He didn't sleep much that night. It wasn't until the darkness of his room settled over him and he was alone, save the gentle whisper of Sab's breathing, that the doubts came. High Priest. Could he really be the High Priest? He wasn't even the best mage in the Schola. He was good, no mistake, but the best? The High Priest. He brushed his hair back and stared at the bottom of the bunk above him. It was insane to even think about. But here he was, doing it anyways. Just some no-name from a no-name town, trying to become the highest-ranked priest out there. And the best part is, I'm not even a priest! He giggled quietly. It was insane.

He was going to be in charge of everything, if he won. Well. All the Shrines in the region. What else did he need, really? He'd practically be nobility! An evil grin spread over his face. Pasquale wouldn't be able to look down on him anymore. He'd be able to look down on Pasquale! That'd teach the asshole a thing or two about treating people with respect! He could see it already. Pasquale on his knees, his stupid oiled hair all messed up as he pressed his forehead into the floor. "Rise," he imagined saying, because he was a merciful man, after all. Pasquale's face was twisted with disgust, but the man held his tongue, because what was he going to do? Badmouth the High Priest?

"Fetch me some water," he said with a lazy wave, jeweled fingers glittering.

With the most horribly sour expression, Pasquale moved reluctantly to a crystal pitcher and poured him a cup of water. No—a glass. A glass of the finest wine. He'd be rich, after all. He took the glass, noting the way Pasquale's knuckles clenched white on it, and sipped it. His grin spread wider, and he threw the wine in Pasquale's face. And Pasquale could do nothing. Wine soaked into his jacket, stained the silver embroidery, and he could do nothing. Nothing but stare, as his teeth ground harder and his face went red with rage.

A chill went down his back. What if he made a fool of himself at the trials? What if he got too nervous and couldn't cast right, and his magic just fizzled? He imagined himself tripping as he walked out on the field, falling flat on his face. The sword fell away from him. Pasquale started laughing, pointing his stupid finger at Raff. Alessa and Alessi materialized behind him, and they were laughing too, heads tipped back as they howled, barely able to contain themselves. Raff scrubbed his face. No! It wasn't going to be like that. He'd do fine. It'd be fine.

He didn't even know where the trials were going to take place. What they were going to be. They wanted to keep it neutral, make sure nobody had an advantage, but that just made him more nervous. He'd like if it was a combat trial. Shrineguards had an advantage over most mages, since they practiced combat more than anything else. Unless... his stomach twisted with fear. Unless it was combat to the death. And even if it wasn't, he'd never been in a real fight before. It was all practice. And Pasquale didn't count, because they weren't actually trying to kill each other. All the little scraps with Sab and the other no-names, all the battle practice from the Schola, it was all the same. It was sparring. All of it, just sparring.

And what if it was something he'd never done before? Some kind of complex manipulation puzzle? Or worse, something he'd never been good at, like lighting a flame underwater? His head swam with the possibilities, none of them good.

When sleep came, it was restless. Pasquale's laughter mocked him from one dream to the next, as he walked onto the field with no pants, forgot his soulstone, slipped and fell on cow dung in front of a huge crowd. He frowned in his sleep, fighting his sheets.

"Raff!"

A slap to his face. He jolted awake, confused, a hand going to his face. Sab, concerned, stared down at him. "Don't you have to be at the Shrine by dawn?"

Raff blinked sleepily up at Sab, still annoyed at the slap. Why would he have to—Trials!

He jumped out of bed and just about threw himself into his clothes, yanking his pants up, slinging his jacket on, quickly buckling leather armor over his body. He'd have worn his dress uniform, except there was no guarantee it wouldn't be a combat test, and if it might be combat, he was wearing his armor.

He glanced out the tiny window. Still dark, but the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. He had to hurry if he was going to make it! A practiced motion cinched his belt around his waist. Remembering his nightmares, he ran his hand over his sword, made sure he could feel the heat of the soulstone responding to his touch. He ran for the door.

"Raff—"

He turned. Sab was holding out his helmet. "Good luck, kid," he said, a small smile on his lips.

Raff nodded, too nervous to trust his voice. He snatched the helmet and ran.

