Jasmine stumbled down the temple hall, lungs burning from the smoke and her skin still raw from the soul-fire she had forced herself through. Every breath scraped her throat, every step dragged. The shadows curling along the stone seemed alive, hungry to drag her under the same way the fire had tried to. She pressed her hand against the carved wolf sigil in the doorway, grounding herself, fighting to keep moving.

Her trial wasn’t over.

The elders had warned her: three gates of judgment. She had survived the first. The next? They hadn’t said. That was their way—always leaving you blind, off balance, weakest when you needed strength. She bit...