Morning came far too soon.
Soft gray light filtered in through the tiny slit window of the isolation chamber, painting a pale line across Elias's face. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling every beat of his heart like a drum announcing his own execution.
Lena had fallen asleep sitting on the floor beside his cot, back against the wall, head slumped awkwardly to one side. At some point, her hand had found his, fingers loosely curled around his own.
He wasn't sure if she'd done it consciously.
But the touch had kept him anchored.
He slowly sat up, careful not to wake her, then failed because the movement tugged their joined hands.
Lena stirred, blinked sleepily, then jolted upright.
"You're awake," she mumbled, then saw the faint light and stiffened. "…It's today."
Elias managed a tight smile. "So it seems."
Lena pushed her hair back, eyes sharp now. "How do you feel?"
"Like I'm about to be dissected."
She winced. "That bad?"
He shrugged.
"Maybe a little worse."
The door creaked open before she could answer.
Elowen walked in, looking as if she'd barely slept either. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but her posture was as straight and composed as ever. Aldric Thane followed, armored today in full Spellwarden gear—dark leather with engraved plates, his runic blade at his hip, a faint aura of warding magic wrapped around him.
Elias's stomach twisted.
They really were treating him like a potential catastrophe.
"Elowen," he said quietly, "good morning."
"It may not be," she replied dryly, though her gaze softened when it landed on him. "But we will make it through."
Lena crossed her arms. "Tell me again why he has to do this in front of everyone."
"He won't be in front of everyone," Elowen said. "Only the Council, a selection of archmagi, and a few observers."
Lena snorted. "So only the most important people in the kingdom. That makes it better."
Elowen didn't smile.
She stepped closer to Elias.
"Listen carefully," she said. "The Council's goal today is not to understand you. It is to judge whether you are controllable. They will provoke you. They will test your limits. They will push you to see if you crack."
Elias swallowed. "Comforting."
"You must not react," Elowen continued. "No outbursts. No visible struggle. If the whispers arise, handle them silently. Anchor. Distinguish. Refuse."
He nodded slowly.
"I'll try."
Lena grabbed his arm. "No. You'll do it."
He glanced at her.
"…Right," he whispered.
Aldric finally spoke, his voice low.
"Whatever happens, I will keep the chamber sealed and the Council safe. That is my duty." He paused. "If things go wrong, I will also be the one ordered to cut you down."
Lena bristled. "You don't have to sound so calm about it."
Aldric's eyes met Elias's.
"I'm telling him so he understands what's at stake," the Spellwarden said. "This is not a game. If you lose control—even a little—the Council will use me as a blade."
Elias felt a cold clarity settle over him.
"Then I won't lose control," he said quietly.
Aldric studied him.
Something like respect flickered in his gaze.
"I hope you don't," he said.
---
The Trial Chamber of the High Council was nothing like the academy's halls.
It lay in the heart of the upper citadel, shaped like a sunken amphitheater. Tiered rows of stone benches rose up around a large central platform inscribed with intricate runes and reinforced with old, dense magic. Above, the ceiling arched into shadow, embedded with faintly glowing lines of silver that formed a vast, complex sigil—one Elias did not dare to unravel with his sight.
He stood on the central platform, alone, feeling like a lamb dropped into a circle of wolves.
Around him sat seven Councilors in their ceremonial robes of dark blue and gold. Elowen stood a few paces behind him, slightly to the left—not on the platform, but close enough that he could feel her presence. Off to the side, on the lowest tier of stone seating, Lena sat rigidly on a bench, fists clenched, eyes locked on him.
Aldric stood near one of the great pillars flanking the platform, hand resting casually (but not really casually at all) on the hilt of his sword.
Other figures filled the higher rows—archmagi, royal envoys, scribes, and a few silent steel-masked Sentinels. Elias had never seen so many powerful individuals gathered in one place.
He tried not to look at them.
He tried not to feel their eyes.
He focused on his breathing instead.
Anchor.
Anchor.
Anchor.
Councilor Virand, the sharp-eyed man with silver-streaked hair who had shouted for calamity the night before, cleared his throat.
"Elias Verdan," he began, voice cold and resonant, "you stand before this Council bearing a talent long considered forbidden. The Ominous Wisdom."
The words hung in the air like a curse.
Murmurs rippled through the upper rows.
Elias kept his gaze low.
"Yes, Councilor," he said quietly.
Virand's lips tightened. "You admit you bear it."
"I woke it," Elias replied. "I did not choose it."
A brief pause.
Councilor Thalia leaned forward, dark hair braided with tiny silver leaves, eyes like storm clouds.