The pre-dawn air was cool, almost icy over his exposed face and hands. They'd been allowed to stay at the Schola's dorms, so the Shrine was only a few hundred feet away, across the yard, past the halls, out to the front gate and just down the road. Though usually the gates were locked and unmanned this early, this morning, they were opened, the usual guards flanking them. They nodded as Raff sprinted past, helmet tucked under one arm like a rugby ball, and he shot them a quick nod back.

"Better hurry!" one called mockingly after him. He didn't have the time to respond.

He wasn't the only one making a beeline for the Shrine. Ahead of him, another student, this one an underclassman, pumped her arms and ran for the Shrine, ponytail swishing behind her. More dignified, a tall man with a full head of curls strode (albeit quickly) towards the Shrine doors, a flowing coat in the latest capitol fashion flapping around his ankles. Raff passed the walker and gained on the underclassman, but she still got to the doors before him. She swung them open, and before they closed, Raff slipped inside, kicking the door open for the walker behind him.

There was no time to take in the art at the atrium. He sprinted past into the grand hall, where he finally slowed to a walk. He'd found them. Everyone else. They milled about aimlessly, pacing the vast interior of the grand hall. Still half-hidden from sight in the space just inside the doors, Raff took a moment to catch his breath and fix his hair, fastening his helmet to his hip. From the relative shelter, he scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces.

The thin light of early dawn poured through the tall windows, lighting the other participants just enough for him to make out most of the details. He recognized classmates and drinking buddies: Ornella, one of the local captains from his part-time duties; Jacob, whom he'd shared a history class with.

The majority of the crowd at least wore some variant on the Schola's uniform. There were a few from distant Scholas, their uniforms slightly different based on the region's weather. The ones from Aer's northern hold were thicker, lined with fur, from Aqua's southern port thinner and more lightweight, and every variation in between. Others wore Shrineguard uniforms or priests' robes in various fashions, patches on their left sleeves with emblems from whichever region they belonged to. Ignis' red flame was the most common emblem, but there were emblems from all seven regions; Aqua's blue teardrop, Aer's green swirls, Terra's brown rocks, Fulgur's sharp silver bolts, Lux's warm golden sunburst. There were even representatives from the rocky wastes that had been assigned to Tenebrae, four horizontal black stripes on their patches. Raff frowned. Getting sent to Tenebrae's region was usually a sign of dishonor. No one talked about it, but Tenebrae's region was where the Shrine sent the priests and guards who couldn't be kept at their current positions for whatever reason, whether it be that they had disgraced themselves through some scandal or committed a crime the Shrine needed covered up. It was odd to see them at the trials to become the next High Priest.

Then again, he considered, tilting his head, this is probably a once-in-a-lifetime chance to escape Tenebrae's region. As High Priest, they could pardon themselves for their crimes or overcome their dishonor. It made sense, but it didn't mean he wanted to see one of them succeed. They'd been sent to Tenebrae's region for a reason.

He caught a glimpse of red hair and turned. Cecile caught his eye and waved from the back of the crowd. He waved back, grinning just a bit. It was good to see a familiar face.

Raff was about to move closer when one of the elder Shrine priests, a man whom he remembered from a few special lessons at the Schola—Matteo? Mattia?—raised his hands from a small dais at the end of the hall. The seven stones of the Seven Gods circled on the wall above his head. He had a stern face; stern, but wise, deep wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. His eyes, though sharp, were deeply shadowed, hooded by wild eyebrows. In contrast, the rest of his hair was tied neatly back, pulled back so stiffly it looked oiled, though it didn't have the right sheen. Though he was a high-ranking priest, he wore simple robes, barely nicer than the basic robes all fully-inducted priests wore, the red fabric worn and dulled from use. In one hand, he held a small version of the Shrine's symbol, the crossed-circles to shape a globe, one facing the crowd, the other one turned on its edge, running from aether to earth and back again.

"Before me today stand gathered the candidates who hope to become the next High Priest," he began, in a tone of voice that told Raff he'd be wanting for a chair by the end of this. Figuring he had a while, he started snaking through the crowd toward Cecile. "Welcome. My name is Matteo, and I will be your proctor for today."

