Every first-year received a crest at dinner.
The lion for heirs. The tower for scholars. The hawk for duelists. The rose for diplomats who smiled with knives behind their teeth.
Lena's card stayed blank.
At the high table, two professors exchanged a look too quick for ordinary students to catch.
A boy with silver hair leaned across the aisle. "Blank means you failed."
"Does it?" Lena asked.
The lights went out before he could answer.
When they returned, a fifth banner hung above the hall. Black cloth. No symbol. The teachers looked afraid of it.
Lena's blank card warmed in her palm.