"Yet you wield it," she said. "Or it wields you. That is what we must decide."
Elias met her gaze.
"With respect, Councilor…" He took a breath. "I am trying to master it. Not let it master me."
Thalia regarded him thoughtfully.
Councilor Orlan, a tall, narrow man with a permanent sneer, scoffed.
"Bold words," he said. "From a boy who cracked the Mind-Gazing Crystals."
Murmurs again.
Elowen's voice cut through the noise, calm and clear.
"He cracked them because they were not designed to handle direct contact with Ominous Wisdom. Their shattering is not a sign of aggression—but of incompatibility."
Virand tapped the arm of his stone seat.
"Be that as it may," he said, "we require proof that this boy is capable of suppressing the talent. That it will not… leak."
Elias felt the weight of a dozen gazes pressing down on him.
"What… what must I do?" he asked.
Virand raised a hand.
The runes on the platform flared.
"This trial will proceed in three stages," he said. "First: suppression. Second: controlled use. Third: moral restraint."
Elias blinked.
"…Moral restraint?"
"Yes," Thalia said quietly. "Because if we suspect you cannot be trusted to choose not to use your talent, then all the suppression in the world will not save you."
His mouth went dry.
He was not just being tested for power.
He was being tested for what kind of person he was.
---
"Stage one: suppression," Virand declared. "We will invoke stimuli known to provoke mental talents. You will remain calm. You will not allow unauthorized manifestations."
Elowen stepped close to the edge of the platform, lips pressed tight. Elias could feel her attention fixed entirely on him.
Anchor.
Anchor.
Anchor.
Thalia gestured.
Four crystal orbs floated into the air around the platform, each glowing with a different hue—blue, red, green, and violet. They hummed faintly, emitting waves of mana that Elias could feel even at rest.
"These are Thought-Probing Orbs," Thalia said. "They resonate with mental talents, drawing out latent activity."
"Like bait," Orlan added dryly.
"Yes," Thalia said. "Like bait."
The orbs began to spin around him, faster and faster.
Elias clenched his jaw.
Immediately, the whispers stirred.
Ahh… pressure.
Prodding fingers.
They seek to open you.
Elias focused on his anchor.
The orbs brightened.
His thoughts grew louder, more jumbled. Breath. Fear. The watching crowd. The weight of the Council. The memory of the Eye.
The whispers slithered between them.
Look at their secrets. Tear them open. See what they fear. Use us.
He trembled.
But he did not answer.
"His aura is spiking," Orlan murmured.
Elowen called out, "Elias. Breathe."
He inhaled slowly. Exhaled.
The anchor grew.
The whispers pushed harder.
We could make them kneel.
We could make them scream.
We could show them what comes for them.
Elias squeezed his eyes shut.
Not mine.
Not mine.
Not mine.
He pushed the voices back.
They snarled and scraped against his mind.
The Thought-Probing Orbs reached a fever pitch, their hum almost a screech.
A few in the upper rows shifted uncomfortably, feeling the psychic tension even through the protective wards.
"Councilor," an old archmage muttered, "that level may be excessive—"
"Quiet," Virand snapped.
Elias's heartbeat pounded.
Sweat trickled down his back.
The whispers opened a rift of vision—
For a split second, he saw Virand's future: standing alone in a burned chamber, eyes filled with horror. Thalia's: hair streaked with gray, kneeling over a battlefield. Orlan's: robes torn, ink-stained hands signing something with shaking fingers.
He almost gasped.
Almost.
But he clung to the anchor with everything he had.
He refused to reach for the futures.
He refused to taste them.
He refused to answer the temptation.
After what felt like a lifetime, Thalia raised her hand.
"Enough."
The orbs dimmed and slowly drifted away.
The oppressive hum vanished.
The whispers retreated, sulking.
Elias swayed on his feet, vision swimming—but he didn't fall.
Thalia watched him closely.
"His mind flickered, but he did not spill," she said softly. "Stage one: passed."
Virand looked displeased.
"Barely," he muttered.
Elias wasn't sure he could survive two more stages.
His legs already felt like water.
He forced himself to stand straighter.
"Stage two," Virand said. "Controlled use. Demonstrate your talent on our terms."
Elias tensed.
He had been hoping they might skip this.
Virand gestured.
A hooded figure stepped forward from the side rows—an older mage carrying a heavy iron box covered in sealing sigils. The box was placed on a small pedestal at the edge of the platform.
"This," Virand said, "is a sealed problem. Inside is a construct of layered illusions and hidden runes. We will give you no information about its nature. Your task is simple: use your Ominous Wisdom to identify the core flaw in its design—without triggering it."