The priest continued. "You will become the representative of Ignis. The closest person to our God, the bond between the soulstream," he touched the top of the symbol, "and the earth." His hand moved to the bottom. "If He decides to return to the material plane, it will be your honor—your duty—to take in His godly powers and holy consciousness through the Godstone he left behind when he returned to the aether." There was a pause. "Though He seems in no hurry to return."

A few chuckles ran through the crowd. Raff drew up alongside Cecile. She glanced at him, then nodded. "Is this the trial? Not falling asleep?" she joked under her breath. Despite his nerves, Raff managed a grin at that.

"You will also be the leader of the region's Shrines. You will organize the rituals, maintain the balance of soulstones, and ensure every Shrine is properly equipped to protect itself, feed its priests and guards, and sending the correct portion of men to the frontlines. You will induct new Shrineguards and priests, maintain the Schola, and declare judgement upon heretics." A thin smile stretched over his lips. "Being High Priest is exciting, but it is mostly a lot of boring, hard work. If this does not sound like what you want, please, feel free to leave now."

No one budged. Raff crossed his arms. Did they really think that was going to scare anyone off? Sure, ruling was hard work. It was. Everyone knew that. And yet any man or woman here would kill to be king, not that I would commit treason, Gods save the King, he tacked on silently. Hard work was fine, as long as he had that warmth. That power.

Matteo waited. He put his hands behind his back and stood on the dais, staring into the middle distance. Minutes passed. Raff's stomach growled. "Should we go grab breakfast and come back?" he joked quietly.

"You skipped? You fool," Cecile whispered back.

When it became apparent, even to the priest, that no one was leaving, he gave a nod. "Then let us proceed with the first trial!"

From doors to either side of the dais, one of which Raff had watched Fabio die behind, a stream of attendant priests each carrying a stack of papers emerged. Raff furrowed his brows. What? Surely this wasn't...

"To ensure that you know the policies, beliefs, rituals, and history of the Shrine, you must first pass a written test," Matteo declared. A ripple of disbelief passed through the crowd, and he shook his head sternly at them. "You do not qualify as High Priest if you cannot even recall the basic rituals."

"Shit," Raff muttered. He'd graduated from the Schola. He'd thought that was the last time he'd ever have to take a stupid test ever again. Beside him, Cecile looked just as taken aback as he felt.

"Please find a quiet space somewhere in the hall once you receive the test, as far from the other participants as possible," Matteo announced. "Cheating is an immediate disqualification."

Raff took his test with a deep sense of foreboding. "Good luck," he told Cecile. She nodded grimly, and they departed to their corners.

He scanned the test as he walked, reading over the questions. What do you do when a shade possesses a living body? A confident smile spread over his face. Easy. Nothing they could do but kill them. Shades were nasty undead, formed when an earthbound soul wandered for a hundred years, wore out its original body, and went searching for a new one. A body could only hold one soul at a time. Possessing a body pushed out the original soul, and there was no returning that once it left. Killing the victims was a mercy; their bodies would slowly reject the foreign soul and die horribly if left to their own. Luckily, they were rare and possessings so uncommon he hadn't seen a single one yet. Still, an easy answer. He marked that answer as he walked and moved on to the next. Maybe this test wasn't so bad after all.

In the first five years of the Tenebraean War, what were Tenebrae's primary victories? Date and city. List and explain her strategies.

Raff's face fell. So much for this test being easy.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of pencils scratching away. The sun was high in the sky by the time he finally put the finishing touches on the final essay question and sat up, curling backwards to give his back a good crack. He hadn't gotten everything perfect, he knew that, but he was pretty sure it was at least good enough to pass. Feeling creaky, he climbed to his feet. A priest rushed over to take his test. He handed it to her and staggered towards the door. He needed some food. It had to be lunchtime by now, right?

She caught his arm. "The next part of the trials is through that door and to the left," she said, pointing out the atrium. "If you leave now, you forfeit."

"No, I... do you have any food?" Raff begged her.

She smiled. "There are refreshments in the hallway right outside."

Relieved, Raff nodded his thanks and trouped into the next room.

