Miliana had a dream once. A burning dream, one that had ignited in her since she was a pint-sized midget. She held a passion for an illusory thing—loving devotion, one could say.

  She dreamed of climbing haunted spires lit by bonfire light, cleansing restless souls and ushering them toward their next journey. Of conjuring stars for homeless wanderers, so the dark wouldn’t consume them.

  Of being part of a society that respected her, that acknowledged her for who she truly was—and who she could be. To be both wizard and witch alike. To ride broomsticks while shotgunning black cats. To kettle carbon and coal in dark pottery.

  Of mending her father’s illness because they couldn’t afford alchemical medicine, in a world where only the affluent could stave off sickness like it was a mere annoyance.

  She knew the next few moments would determine whether she could walk that path.

  Miliana stared at the black-feathered raven. Its abrupt intrusion through her window did not bother her in the slightest.

  But the note under its claws sent a sharp spike of anxiety through her.

  The fat raven stood on her dresser, eyeing her with a haunting gaze, like she was an ornament. It flapped its wings in repetition and twisted its head like an erratic clock. It gestured strangely, as if urging her to take the mysterious note.

  She approached it slowly. The raven leaned forward, then sprang into the air, floating toward the budding magician. Reluctantly, she took the note from its claws. The bird snapped its head like a breaking twig before soaring back through the window.

  She leaned outside, watching where it flew. Half a mile away, it landed on a rooftop—where a robed figure awaited. The raven slid up the figure’s arm and vanished into nothingness, as if it had never been there at all.

  A witch, she thought, before the figure disappeared into the shadows.

  Miliana sighed and looked down at her long-awaited, yet ill-prepared, gift.

  Scribbled across a beige page in messy black ink, the words stared back at her. She hesitated to address them directly. Her palms trembled. Her legs quivered.

  Her worst fears had come true.

  In mere seconds, her dream had been reduced to euphoria—a fantasy. Crushed. Ruined. Destroyed.

  Her eyes followed the words again, desperate to reaffirm whether or not—

  She was experiencing a living nightmare.

  Miliana fidgeted with her left hand, unable to believe the cruel reality life had dealt her. She reread every part of the black lettering.

  [Rejected]

  [We regret to inform the recipient of this letter that the Everbay Academy of Magic and Sciences has unfortunately denied your application for admission.

  This decision was made due to either failing to meet expectations or for reasons deemed appropriate by the City Magi Council’s assessment.

  Applicants may retake the test at the end of the current year. Any inquiries should be directed to the institution’s head office.]

  The letter was short. Abrupt. Cold and automatic.

  Did they not care about her feelings? They could have at least addressed her by name.

  Hah… Magi Council. Bloody charlatans. A bunch of rich bastards born into prestigious families. Cheats and elitist snobs, the whole lot of them.

  Miliana never considered herself a prodigy—she only knew a handful of spells. But didn’t all students start that way? She was sure most of her would-be peers were the same—excluding, of course, the privileged ones who’d had private tutors since childhood. Compared to them, maybe she was lacking, but she couldn’t be that far behind.

  So what was the council’s reasoning?

  Was there an ulterior motive at play? Some hidden agenda?

  Was it because she was poor?

  Yes. That had to be it. This was predetermined.

  She had suspected she might be done dirty, but deep inside, she felt no overwhelming wave of emotion. No malicious rage. No sadness.

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  Only resentment.

  Disappointment had always been a possibility, but she knew she had done more than her best. Now, her arms felt numb, and her legs trembled beneath her.

  How would she explain this to her father?

  The examination trials had practically cost him a fortune. There was no way he could afford for her to take them again—not in his condition. He would be absolutely livid when he found out. No doubt, he’d push her to explore other options.

  She collapsed onto her bed, releasing a pleading sigh. Her eyes wandered to the framed image of her late mother.

  At times like this, she would pray to her for comfort.

  Which stung.

  Because she couldn’t lean on the dead.

  Her thoughts swarmed like buzzing bees.

  She had to make up for this somehow. Or at the very least, she had to pay her father back. That meant getting a job—a normal, mundane job. Long hours. Shitty pay.

  She hated the thought of doing something she didn’t want to do.

  She smothered herself with a pillow, exhaling a long, exhausted sigh. Her heart raced at the notion.

  At this rate, she would never become a mage.

  It wasn’t just the idea of being a magi that excited her—it was the experiences that came with it. The sights she would see. The escape from this city’s muddled mess. The chance to leave behind family worries. If she made enough money, she could hire someone to take care of her father.

  Her mother should’ve been here to help.

  But life never went the way you wanted it to.

  Oh, the despair. How unfair it all was.

  If she couldn’t be a licensed witch, then maybe she could try her hand at adventuring, like her mother had.

