystal.
Nothing happened.
For a single, suspended moment, the sphere remained dark.
Then the light ignited.
Not in a burst, but in a slow, spiraling glow that deepened rather than brightened. The color was difficult to name, shifting between silver and soft gold, threaded with something darker beneath it, like shadow waiting just beyond reach.
The pressure in her chest intensified.
The sphere hummed.
Genevieve gasped and pulled her hand away instinctively. The light dimmed, but did not vanish entirely.
Silence fell across the hall.
Mistress Elowen's gaze sharpened, though her expression remained carefully neutral. She exchanged a glance with another robed figure standing nearby.
"Thank you," Elowen said smoothly. "You may step back."
Genevieve did so, her hands trembling slightly.
Sylvester pressed against her ankle. "You didn't break anything," he murmured. "That's usually a good sign."
She wasn't convinced.
They were led onward through a series of corridors that seemed to rearrange themselves subtly as they walked. Doors appeared where none had been moments before. Staircases curved unexpectedly, yet never felt disorienting, as though the academy itself guided their steps.
Eventually, they reached a smaller chamber lined with individual desks.
"You will rest here until summoned," Mistress Elowen said. "Do not wander."
As the door closed behind her, Genevieve sank into her seat, releasing a breath she'd been holding since entering the hall.
"That wasn't normal," she whispered.
"No," Sylvester agreed. "But neither are you."
Time passed strangely within the chamber. Minutes felt like hours. Hours slipped by unnoticed. The air thrummed softly, filled with distant movement and murmured voices just beyond hearing.
At last, the door opened again.
"Genevieve Rose," a voice called.
She stood.
This time, when she stepped forward, the academy did not merely observe.
It leaned closer.
And for the first time since leaving home, Genevieve understood that Agragore was not simply testing her magic.
It was deciding what to do with her.