Past the artworks again. For a second, he was afraid he'd gone through the wrong door, but then he turned the corner, and the wave of sound hit him. The hallway was much smaller than the grant hall. With all the test takers crammed together, their voices echoed into a cacophony, louder than market street at midday. Less ornate than the grand hall or the atrium, the walls were simple, square windows spaced every few feet. One side of the hallway was lined with portraits of previous High Priests, Fabio the latest addition to the lineup. Rather than admire the artwork, though, most of the participants were clustered around a table upon which had been spread a variety of breads, pastries, cheeses, and fruits. He caught snatches of conversation as he shouldered his way to the table.

"Giving all the kids straight out of Schola an advantage," an older man with silver in his beard muttered, chewing grapes straight off the vine.

A woman nudged her neighbor with a glass of juice. "Wonder what's next?"

"Hope they're all this easy," a Castelfiamman Schola student confided in her friend, who nodded and shoved another cracker into her full mouth.

Raff grabbed a handful of bread and cheese, and stuck a whole apple in his pocket. He was just about to snatch some more when a familiar head of red hair appeared in his peripherals.

"How do you think you did?" Cecile asked by way of announcing herself. She had a pastry in one hand and cheese in the other, and was alternating bites.

Raff shrugged. "Well enough," he said. Certainly not a perfect score, but probably not a fail either. He took a bite of his grab, and his tongue lit up. The bread and cheese tasted exquisite after skipping breakfast. He closed his eyes to savor it a moment before continuing. "You?"

She grimaced. "The history questions were easy enough, but Hugo was never big on Shrine teachings. All the stuff about rituals, the creation lore... I'm banking on history, quite honestly."

"It was the opposite for me," he said with a laugh.

"Wonder how many trials there are?" Cecile said. "I thought there were only three, three days and three days of rest. But there's two trials today. Are there two a day? More? It's still early, after all."

Raff shrugged. "If they're all this easy, it'll be no problem."

"I doubt that," a man commented in the affected accent of the capitol. Raff glanced up to find the curly-haired man who'd nearly been late earlier joining in on the conversation, sipping elegantly from a wineglass. Lux's sunburst stood out from the patch on his sleeve, confirmation the man was from the capitol. Closer up, his face was pinched, but still handsome enough that Raff felt vaguely jealous. "If they were that easy, they wouldn't be trials, now would they?" He offered his hand to Cecile. "Osvaldo."

"Cecile," she said, taking it reluctantly. Rather than shake, he pressed his lips to her hand before releasing it. Cecile's face went rigid.

"Charmed, I'm sure. And your companion?"

Cecile glanced at Raff. "Oh, he's just an acquaintance," she said. "Raff?"

"Nice to meet you," Raff said, offering his hand.

This time, it was Osvaldo's turn to take his hand reluctantly. "Quite." He turned toward Cecile. "So where are you from? That hair color... it's rather unusual outside of the northern reaches, isn't it?"

"I'm not quite sure, I was taken in by a Magi when I was young," she said.

"A Magi? Then what are you doing here?" Osvaldo purred, moving closer, nearly close enough they were touching. "I thought the Magi were too good for the Shrine."

Something about Osvaldo was familiar, something about the slimy way he moved, or maybe the way he talked. Raff squinted. He couldn't quite place it. What was it?

Cecile backed away. "Everyone has their circumstances," she snapped. "If you'll excuse me."

Osvaldo watched her walk away, back stiff. She vanished into the growing crowds. "Touchy subject?" he murmured into his glass, flicking his eyes to Raff.

Raff shook his head. Clearly. She hadn't told him, but he hadn't asked, either. It wasn't that he wasn't curious, just that... it hadn't seemed polite to ask. Not that Osvaldo had hesitated.

Slowly, more contestants filtered through the door and into the hallway. Raff found refuge squeezed into a corner between a massive portrait of a motherly High Priestess and an end table, the only place he could find an inch of space to breathe. The table was devoured in a matter of minutes, the final participants falling upon the scraps like locusts.

A Schola underclassman stumbled through the door, robes and hair disheveled, and staggered for the refreshments. Behind him came Matteo, a composed counterpoint to the student. He raised his hands, and the hallway quieted. "Now that we've all had a bite to eat and a moment to collect ourselves, shall we move on?" he suggested. "It will take a while to score the tests. We may as well begin the next part of the trial."

"What if we fail the written test?" someone asked from deep in the crowd.

