Chapter 7: The Sanctified Examination
The announcement arrived at Blackthorn Royal Arcane Academy like a blade wrapped in silk.
It was delivered during the morning assembly, when students stood in orderly rows beneath the towering spires of the main courtyard. The sky was pale and overcast, the air heavy with an unease that no one could quite explain.
Headmaster Aldric Thornwell stood upon the raised platform, his silver hair tied neatly behind his back, his expression grave.
"To all students," he began, his voice amplified by subtle magic, "by decree of the Church of the Veiled Night and with the consent of the Crown, Blackthorn Academy will conduct a Sanctified Examination."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Elowen felt her fingers tighten at her side.
She had heard the term before. Everyone had.
The Sanctified Examination was not an ordinary test of magic or intellect. It was a divine scrutiny—one that peered beyond spellcraft and talent, probing resonance, origin, and *truth*.
Lucien, standing several rows behind her, felt the whisper stir sharply.
*They come.*
Headmaster Thornwell continued, "This examination is mandatory. Attendance is non-negotiable."
A few students shifted nervously. Others whispered prayers under their breath.
Professor Maelin, standing near the platform, looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"This is to ensure the continued safety of the academy," Thornwell said. "And the kingdom."
Elowen did not miss the way his gaze flicked toward her—only briefly, but with an unmistakable weight.
---
Classes proceeded as normal, but nothing felt normal.
Spell diagrams blurred on parchment. Incantations slipped from memory. Every corridor buzzed with hushed speculation.
"They say the Church can tell if you're cursed just by standing near you," whispered a first-year.
"My cousin failed one," another muttered. "He was taken away."
Lucien walked through the halls as though submerged underwater. Every sound seemed distant, with a movement that is exaggerated. The whisper within him pulsed, restless.
*They will look inside.*
*Let them,* another part of him thought.
He stopped abruptly when someone stepped into his path.
A red-haired girl with sharp eyes and ink-stained fingers looked up at him. Her uniform was slightly rumpled, sleeves rolled up as always.
"Lucien," she said. "You look like death."
"Good morning to you too, Selene," he replied dryly.
Selene Ashcroft was not noble, nor particularly powerful—but she was observant to a fault. A third-year specializing in theoretical magic, she had a habit of noticing what others missed.
"The Sanctified Examination," she said quietly. "You're worried."
Lucien hesitated. "Everyone is."
Selene crossed her arms. "Not like you are."
Before he could respond, a bell rang, signaling the start of the next lecture.
Selene leaned closer. "Be careful," she whispered. "The Veiled Night doesn't examine. It hunts."
She turned and walked away.
Lucien watched her go, unease settling deeper into his bones.
---
Elowen sat in the royal study chamber reserved for her within the academy.
Her ladies-in-waiting had been dismissed. Guards stood outside, silent as statues.
She stared at the sigil carved into the desk—a crown encircled by stars—and tried to slow her breathing.
The dream returned unbidden.
Chains. Light. Lucien's voice.
*Wake up.*
A knock sounded.
"Enter," she said.
Professor Maelin stepped inside, his usually composed face etched with concern.
"Your Highness," he said, bowing slightly. "I wished to speak with you before the examination."
She gestured for him to continue.
"The Church will might push boundaries," Maelin said carefully.
Elowen met his gaze. "Can they force me?"
Maelin hesitated. "They will try."
Silence stretched between them.
"If they discover the truth," Elowen said softly, "will the Crown protect me?"
Maelin's eyes darkened. "Politics is a fickle shield."
She exhaled slowly. "Then I will rely on myself."
Maelin inclined his head. "That may be the wisest course."
---
The examination hall lay beneath the academy.
Few students had ever been allowed inside.
The chamber was vast and circular, its walls carved from ancient stone etched with runes that predated the kingdom itself. A massive sigil dominated the floor—intricate, layered, and humming faintly with restrained power.
Chains of light hovered above it, slowly rotating.
Lucien felt the pull immediately.
His scar burned.
Inquisitors of the Veiled Night stood at the edges of the hall, black robes trimmed with silver thread. Among them, Inspector Halbrecht observed silently, his gaze sharp and calculating.
Sister Maribel stood near the center, hands folded serenely.
Inquisitor Darius leaned against a pillar, smiling.
Students were called forward one by one.
Some passed without incident, the sigil glowing softly before dimming.
Others faltered.
A boy screamed when the light touched him, collapsing as Veiled Night clergy dragged him away.
The whispers grew louder.
Elowen stepped forward when her name was called.
The hall fell silent.
She stood at the center of the sigil, chin raised, heart pounding.
Light rose around her.
For a moment—nothing happened.
Then the chains trembled.
Sister Maribel's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
Lucien clenched his fists.
The sigil glowed brighter, symbols rearranging themselves as if confused.
"Elowen Viremont," Maribel intoned. "Heir to the Crown."
The light recoiled.
A sharp crack echoed through the hall.
The examination halted.
Darius straightened, interest flaring. Halbrecht's gaze sharpened dangerously.
Elowen swayed but did not fall.
"Enough," Maribel said calmly. "We will continue."
But the damage was done.
The seal beneath the academy pulsed once.
Lucien felt it.
*Now.*
His name echoed through the chamber.
He stepped forward.
And the chains screamed.