Leila jolted awake in her small room, startled by the loud knocking on her door.

“Leila Stormhart, get up\!” Madame Grimm’s voice was so harsh Leila almost jumped out of bed. “How many times do I have to wake you, you lazy girl? You’ll be late for work\!”

Leila sleepily rubbed her eyes, trying to focus. Last night, the Journal’s secrets had spun in her mind, keeping her awake. She’d tried to recall anything from her childhood, searching for clues, but her memories offered no answers, perhaps buried too deep to access easily. As a result, she’d overslept, and Madame Grimm was here again to remind her.

“I’m getting up, Madame Grimm,” Leila called back, pulling on her old dress.

She jumped out of bed, stretching as the morning chill seeped through her thin fabric. Her tiny room was far from cozy, but Leila had grown used to its modest comforts. Quickly, she tidied her bed, neatly folding the thin, rag-like blanket, and straightened her corner.

Her eyes fell on her mother’s journal, resting on the table. Memories of the previous evening filled her heart with warmth. The Journal was a precious treasure, a tangible reminder of the family she’d lost.

“Leila, get up immediately\!” Madame Grimm’s voice rang out again, this time impatient and irritated. Leila flinched and quickly grabbed her hairpins. Shoving them into her mouth, she began twisting her unruly hair into place.

When Leila finally rushed into the hallway, her hair was still not fully done.

“Remember, Leila, today you need to bring in more coins, or I’ll throw you out onto the street,” Madame Grimm reminded her as soon as she saw her. “And don’t even think about keeping any for yourself\!”

“Of coursh, Madam Grmm,” Leila mumbled, her mouth full of pins. Madame Grimm glared at her disapprovingly but said nothing. She merely curled her lips in displeasure and jerked her head in a gesture that clearly meant, “Off you go\!”

Leila ran out into the street, pretending to head toward the market. But as soon as she turned the corner, she veered toward the Main Square—the place where the admissions committee for the Academy of Magic Arts was stationed.

Today marked the start of the trials for the clanless, and Leila wanted to be one of the first to arrive. The morning sun glinted off the rooftops, and the city was already waking up, filling with the sounds and scents of a new day, which lifted Leila’s mood.

Despite the early hour, the Main Square was already crowded. Spacious tents of the admissions committee were set up, their bright fabrics fluttering in the wind like flags. A sea of candidates gathered around, each trying to hold their place in the surge of hopefuls. Leila knew that anyone with magical abilities could try their hand at the trials, but very few were ever admitted to the Academy.

As she reached the square, her heart began to race. A wave of nervousness washed over her at the sheer number of people already gathered—Leila felt like a small grain of sand in a crushing tide of hopefuls.

“Well, here we go,” she muttered to herself, trying not to reveal her fear.

She took her place in the long line, mentally preparing herself for the long wait. The crowd consisted of all sorts of people—some looked confident and calm, while others whispered nervously, trying to guess what trials awaited them. Leila scanned the crowd, hoping to see someone she knew, but her attention kept being drawn to the luxurious clothing around her. Clan mages walked past with arrogant faces, looking down at the other candidates like dirt beneath their feet. Leila realized that this wouldn’t be easy.

Attempts to gather information about the upcoming trials were futile. No one knew anything, and those who had already passed came out with mysterious looks, refusing to answer questions—who would help their competitors, after all? Leila was a bundle of nerves by the time her turn finally came.

When she was finally admitted into the tent, she saw a tall mage seated at a desk. His stern gaze and commanding aura made it immediately clear that he didn’t tolerate idle chatter. He was a muscular man with piercing blue eyes. His hair, streaked with gray, hinted at years of experience. He wore a uniform—a dark brown coat with black accents, and on the coat was a clan emblem: crossed swords. Leila recognized it as the mark of Clan Hargreave, who specialized in battle magic and hunting the monsters born from magical anomalies.

On the desk in front of the mage was a stack of papers and several simple wooden boxes.

“Name and age?” he asked without looking up from his papers.

“Leila Stormhart, twenty years old,” she answered firmly, though her insides were trembling with nerves.