"Then we will remove you from the next trial, thank you, and send you home, the same as if you fail the upcoming trial," Matteo said simply. He gestured towards the end of the hallway. "Shall we?"

Raff wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't a hike. They twined deeper into the Shrine, going places he'd rarely seen before his tenure as odd-jobsman. Not in an exciting way, but in a storage-and-meeting-rooms sort of way. In one they passed, a group of female priests were all chanting around a brazier. In another, a single priest had tucked himself into a corner to read the Shrine's scrolls. A bubble of noise, they passed each door by, wandering deeper and deeper, down a stairwell and, as a chill settled over Raff's skin, into the earth.

Down here were the dungeons, the archives, the reliquium. Rather than windows, torches and braziers offered light, though none of them seemed to burn down or release smoke. Shrineguards patrolled, while others stood before particularly important doors and stared straight ahead with the focus one only had when their boss was going walkabout. Raff snorted at the sight, slightly amused. From his weeks helping out around the Shrine, he knew to come down here for a hand of cards or a game of shesko on his breaks. There was always someone up for a game, and more often enough someones for a whole table. Finding the guards so focused on a random day was about as likely as finding naked women parading main street.

Matteo stopped before a vault door, the whole thing forged from metal. He nodded at the guard. The woman opened the door. Hinges protested with a squeal, but the door gave, slamming against the wall behind it with a deep groan. At the sound, even those in the back of the group fell silent, curiosity overcoming them.

"Today, we shall see how each of you handle power," Matteo announced. He gestured at the room. "I will be within. One by one, enter the room. This is one of our reliquiums, our most holy places, so I ask that each of you remove your shoes and any head coverings before you enter. And yes, that includes wigs."

Raff could swear he saw a mischievous sparkle in the man's eye at that.

"Now then. One at a time, please. No particular order." Matteo bent and removed his own shoes, the things more slipper than shoe, and so worn Raff wondered if they did anything to cushion the man's feet. He set them by the door of the reliquium and vanished inside.

"Alright, line up," the female guard barked. Raff found himself shuffling backwards as everyone organized themselves from a blob to a line. A hand tapped his shoulder, and he turned to find Cecile just behind him.

"Sorry I ran off earlier," she said. "That man was being annoying."

Raff nodded. "I understand. I thought the same, honestly." Though it wasn't anything the man had done, so much as simply his existence that had gotten under Raff's skin. What was it about Osvaldo that made him feel so gross? He felt like he'd felt this way before, but couldn't put a finger on when or why.

Cecile's eyes were locked on the door, apology already forgotten. They sparkled with a kind of hunger he'd rarely seen, except when he felt it himself. "What do you think is in there?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"A relic," Raff said.

She gave him a look, then rolled her eyes. "What a bold guess, a relic in a reliquium," she said sarcastically. "Obviously Ignis' Godstone is down here, locked away somewhere in these rooms. Do you think that's it? Or maybe it's something else. Some other powerful artifact. The roots of the arbol d'ambra, perhaps."

"Albero," he corrected her.

Cecile bulled on, ignoring him. "Just think, some people spend years petitioning to see inside a reliquium. And here we are, wandering in like no one's business. Isn't that incredible?"

Raff shrugged. "It's not that hard for a Shrineguard to get into a reliquium," he reminded her. "Half of us end up posted outside one at some point or another."

"Right, right, I almost forgot," Cecile said, shaking her head. "You act so normal that I forget you're not a civilian like me."

Raff blinked at her. "What was I supposed to act like?" he asked, but she just waved her hand.

The line crawled on. Every now and again, a priest appeared, strode up and down the line until they found the ones they were looking for and tapped them on the shoulder, at which point the contestant's face fell and they quietly followed the priest out. The failures of the first test, singled out even as they waited for the second. It was a harsh way to go. Tension coiled in Raff's stomach again, flaring into fear every time the priests drew close to him, only to die down again as they passed him by. Calm, he told himself. Stay calm. You need to be calm for the next trial. But it was hard, when they circled like vultures, picking off the failures one by one.

