You are never going to survive this by playing fair. You will never win by memorizing murmurs or scoring points.

They are stacking the Trials against you. Twisting the rules—building a scaffold and calling it a staircase.

And still — somehow — here you are. Still breathing. Still dangerous.

This isn't a game. It’s a war they don’t want to admit they started. You need to finish it.

This is not a study guide. It’s not a manual. This is a basic map we’ve managed to pull together before everything collapses.

It holds the core truths buried too deep for the Council to erase. The kind of knowledge you don't get taught — you get carved into you through survival.

It’s not clean or orderly. It will probably tangle in your hands or tear—just when you need it most.

And you'll have to weave it back together while you're bleeding.

The knowledge will be threaded into your Trials. Hidden in the cracks. Sometimes it’ll be whispered. Sometimes screamed.

Sometimes it will hit you like a blade you don’t see coming.

We aren’t handing you a neat list of lessons.

You’ll learn the way we all did—by getting knocked flat, standing up wrong, and figuring out which way the Wynde is blowing before it takes you with it.

This is structured the only way it can be: By instincts older than Wyndec. By the bone-deep truths they want you to forget.

By the threads that hold when the rest of the Wyrld breaks loose.