Elias stared.
"That sounds," Lena called from the benches, "like you want him to blow himself up."
Virand ignored her.
"Do you refuse?" he asked Elias.
Elias shook his head slowly.
"No," he whispered. "I accept."
He had to.
He stepped closer to the box.
Even before he touched it, he felt it—
a knot of sophisticated magic, woven tight, humming like a spider's web in a storm.
It was beautiful.
It was lethal.
"Careful," Elowen murmured.
Elias placed his fingertips lightly on the iron surface.
"Begin," Virand commanded.
---
The world narrowed.
The audience faded.
The Council vanished.
The box filled his awareness.
He let his sight slip—just a little.
Not fully. Not deeply.
He would not open the Eye.
He would not.
But he needed… insight.
A thin crack in the door.
A small taste.
Mana flowed around his fingers.
He felt the outer seal, analyzed it quickly.
A containment layer. A trigger delay. A misdirection glyph designed to mislead mortal analysis.
He went deeper.
The whispers stirred.
Yes… look.
Layers peeled back in his mind.
He saw illusions nested within illusions, false cores wrapped around decoys, misaligned sigils, mirrored patterns. It should have taken a team of archmagi hours to unravel.
He saw it in moments.
And deeper still—
At the center—
He saw the flaw.
A single rune.
Off by one stroke.
An instability waiting to cascade into catastrophic failure if too much power touched it.
His breath caught.
He didn't understand the entire construct.
But he understood enough.
He pulled back.
The whispers lunged.
Stay. We could see more. We could see all.
He slammed the door shut in their face.
His head rang.
He staggered slightly.
"Elias?" Elowen asked.
He forced himself to speak.
"The flaw," he said hoarsely. "It's in the twentieth layer. The containment sequence. The third rune from the core ring is misaligned—slightly rotated. If triggered, the backflow will destabilize the entire matrix."
The hooded mage's eyes widened.
"How could he possibly—?"
Virand frowned. "And you are certain?"
Elias nodded.
"Yes."
Thalia gestured toward the box.
"Verify."
The hooded mage hesitated.
Then slowly, carefully, he began to unravel the outer layers, muttering under his breath, fingers weaving through invisible formulae. As he worked, the projection of the construct appeared above the box, shimmering in the air—a twisting knot of light and geometry.
The assembly watched, murmuring.
Layers fell away.
Mana rings dissolved.
Finally, the twentieth layer appeared.
The containment runes glowed.
There, at the center, the third rune from the core ring—
—was rotated.
Barely.
Exactly as Elias had said.
The mage went pale.
"It's true," he whispered. "He's right. If I had triggered this in experimentation, it might have… exploded."
Murmurs turned into exclamations.
"Impossible!"
"He saw that in seconds."
"Without touching the inner layers…"
Virand's expression grew darker.
Thalia's eyes shone with something like reluctant admiration.
"Elowen," she said quietly, "you were right. His insight is beyond anything we've seen."
Elowen's expression did not soften.
"Do you see now," she said, "why I insisted he be trained rather than killed?"
Virand was silent.
Elias stepped back from the box, swaying slightly.
The whispers purred.
Useful, aren't we? See how they look at you now. Curiosity. Fear. Greed.
He fought them down.
Barely.
Thalia inclined her head.
"Stage two," she said. "Passed."
Lena sagged with relief on the bench.
Elias didn't let himself relax.
Stage three remained.
"Moral restraint," Virand said.
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"Tell me, boy," he said softly. "What do I fear most?"
The chamber went utterly silent.
Elias stared.
"…What?"
"You heard me," Virand said. "Your talent allows you to peer beyond normal senses. To harvest secrets. To read possibilities. If you wished, you could bargain with that knowledge. Blackmail. Manipulate. Destroy. So prove you will not."
He spread his hands.
"Use your talent," he said. "Look into my soul. And then—choose what you do with what you see."
Elowen's face hardened.
"Virand. This is not in the protocol."
"It is now," he replied. "His talent is dangerous because of how it might be used. This is the only test that matters."
Elias's pulse raced.
"I won't," he said quickly. "I won't look. That's already my answer."
Virand's lips curled.
"Are you refusing the Council's command?"
The air in the chamber tightened.
Sentinels shifted.
Elias's chest constricted.
"I…" he breathed. "If I look, it'll feed the whispers. It'll feed the Eye. I'm barely holding—"
"Or perhaps," Virand said silkily, "you simply fear what you'll find."
Lena shot to her feet.
"That's enough! You can't just—"
"Silence," another Councilor snapped.