A priest rustled by him, robes swishing, then slowed to nearly a halt and turned back. Raff stiffened as he walked towards them, slower now, eyes tracking over the contestants. He reached out. Raff's heart raced. No. Of all the ways to fail, not over a dumb test! Please, not me. Not me, not me, not—

"Oh," Cecile said, and Raff heard something break in her voice. He turned. The priest had touched her shoulder. He gestured with his head. Raff could watch Cecile's spirit give in the way her face fell, her shoulders slumped, her head hung. She glanced up and caught him looking, managed a fake smile. Her eyes were already reddening. Defeat was written in every line of her body, every twitch of her expression. "Good luck," she whispered, and then the priest escorted her away.

Raff stared after her. She'd been such a good mage, a Magi's apprentice of all things, but... a trial was a trial. He swallowed and toyed with his ponytail, tying it, untying it, retying it. History hadn't been enough. Hopefully that meant knowing the rituals and factoids was enough for him.

Ahead of him, the line shortened. He inched closer, closer, closer, and then he was next in line. It reminded him of receiving his soulstone and weapon, and he grit his teeth in a grimace. Hopefully Matteo didn't die like Fabio had. What a coincidence that would be.

The man ahead of him emerged, an exhausted expression on his face. He glanced at Raff and shook his head, then stumbled away, boots in hand. The Shrineguard gestured him forward. Raff glanced between her and the exhausted man, fear boiling over in his gut. What on earth was going on in there? Here goes nothing, he thought. It was too late to worry. With a deep breath, he strode inside.

Beyond the door was a small, dark antechamber, then a second door. Wooden and old, it looked as though it had weathered a hundred, two hundred, three hundred years. The wood was scratched and dull, warped out of the frame in places, the doorknob tarnished.

The door behind him shut. For a moment, he was alone in the darkness, aside from the thin glow that spilled from the other side of the wooden door. As casual as he'd been about it earlier, excitement built in his gut alongside trepidation as he stepped out of his boots. He was going to see a relic up close! He'd never had the opportunity to see a relic in person before, even if it was a common assignment for Shrineguards. But...a frown crossed over his face as he yanked off his socks. What was he going to have to do? Identify it? Use it correctly? Only one way to find out. He opened the door and stepped inside.

The room on the other side was lit up with a warm light, almost like a flame, except it wasn't flickering. It was a small room, that was the first thing he noticed. Bare, walls plated with iron, floor dirt. A broom closet, if that large. And empty. Aside from Matteo standing in the corner, it was completely empty. Raff frowned, eyebrows knitting. What was this?

Matteo nodded towards Raff and gestured for him to step forward. "Sir... where's the relic?" Raff asked. He looked around as he said it, as if he could miss anything in such a tiny room.

"Can't you feel it?" Matteo asked, gesturing around them.

Feel what? Raff wondered. And then he realized: there was no candle. No soulstone set into the wall. The light simply... was.

He closed his eyes and reached out the way he usually did with his soulstone. At first there was nothing. His hand, his fingers shifting. The slight chill in the air.

Warmth.

It tingled around his fingertips, something he could feel and couldn't. It felt like the very edge of a bonfire on a cold night, where he could feel the heat on his skin, but it wasn't strong enough to warm him. Just out of reach. He frowned and pushed harder, reaching further. The heat remained tantalizingly close, barely not there. But so close. Just a little more. His whole consciousness focused on his fingertips, on the phantom heat. Closer. Closer. Cold ached through his body, everywhere but his fingertips. Heat. Warmth. He hungered for it.

Heat flared through him. The sudden temperature shift made him stumble, skin prickling as it thawed. Magic. But a fierce kind. It roiled through his veins and ached under his skin. The empty space where he kept his magic felt taut, suddenly, like he'd eaten too much all at once. It poured through his stomach and back through his body, too much of it to hold onto. He felt himself blush with the sheer heat of it. Still there was more, more, more. It rushed up without end, without reservation, pouring through him, more magic than he'd ever felt or called on before. Where the magic he'd felt from Fabio had been too much all at once, a sudden burst of too much power, so much heat that it burned, this felt like a constant stream of magic pouring into him. If Fabio's magic had been a hot stove, this magic was sitting all day in the sun until his skin ached.

