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I barely catch myself before my ass hits the ground. “A little warning would have been nice,” I mutter, standing and scowling at the stage.

“Get ready,” Ever says, tone grim.

The chancellor clears his throat. “To secure your place at the university, you have to pass one simple test. All you need to do is wait for the Threshold to assess your powers. It will identify which of the four orders your affinities align to. You will remain in those orders until you pass the Goddess Trial. If the Threshold deems you unworthy, its magic will overpower you.” He gives us all a hard look. “If you are too weak to survive the order assignments, you will die.”

Fear trickles through my veins.

Well, shit.

My stay here might end before it even begins.

The Goddess power filtering through the auditorium is so strong, it almost has a gravity of its own. Shivers wash over me as I stare at the swirling mass. It’s darkened, seeming to suck the color and light from the room. The fine hairs on my arm rise, and I’m keenly aware of the gaping void where my power should live; it’s a cavernous and dark, almost haunting, place in the depths of my being.

{Take it.}

Take what, exactly? What does the voice expect me to do?

Ever nudges me.

I jolt out of my own mind, pushing the voice aside, and glance at her.

She grins. “Good luck! I hope we’re in the same order.”

I hope I make it through this alive, I want to say, but I simply nod and glance at Chancellor Tweed, whose hands are raised. Magic shoots out of his hands and arches toward the Threshold, but rather than slamming into the Goddess power, it crashes into a dome-shaped shield, a containment spell that was invisible until his magic touched it. Spiderwebs of lightning-white power spread through the ward, traveling from one side to the other before the shield finally breaks.

What I thought was unfiltered Goddess power is a gentle breeze in the face of a gale-force wind that crashes through the room, pummeling me with magic so pure it forces me to my knees. I gasp, heart slamming against my ribs, hands trembling, but I fight to climb back to my feet. Teeth gritted, I force my muscles and bones to straighten, even though every part of me wants to collapse to the ground and succumb to Vaeloria’s will. To let her carry me to the void.

Addy’s face flashes through my mind. I have to be strong. I have to survive. It takes all of my will to look up as power surges through the room. Blood roars in my ear, and my jaw clenches against the magical assault.

{Yessss.} The voice in my head seems to sigh in relief.

Before I can examine why, the Threshold lashes out. One moment, the swirl is contained, and the next, the vortex fractures into strands of light. They shoot downward, jagged like bolts of lightning, and my heart skips as flashes of color light up the room. It’s mesmerizing. I don’t know when I’ll ever experience this type of Goddess magic again. It’s as beautiful as it is terrifying.

Hundreds of students scramble to get away as the strands shoot toward them, letting their survival instincts take control. Then there are those who are braver, standing with open arms, waiting for it to hit them.

What’s the point in running if the magic will hunt you anyway? I fist my hands as my chest flutters, resisting the flight instinct, and dig my heels in. I will not run.

{Good,} the voice whispers.

Right in front of me, magic skewers through a guy fleeing from it, impaling him through his rib cage. I hold my breath, eyes widening as he cries out in pure agony, grasping at it, trying to pull it out of his chest. Another streak of Goddess magic shoots through him, right into his heart. The guy doesn’t even have time to beg for Vaeloria’s mercy before he bursts into a million pieces.

A cloud of particles billows where he once stood. I make the mistake of breathing and end up choking on some of it while the rest falls to the floor. All that remains of the student is a pile of ash. Gagging on the charred taste, I blink rapidly, trying to process his death. I’ve seen people die before in the circuit, but this is different, like we’re ants being squashed by the Goddess’s power.

Mouth dry, muscles frozen, I watch as more fall victim to that same fate. Though, while some are deemed unworthy and killed, most are physically pulled toward one side of the room, shoved in different directions. Etched at the top of the wall, four separate crests for each of the orders burn like neon lights, acting as beacons for the Threshold.

Some students are thrust toward the section for the Bastion Order, where power manifests as protection, wards, and offensive magic. Others are pulled toward the Vanguard, whose abilities sharpen into force, domination, and defensive magic. Those guided to Crucible wield power that restores, heals, and sustains life. The Archive claims minds attuned to knowledge, runes, relics, and the deeper mechanics of magic.

Why isn’t the Threshold coming for me?

Who am I kidding? I know why. My affinities are so out of reach, I have no magic to draw it toward me. Perhaps it’s saving my death for last. Drawing out the inevitable. I fist my hands, jaw clenching. While I’ve never heard of someone like me, surely there have been others who have had trouble tapping into their magic. What are the chances I’m the only mage in history to struggle like this?

I’m not that special.

The floor begins to clear. Those who don’t die are sorted into orders that match their affinities until, eventually, I’m the only one left standing. Alone. All eyes turn to me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and shivers shoot down my spine. My gaze drifts up to the Threshold, mouth falling open as every strand that had individually sorted students coalesce into one, hovering above.

A force ready to obliterate me.

The power beckons, a siren calling my name. The oxygen in my lungs is suddenly dense, the air heady with the metallic tang of magic, and my hands tremble. I fist them, swallowing as the thrum of magic inches closer, threatening to devour me.