Chapter 1: The Crack in the Sky

The air in Grimhollow's schoolhouse reeked of sweat and fear.

**Zane Voidcrest** sat at the back of the room, his threadbare sleeves rolled up to hide the coal dust permanently etched into his skin. Outside, the Blackspire Mountains loomed like jagged teeth, biting into a sky choked with smog. Today, those teeth would either crush him—or spit him out as something new.

"Stop grinding your boots," muttered **Thalia Ashthorn**, his best friend since they'd stolen their first loaf of bread from the mine foreman's cart. Her fingers twisted a scrap of cloth torn from her dead brother's shirt—a makeshift good-luck charm. "You'll wear a hole in the floor."

At the front of the class, **Darian Ashgrave** leaned back in his gilded chair, polished boots propped on the desk. The mayor's son wore a smirk as sharp as the dragonbone dagger at his hip. "Look at the Voidcrest rat," he drawled, flicking a copper coin at Zane's head. "Bet his 'affinity' is *crying*." The class snickered.

Zane's jaw tightened. *Ignore him. Breathe.*

The door slammed open.

Headmaster **Silas Voss** swept in, his crimson Elite robes hissing like a serpent. Behind him, medics wheeled a cart of syringes filled with liquid that glowed like trapped lightning.

"Students," Voss rasped, "today, the Golden Dragon Nation decides your worth. The Awakening serum will reveal your affinity. Succeed, and you join the Elite. Fail…" His eyes lingered on Zane. "…return to the filth you were born to."

One by one, students were called.

**Jace Ironholm**, a miner's son with fists like boulders, went first. The needle plunged. Frost erupted from his palms, encasing the desk in ice. "Third-tier cryomancy," Voss declared. "Northern Garrison."

Thalia was next. When the serum hit her veins, roots burst through the floorboards, coiling into a shield of thorns. "Nature affinity. Greenwood Battalion."

Darian swaggered up last. The syringe emptied.

*Whoosh.*

Fire exploded—a phoenix of pure flame that circled his head like a crown. The heat warped the air. "Prime pyromancy," Voss said, bowing. "The Ashgrave dynasty endures."

Then it was Zane's turn.

The needle bit. Cold flooded his arm, then—

***Nothing.***

Darian barked a laugh. "Of course. The Voidcrest line ends here. Back to the mines, rat—"

***CRACK.***

The sound split the sky.

Shadows erupted from Zane's feet, swallowing the room. A growl shook the walls—deep, primal, *alive*. When the darkness receded, a creature stood beside him.

It was a wolf, but wrong. Its fur was made of shifting void, stars glinting in its pelt like trapped constellations. Eyes like shattered mirrors locked onto Darian.

*"Little Voidcrest,"* it purred, its voice echoing from the walls, the floor, the marrow of Zane's bones. *"The Primals have waited lifetimes for you."*

Voss staggered back. "Impossible! Familiars were exterminated—"

The wolf lunged, snapping the headmaster's staff in two. *"Exterminated?"* It laughed, a sound like crumbling mountains. *"We slept. We watched. And now… we feast."*

Darian's flames flickered out. His smirk melted into panic.

Thalia stepped forward, her thorn shield bristling. "Zane… what *is* that?"

The wolf turned its kaleidoscope gaze on her. *"We are the First Shadows. The Voidwalkers. And your friend…"* It loomed over Zane, its breath cold as the space between stars. *"…is our key."*