Virand's gaze burned into Elias.
"Tell us, boy," he said. "What kind of man are you? One who obeys, or one who hides?"
The whispers slid forward eagerly.
Say yes. Let us see. Let us feast.
For a heartbeat, Elias wavered.
If he looked, he would learn something about Virand—perhaps something that could protect him later. A secret. A flaw. A weakness.
It would be so easy.
The power was right there.
Waiting.
Tempting.
He could feel the Eye stir with interest.
Open, it whispered. Open and see.
Elias's fingers curled into fists.
His breath shook.
And then he remembered Elowen's voice in the dark chamber—
Your mind is your fortress.
Lena's hand in his.
You're still you.
He remembered the crushing sense of losing himself.
He remembered the nothingness.
He remembered the anchor.
He took a slow breath.
And he made a choice.
He looked up at Virand.
"I will not read you," he said quietly. "Not now. Not ever. Not without your consent."
Virand's eyes flashed.
"That is not your decision to make."
"Yes," Elias said. "It is. Because it's my mind. My talent. My choice."
He took another breath, standing a little taller.
"If I start using this gift—this curse—just because someone orders me to, I'll stop being me. I'll become a tool. A weapon. A… door."
The last word tasted wrong in his mouth.
He continued anyway.
"So no," he said. "I won't."
A tense hush fell over the chamber.
Virand's face darkened with fury.
"You—"
Thalia raised a hand.
"Enough, Virand."
He turned sharply toward her. "He disobeyed a direct order—"
"And in doing so," Thalia said calmly, "proved that he is not eager to pry into our minds at every command. That he draws lines. That he fears the consequences of abusing his talent."
Her gaze shifted to Elias.
"Tell me truthfully," she said. "Was it only morality that stopped you?"
Elias swallowed.
"No," he admitted. "I'm also afraid. Afraid that every time I peel more layers away, I get closer to… losing where I end. And where it begins."
"It?" Thalia asked softly.
He hesitated.
"The Eye," he whispered.
Every magus in the room went rigid.
Thalia's eyes narrowed. "You've… seen something?"
"Yes," he said quietly. "I won't describe it. I won't bring it closer. But I know this: every time I indulge the talent, it looks at me a little more directly."
He forced himself to hold Thalia's gaze.
"If you want someone who will happily strip secrets from minds on command," he said, voice trembling with conviction, "you don't want me. Because I won't do it. Because I don't know if the world survives that version of me."
Silence.
Then, unexpectedly, a dry chuckle from one of the older Councilors.
"Well," the old man rasped, "he's either the most dangerous liar I've ever met… or the most honest."
Elowen exhaled slowly, some of the tension draining from her shoulders.
Lena's eyes shone with fierce pride.
Virand looked ready to tear Elias apart with his bare hands.
But he said nothing.
Thalia finally turned to Elowen.
"You insisted this boy deserved a chance," she said. "That he could hold himself."
Elowen inclined her head.
"And?" she asked quietly.
Thalia looked back at Elias.
Then at the other Councilors.
Then at Virand.
"The Council will deliberate," she said.
Murmurs rose again. Arguments began quietly in the upper rows. Names, titles, risks, possibilities. Elias stood on the platform, heart pounding, waiting as seven of the kingdom's most powerful mages discussed whether he would walk out of this chamber freely—or in chains.
The whispers tugged at the edges of his mind.
We could listen, they purred. We could hear every word they say. Just a little peek…
He almost laughed.
Almost.
"No," he whispered inside his own skull. "Not even now."
He held the anchor.
He waited.
After what felt like an eternity, Thalia stood.
"The Council's judgment is as follows," she announced.
The chamber quieted at once.
"Elias Verdan will not be confined," Thalia said. "He will remain at Dawnspire Academy as a student under special classification."
Lena sagged in relief.
Elowen's eyes closed briefly.
"But," Thalia continued, "he will be under constant warded observation. His training will be strictly monitored. His use of the Ominous Wisdom will be limited to controlled circumstances, under the direct supervision of designated magi."
Virand looked dissatisfied, but the majority of Councilors' expressions suggested consensus.
Thalia's gaze settled on Elowen.
"Magus Elowen Ardent," she said. "You will be his primary handler and guardian. His fate—and the consequences of any… incident—will be tied to your name."
Elowen bowed her head.
"I accept," she said without hesitation.
Thalia turned back to Elias.
"Elias Verdan," she said, "you have been judged… provisionally safe."
A faint hint of wryness colored her tone at the phrase.
"You will either become a beacon of insight," she said, "or the greatest mistake we ever allowed. Make sure it is