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“A mark of the six realms will appear on your palm,” the headmaster said.

“Those with the same mark will be both allies and rivals in your journey to greatness. The academy chooses based on bloodline—here, heirs are made. Pain is temporary, but legacy lasts. A student mentor will guide you to the trial grounds, where, in the next two nights, you will discover your quell and your enigma.”

Knox leaned over in pain, clenching his fist until his knuckles whitened.

“Shit, it burns,” he hissed, his lip curled as thick, purple veins jutted from his neck and arms.

Groans and shallow breaths filled the air as first-years writhed in their stance. But I felt… nothing. No power rushing through me. No sharp pain like Knox’s.

“Let me see,” I said, my voice tight.

Knox uncurled his fist, revealing a glowing circle etched into his palm, bright as the sun sinking beneath the horizon. It looked raw, like bone and skin had fused beneath the surface.

“Is this some kind of joke?” His voice cracked slightly as he glanced around, like someone might leap out to laugh at him. “Severyn, I didn’t get Winter. This is Day’s mark.”

I hadn’t looked at my own palm yet. “How is that even possible?” I asked, slow and deliberate. “Knox, you’re a Winter. We’re Winter.”

Knox’s calm composure barely slipped, but when his gaze flicked to Monty Garcia, the Serpent of Day, his shoulders stiffened.

“This is bullshit,” he muttered.

I ran my fingers lightly over the circular mark on his palm, where golden rays broke through the lines of his calloused skin. I closed my eyes, half-expecting the same light to spill from my own flesh, but terrified that it wouldn’t. Terrified that I’d be left—what? Empty?

“I can’t look. What’s mine?” I let my wrist dangle, Knox pulling my fingers apart like I wasn’t in control of my own hand.

“You don’t have one,” he said, voice low.

“What?” I yanked my arm back, my pulse thudding in my ears. “How can I not have a mark? How can you be called to Day?”

Around me, everyone seemed oddly calm. Knox had the same circle as the others called to Day—suns, snowflakes, flowers, moons—each person marked. But not me. Not a thing on my palm.

Markless. I was markless.

Knox leaned in closer, his whisper barely a breath. “Maybe it takes a day to show up?”

I didn’t buy it. “I need to talk to Professor Mundair. ”

The room filled with the sharp ring of a bell as I pushed through the crowd, only to meet the cold, unblinking stare of the headmaster. His yellow eyes cut through me like he already knew what was wrong.

Was he… Day-blooded?

Curls framed his face, his translucent skin glowing unnaturally under the chandeliers.

He took me in, head to toe. “Ah, Fallon’s daughter,” he said, nodding.

“I knew this year would be… difficult. It’s always an eventful year when a Blanche child faces trial.

But two…” His gaze flicked to me with a hint of curiosity.

“Nice to meet you,” I forced out, my voice tight. “I think my mark isn’t showing.”

“What do you mean, dear?” His expression softened slightly, though I knew he had a truth quell capable of stripping lies. Day-blooded powers were like that.

I opened my fists. “I have no mark, sir.”

He patted my palm with a sharp nod. “It seems the academy believes they made a mistake inviting you. No realm has called to you.” His gaze flicked to where Charles stood, and my blood iced. “They’ll treat you well in Malvoria, given your eldest brother’s ranking. I’m sorry you traveled this far.”

“No, I need to stay! There must be a mistake.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, so maybe his truth quell wouldn’t detect it.

“What is this?” A voice, dripping with annoyance, cut through the tension.

Blonde hair brushed my shoulder as another student shoved past me. “I’ve been marked with the Unknown. Fix this now.”

It took a moment to recognize Malachi Herring, her expression pinched as she spread her palms. Her hands were unnervingly smooth, as though bathed in golden goat’s milk.

“Me too,” I said, showing her my empty palm. “There’s nothing. ”

“Interesting.” The headmaster’s voice was distant, calculating. “Well, there must be an explanation. That mark is rare. We don’t know its true origin. Don’t worry, Miss Herring, we’ll sort this out.”

“Let me see.” The voice came from behind—one that had haunted my dreams for the past two years.

Archer Lynch stood in a pool of violet shadows, his gaze sweeping past me to grab Malachi’s wrist. “The academy doesn’t know where to place them because their bloodline is torn between two realms,” he said.

Malachi yanked her arm away, her white boots clicking sharply against the stone. “Send me to Autumn,” she hissed. “The king wants me there. It’s where our family has roots.”