  Her father wouldn’t approve, but what else was there? Plow some noble’s field while he lounged in his castle? Run up and down the city like a madwoman delivering messages when couriers could just shoot them out of a cannon? Serve some lord and clean his estate while he fondled her behind?

  She just didn’t have the energy for it.

  She couldn’t see herself walking that path.

  But it wasn’t worth a premature headache.

  She would leave the problem for the morrow.

  Reaching over, she shut off the magic lamp. The room fell into darkness.

  She would decide once the sun had risen.

  Mr. Dewmark’s weight was paradoxical to his towering height. He was unnaturally thin, a severely lanky figure hunched painfully over the table he sat at. His ghostly pale skin and receding hairline were likely symptoms of his illness. Yet, despite his frail appearance, his arms still retained some muscle—proof that he had once been a hardworking man.

  The Dewmarks shared the same shade of dark auburn hair, thick eyebrows, and a touch of darkness in their eyes, but that was where their similarities ended.

  Miliana sat in eerie silence across from him, peering at him with her lone eye. She didn’t know how to broach the issue looming between them. Unease sat heavy in her stomach—she knew he wouldn’t take kindly to her decision.

  Her gaze drifted to the bland breakfast in front of her: cut-up rye bread, a few slices of cheese, and a cup of black coffee. It had all grown stale for her. When her mother was still alive, meals had been different. She missed the sweet buns her mother used to make, the dried meats she’d bring back from her travels.

  “So, Ana. You got shafted.” He took a swig of ale but never removed his gaze from her. “Big deal. You’ve got another chance at the end of the year.”

  The moment he swallowed, he convulsed. A fit of deafening coughs followed.

  Miliana shot to her feet, immediately rummaging through the medicine cabinet, frantically searching for the right alchemical mix. Panic set in as she failed to find what she needed.

  “It’s fine. I’m alright… we’re out of boxwood syrup anyway.” He stood and poured himself a glass of water, offering her a weak smile, ready to sweep the matter under the rug.

  “I still have some kick left in me.”

  “Father, your—” she started, trying to address his illness.

  He waved her off before she could finish. She could still hear the wheezing, see the inflammation straining his body, yet he spoke as if nothing was wrong.

  “I heard from an old colleague—there are two magic academies over the hill in the neighboring towns. They’re a lot less strict, and a lot cheaper. Would you consider it?”

  “No. It’d mean leaving you, Father. I need to stay close to you. Or you’ll end up like Mother.”

  “I’m a shell of my former self, Miliana. You need to stop trying to delay the inevitable and start thinking about yourself.”

  He sighed at her immediate dismissal.

  “It’s fine, whatever. You’ll get another chance. I have a few bonds left in the bank—it’ll cover the entrance exam. Good thing the work you’d do would cover most of the debt itself.”

  “There won’t be a next time, Father. I don’t plan on pursuing magical tutelage anymore.” Her voice was steady. “I’ve decided to take up adventuring instead. I’ll learn from tomes and tutors.”

  His body tensed before he exploded with fury.

  “What the fuck?! Like hell you will! You want to end up like your mother and sister, Miliana? Lying dead in some ditch where no one will find your corpse for years?”

  “Eirene’s not dead, Father! She’s fighting in the war—”

  “A war they can’t fucking win! Your sister is as good as dead, fighting for some no-good emperor’s personal gain!” His voice rose.

  “Quiet, Father. The neighbors might hear you.”

  “Like I give a damn! Let them send their chopping block! Emperor Caligus is a conspiring madman and a fucking degenerate. Miliana, I beg you—don’t do something reckless.”

  “Father, quiet down already,” she hissed.

  “I’ve made my decision. This is the only way forward. I refuse to be a servant to some no-good lordling. It’ll be fine. I’ll only take the safest jobs. There’s good money in it, even for basic work.”

  Miliana felt almost hysterical arguing with him. She knew he wouldn’t react sensibly to this. She stood, turning toward the door.

  He grabbed her forearm, his grip trembling.

  “The risks are too damn high, Ana! What don’t you understand?” His voice cracked, tears forming in his eyes. “It’s not worth it. You’ll die young. You don’t know the first thing about combat. Adventuring is a fool’s idea of fortune and treasure. I can’t allow it, Miliana. Please. I don’t want to lose you too.”

  She pulled away. He let go.

  “Ana! Come back! Let’s talk about this!” he shouted after her, but to no avail.

  Her mind was set. If the magic academy wouldn’t accept her, then she would prove them wrong through trial, error, and combat. She would be an adventurer—or die trying.

  In her right pocket rested a family heirloom: a short dagger from her mother. If her magic failed, she would rely on that instead.

  As she shut the wooden door behind her, her father’s voice still flared like an alarm.

  "ANA!!!!"