“Stormhart,” the mage repeated, flipping through the pages. “I knew a Stormhart once. He didn’t fare well. Ended up in prison. Wasn’t your father, was it?”

At the mention of her father, Leila’s heart raced even faster.

“He died on Doomsday along with my mother.”

“Then it wasn’t him,” Hargreave grunted. “Why do you want to join the Academy?”

“I want to develop my magical abilities,” Leila answered, trying to keep her nervousness from showing.

The mage finally lifted his gaze and looked at her as if she were an interesting specimen.

“Develop your abilities, huh? And what can you already do?”

“I can recharge artifacts,” Leila replied, doing her best not to falter under his piercing gaze.

Hargreave snorted, clearly unimpressed.

“Anyone can do that. But alright, let’s see what you’re good for.”

He grabbed one of the wooden boxes from the desk and handed it to Leila.

“There’s a puzzle in here that you need to solve within a week. If you manage, come back. If not, go back to charging artifacts. Understood?”

Leila nodded, clutching the box tightly. Her heart was pounding so hard that she thought she could hear it. The mage watched her for a moment longer, then waved his hand impatiently.

“You’re dismissed,” he said coldly.

Leila stepped out of the tent, clutching the box in her hand, while a storm brewed inside her. She was filled with conflicting emotions. Hargreave had been rather rude to her, but expecting anything else from a clan mage would have been foolish. On the other hand, she felt a sense of relief—she had time to solve the puzzle. Still, she wasn’t getting ahead of herself—time flew fast, and there was no room for relaxation. As it turned out, she had spent the entire day waiting in line, and going to Madame Irene’s shop now made no sense. One day was already lost.

Leila returned to the orphanage, tightly hugging the wooden box to her chest, as if it were her only hope for the future. Upon entering the large, gloomy hall where the children gathered in the evening to do small, simple tasks, she instantly drew attention.

“Leila, you’re late today. Did you bring us anything?” The children rushed to her, tugging at her dress and peering into her eyes with undisguised curiosity.

Leila often brought them something. Madame Irene had a soft spot for orphans and sometimes sent pastries or sweets for the holidays. Leila shared them with the children, much to Madame Grimm’s displeasure. Once, the headmistress had tried to take the treats away from Leila, and they’d had a big argument. Leila had almost packed her things to leave the orphanage, but Madame Grimm had realized she would lose her income and quickly changed her tune.

Leila forced a smile, trying not to reveal her true emotions, and shook her head.

“Sorry, but nothing for you today,” she said, feeling guilty for disappointing them. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Leila, what’s in that box?” asked one of the boys, trying to peek over her shoulder.

“Just an old box, nothing special,” she waved him off, moving toward the stairs that led to the attic. “I decided to use it for storing small things, like hairpins and old buttons.”

This seemed to calm the children for the moment, but Leila knew it wouldn’t last long. The questions would return as soon as curiosity got the better of them. She deliberately kept the truth hidden, knowing that if the headmistress found out about the box, she would try to take it away. Madame Grimm would seize any opportunity to keep Leila there, forcing her to continue recharging artifacts. And the children? They couldn’t keep secrets.

Leila quickly climbed the narrow staircase, which creaked desperately with each step. Reaching her small room, she closed the door and sighed with relief. The attic room was her refuge, where she could hide from the world. Under the old windowsill, she had a secret compartment. Leila carefully lifted a floorboard and placed the box in the niche, where she kept all her most valuable possessions. It was a secret place only she knew about. Her mother’s Journal was already there. The box was safe, at least for now.

When night fell and the orphanage was asleep, Leila quietly got out of bed and retrieved the box from its hiding spot. She sat on the floor by the window, where the moonlight gently illuminated her hands, and tried to open the box. But the lid wouldn’t budge.

Leila frowned and tried again, remembering how she had opened her mother’s Journal. Back then, she had infused it with her magical power, just like she did with artifacts. Leila decided to try the same approach. She closed her eyes and focused. Warm, soothing magical energy flowed to her hands, and Leila slowly directed it into the box. She didn’t rush—first, she traced the lid with her charged fingers, then caressed the sides and touched the bottom, making sure every part of the box received enough magic. At first, nothing happened, and Leila began to doubt that her plan would work. But suddenly, the lid clicked and opened.