I hesitated. “How can I be torn between two realms? My father is the Serpent of North Colindale.”

Archer kept his focus on Malachi but answered anyway. “What about your mother’s blood?”

“My mother…” I faltered. I’d always assumed she was Winter, but I’d never asked.

“I know exactly what her mother is.” The headmaster’s voice snapped like a whip.

“The Serpent Academy doesn’t entertain forbidden quells.

Your mother was a death curser. I see that mark in your hair.

I know what you are. Perhaps we’ll send you to Malvoria before you tear the school down, just like she did. ”

Archer crossed his arms. “If you send them to Malvoria, they’ll be executed on arrival, just like that student was. The mark of the Unknown shows in many forms.”

Could Charles kill me? I wanted to believe his loyalties lay with family, but the way he spoke of the Continent’s enemies made me doubt it.

“Let us live,” I said, my voice shaking. “Put us through whatever trial you have, but don’t send me to Malvoria.” I was the only one left .

Malachi scoffed loudly. “Good luck executing the king’s granddaughter,” she drawled, dragging a finger down Archer’s shirt. “Although I’m sure Archer would appreciate it. One step closer to stealing my grandfather’s crown.”

The headmaster’s yellow eyes flicked between us. If it were just me, I’d have been thrown out by now. But Malachi’s name held too much power to ignore.

The headmaster clamped my fingers shut. “You don’t speak a word about this. Not to anyone. Blanche, you will stay in Winter. Herring, I will send you to Autumn. Perhaps your quells will manifest into something tamable in a familiar environment.”

Archer finally shifted his gaze toward me, his expression tightening, like he recognized my name but couldn’t place it. His eyes lingered briefly before turning away, leaving me no choice but to remain silent.

I kept my head low, flexing my fingers as pain flared across my knuckles. The skin between them bled, sharp as a needle dragging along bone, carving the faint shape of a snowflake. Phantom shudders rippled down my spine, too cold to ignore.

I exhaled slowly, relief threading through me.

My father’s title was safe—for now. But questions swirled like smoke.

Was Day the realm where my mother had grown?

Why would the academy place Knox somewhere foreign to us, a realm that offered no comfort, no familiarity?

Knox would be sheltered in light, while North Colindale—our home—desperately needed that.

The students were divided into six realms: Night, Day, Summer, Winter, Autumn, and Spring. Knox’s group departed first, led by a tall brunette I’d overheard named Everett Kilian. His strides were confident, and his sharp jawline radiated authority, drawing glances from the crowd.

Malachi darted toward the Autumn section, her cloak billowing behind her like a storm cloud.

She snapped it closed, golden stars embroidered on the fabric gleaming under the light.

Slowly, I stepped toward the Winter section, where thirty-one first-year students waited.

The air here felt colder, almost biting against my skin, as though the ward separating the realms had seeped through.

Some students were pale and gaunt, with hollow cheeks and darting eyes betraying sleepless nights and meager meals. Others—the Winborrow natives Lorna had warned me about—stood out easily, clean-cut, their thick muscles rippling beneath fur-lined cuffs.

Thirty-one students. All competing for my father’s title. And that didn’t even account for the second and third-years already far ahead in their training. It all came down to me now.

Knox, I knew, would abandon me as the days wore on. He was Day, and ice never dared to touch the golden light. The weight of our hundred-year legacy was all on my shoulders.

As I joined the group, a curly-haired woman caught my eye. Her dark locks were gathered into a chunky braid, tied at the end with a silver bead. She nervously bit her nails, her deep-brown skin framed by a pale wool cloak. For a moment, her gaze locked with mine.

“I’ve heard our student leader is ruthless,” she whispered. “Bridger Thorne. Just be prepared for three days of hell.” She let out an exasperated breath as she glanced around.

“Thanks for the warning,” I whispered back.

Frost peeled the onyx stone, spiraling like spider’s webs. Swallowing my hesitation, I shifted my weight as a white-haired man stalked through the grand hall’s double doors and took his place before our group. His cloak dragged beneath his slender frame, the same shade as obsidian.

“Disappointing,” he muttered, his gaze sweeping over each of us before lacing his iced palms behind him.

Thorne. It was a Colindale surname—I knew him .

His parents were the same age as mine, and had lived under my father’s reign as civilians.

He was one of the few children born and raised in our village.

His father was a farmer, and his mother—a teacher—had come to our home every Tuesday.

Ordinary. But he sought something that didn’t belong to him.