He smelled burning. Raff opened his eyes and found himself on fire. Startled, he jumped backwards, and the fire moved with him. He was wreathed in flames, coated in them, but not injured by them. He marveled at it, staring at his hands, the fire dancing over them.

I'm not touching my soulstone.

Fear coursed through him, ice water to the fire of the magic. He clamped down on the magic, cutting it back, killing the flames on his body. It hurt to do, ached to push it out of him, force himself back into the cold, into the hunger, but the fear was stronger. His eyes flicked to Matteo. The man was staring, wide-eyed. As if he could have missed that! he thought angrily at himself. Raff started to reach for his soulstone, then stopped. It'd look worse if he faked it at this point. Or should he make a break for it?

Not like there's the best of the kingdom's guards and priests right outside, the little voice in his head responded.

The flames died. The magic fell away from him. "I, um, I don't know—" he started.

Matteo moved closer, reaching out. His face was tense, brows drawn low, eyes dark. Raff flinched back, hand going to his soulstone again. He hesitated. Attack? Run? Matteo was on top of him. Too late! His heart hammered in his chest, body tensing. The man's hand clapped onto his shoulder. Raff tensed. Shit! Matteo's hand was heavy. His grip was like steel. No time. Raff grabbed his sword. He'd have to cut Matteo away and—

"Incredible," the man breathed, looking Raff up and down. "You pass."

"I—what," Raff spluttered, releasing his sword out of sheer shock. He... passed?

Matteo shook his head and patted him on the shoulder again. "Most of them managed a little flame, a match's worth, but that was—you have an extraordinary potential for magic." He looked troubled, a strange expression clouding his face.

"That was... the relic?" Raff managed, confused. What on earth was going on? That was the test?

The strange expression was overwritten by a bland smile. "There are places where magic gathers," Matteo explained. "Places where it naturally wells up, strong, raw, powerful. Castelfiamma was built on one of those wells. There isn't much of it left. You can't use it outside of this room anymore. But once, it was enough that you barely needed a soulstone in the whole city—or so the records claim."

Raff rubbed his forehead, trying to understand. "So this room... is a well? A magic well? And that's the relic?"

"A well of magic, yes," Matteo replied patiently.

A well of magic. Raff turned his hands over, seeing the flames crawl over them in his mind's eye. That couldn't have been his magic—the magic he hid inside himself. There was too much of it. He should have realized that there was something else. "Isn't it dangerous? To use magic that isn't in soulstones?" he asked.

"That's why I'm here," Matteo said solemnly.

Raff stared at his hands for one more second, then startled. There were people outside, waiting for their turn. "I'll, uh, I'll go. Thank you," he said, nodding to Matteo.

"That will be it for today. Feel free to leave," the priest replied.

That was all? Thank the gods. He felt exhausted after all that. Raff nodded back, then turned and stepped out of the room, back into the dark antechamber. It was an awkward moment to get his shoes and socks back on, but then he was out, back into ordinary torchlight. "Next," the Shrineguard by the door barked. Raff staggered down the hallways, back up the stairs, towards the door. Only when he was outside did he finally relax. His heart was still racing, adrenaline still pumping. He'd almost made a deadly mistake. If it hadn't been the relic, he'd be dead right now. He'd been so careless. He had to be careful. More careful.

He put his face in his hands and breathed out, then laughed, a high, thin sound. Sab is going to kill me when I tell him. He'd done the worst possible thing. And somehow, it'd worked out. It felt like a dream. A nightmare.

Two more trials to come. He wiped his face and looked up. His hands were shaking. His whole body was tense. Damn. Damn it. He'd almost slipped up already.

Sab would tell him to stop. That it was dangerous. Too dangerous. He could almost hear the man's voice already. They will kill you, Raff! If you keep using magic without a soulstone, they'll kill you. You can't!

But Sab hadn't felt that heat. He didn't know what was at stake. Raff clenched his fist. He was going to win this. He was going to be the one the receive the Godstone. He needed it. More than anything else, more than life itself. The hunger was an almost physical ache, one he felt every day when he woke up, every night when he went to sleep. He had magic, but he needed more. Until he was filled with it. Until he had that warmth every day, and every night.

He rolled his shoulders back and walked away with his head high. He was going to become High Priest. And no one could stop him.

Not even Sab.