Leila peered inside—there were three simple wooden sticks, each about the length of her index finger. She stared at them, unable to understand what kind of puzzle this was. She had never heard of anything like this before and had no idea what to do with them.

Leila picked up the sticks, turning them over in her hands, trying to decipher their meaning, but no answer came to her. The sticks looked ordinary; there were no symbols or inscriptions that might offer a clue.

“What on earth are these?” Leila whispered, twirling the sticks in her hands.

She felt as if the solution was right in front of her, but understanding still eluded her. She mentally sifted through one possibility after another, discarding each as implausible. She even tried the trick she had used with the Journal and the box, but the sticks only emitted a faint glow before returning to their normal state. Leila concluded that they were magically inert, given their weak response. The silence of the night felt overwhelming, broken only by the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Leila sighed as she examined the sticks, a faint smile of helplessness crossing her face.

“And what am I supposed to do with them?” she muttered, tapping one of the sticks against her palm. “No instructions, nothing. I’m left to rely on my own imagination, which isn’t exactly being helpful right now.”

Leila rubbed her temples, trying to concentrate. She was sure they weren’t meant to be arranged into a pyramid, triangle, or glued together with magic—they were inert, no matter how much magical energy she spent on them, nothing would happen. It was obvious that this test required magical abilities, but which ones, exactly? She understood why the Academy had set such a strange challenge. The clanless often didn’t have mage relatives who could guide them through something like this. The test was meant to assess cleverness and the ability to think outside the box.

Leila began recalling where inert materials were used in magic. She knew only a little, so her ideas were simple: they were used for insulation or for recording and storing runic scripts. In such cases, the runes couldn’t be accidentally activated, making it safe to record even serious spells. What if this was the case here? Insulation—then something was hidden inside the sticks, or it was a runic script. The runes would be on the outside, but concealed. Leila had no idea how runes could be hidden on a magically inert material, but that didn’t mean she was wrong in her thinking. She had to try all possibilities\!

A book that Madame Irene had given her came to mind. Leila had struggled with it for a long time, not understanding everything, but she had remembered some things. Carefully sifting through her memory, she decided to try one of the spells. The problem was that it was energy-intensive, requiring a verbal incantation—a simple rhyme that would help weave the spell. Leila wasn’t sure she had enough lumes—the unit used to measure magical power—or the channel width—the magical conduits had a certain capacity. It was risky, yes, but Leila had no other ideas.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Leila said, closing her eyes and focusing. Remembering the lines from the book, she began reciting the spell, "Rune Illumination":

*By rune’s light, reveal the hidden,*

*Unlock the wisdom of the ancients.*

*Through light’s power, show the way,*

*Let knowledge come to me today.*

Her fingers began to glow faintly, and she felt a sharp drain of energy. Her wrists ached—her magical channels were clearly not wide enough. Ignoring the discomfort, she carefully ran her hand over the first stick.

Suddenly, a glowing rune began to appear on the surface of the stick. Leila could hardly believe her eyes when she saw that the spell had worked. She felt so exhausted that it seemed like the glowing green Ansuz rune was a mirage.

“I was right\! They hid a runic script\!” Leila grinned, feeling her confidence return. Of course, one rune wasn’t much for a script, but who knew what was hidden in the others? Leila glanced at the remaining, unactivated sticks and realized that she had used up all her magic for the day. Her head was spinning, and her hands ached terribly.

“If I keep going, I’ll be left without hands,” Leila muttered, deciding to put the sticks away for another night.

She carefully placed the sticks back into the box and returned it to its hiding place under the windowsill. Despite the pain and exhaustion, Leila felt a surge of excitement—she had taken the first step toward solving the puzzle.

*Tomorrow is a new day*, she told herself, crawling into bed and pulling the thin blanket over herself. The images of runes and symbols still swirled in her mind, but fatigue finally won. Leila curled up on her narrow bed, and soon her consciousness slipped into the sweet realm of dreams, where there were no puzzles or worries.