Ronan gently helped her stand beside Ms Rose and turned to join Orin. He exhaled quietly, his expression unreadable. Mr. Arnold cleared his throat. "Let's continue." But the atmosphere had changed.
The Trial of Fear and Desire was no longer just a test. It had become something deeper—something that would carve itself into their hearts.
Mr. Arnold stood calmly before the looming portal at the centre of the room. It shimmered with a strange energy, like moonlight reflecting on rippling water. The silent crowd of students watched, nerves taut and breath shallow.
"Next," Mr. Arnold announced, his voice even but edged with something unreadable. "Elias." Elias stepped forward, his jaw clenched. He gave a nod, not to anyone in particular, and entered the portal. The light consumed him.
The world twisted. Elias found himself standing atop a grand marble staircase, below which a crowd chanted his name.
"Elias! The youngest Archmage! Elias! The hero of Verdeloria!" He blinked. This... this felt good. A figure appeared—an illusion, but it looked so real. A man in golden robes stepped forward, holding out a shining medallion.
"Join the Grand Council now," the man said. "Forget the Academy. You're beyond them. Your talent deserves the world's stage."
Elias swallowed. His heart raced. This was what he always wanted—to be more than just another student, more than just a name.
"But… my friends," he murmured. "I didn't get here alone." The illusion shifted. Tavin, Oliver, Andera, and Amelia —his friends and teammates—stood behind him. Their faces turned cold. Jealous.
"They'll hold you back," whispered the man. "Take the glory. You earned it." Elias staggered back. Doubt clawed at his chest. But as he gripped his chest, a flicker of memory returned—Tavin's worn sword, Oliver's grin, and Amelia's calming words.
He closed his eyes. "I don't want fame if it costs my soul." The marble crumbled beneath him, and the illusion shattered. Light enveloped him.
He passed.
"Next," Mr. Arnold called. "Andera."
Andera stepped forward, her hands trembling slightly, but her gaze was steady. She entered.
Darkness swallowed her. She stood in an abandoned village, silent save for the wind. The sky bled crimson. Shadows moved in the alleys.
A child's scream echoed. Andera spun around and ran toward it, only to stop as the buildings warped and twisted, becoming jagged teeth. Something monstrous emerged, dragging a chained version of herself behind it.
"You're weak," the creature sneered. "You fear being powerless. Powerless to save. Powerless to stand."
"I… I—" A surge of cold panic gripped her heart. Her legs locked. Her breath shortened. Her younger self, crying in the corner, whispered, "You failed once. You'll fail again."
Andera collapsed to her knees. She shook violently, tears streaming. But in the darkness, a voice called to her. "Breathe." It was Mr. Alden's voice. Faint. A memory. "Fear is real. But so is courage." Andera clenched her fists, slowly rising.
"I am afraid," she admitted aloud. "But I won't let fear decide for me." She took one step, then another—through the monster, through the illusion. The world shattered like glass. She passed, but even when she reappeared before the crowd, her hands were still trembling.
Mr. Arnold looked over at the next name. "Amelia."
She nodded once and stepped forward, vanishing into the portal.
Amelia found herself alone on a grand stage. A single spotlight illuminated her. Empty seats stretched endlessly in all directions.
Then, applause. It started slowly and then grew louder. And suddenly, the chairs were filled—faces she longed to impress. Professors. Parents.
"You've done it," a voice whispered. "They finally see you. They know your name." She smiled, but something gnawed at her.
A hooded figure appeared beside her, holding a forbidden scroll. "All you need to do is use this. One spell. Just once. No one will know. But the power—it will make them see you." Her heart pounded. She reached out. Then stopped.
She stared at her reflection in the scroll. "If I have to betray myself to be recognized… then it's not real, is it?" The scroll dissolved. The applause faded. A single candle remained, warm and steady. She had passed.
Mr. Arnold's voice came again. "Oliver. Eldrin. Selyra."
Each of them walked into the portal, one after another. Each faced the tempting chorus of fame; each saw versions of themselves showered in praise, golden medals around their necks.
And each, in their own way, turned away from it.
Oliver laughed in the face of false glory, muttering, "Elenor would mock me for this."
Eldrin stepped aside, declaring, "The fame I want… I'll earn, not steal."
Selyra looked the illusions in the eye and said, "I don't need applause to know my worth."
All three passed.
Then came a heavier moment.
"Next," Mr. Arnold said. His voice, now lower, carried weight. "Orin." Orin didn't hesitate.
He stood in a city under siege. Screams rang out, the sky above stormy and broken. People cried for help.
A girl was pinned beneath a beam. An old man clung to a collapsing wall. A mother screamed for her child.
Then more appeared. Dozens. Hundreds. A voice echoed: "You can't save them all. Choose." Orin's hands sparked with lightning. His wind magic roared. He ran.
He lifted the beam and saved the girl. Carried the man to safety. But each time he turned, more cries came. His arms bled. His vision blurred. "You will die if you keep going," the voice warned. "Why are you doing this?"
"I don't care!" he shouted. "They need me!" A collapsing tower began to fall toward a group of children. Orin, bleeding, panting, sprinted. He summoned every last thread of his magic.
The world turned white. He reappeared in the room, kneeling, chest heaving.
Mr. Arnold watched silently. "He passed." "Tavin," Mr. Arnold called.
The battlefield stretched before him—noble banners torn, people he knew screaming for help. Rivervale was burning. He saw his father injured, bloodied. His cousins were trapped. A little girl, crying alone in the street.
He acted without pause. Water surged from his palms, dousing flames. Ice walls rose to protect civilians. He took blows that cracked his ribs, but still, he moved. "You are one person. One noble life. Will you throw it away for those below you?"
Tavin stood tall. "A noble's life is worth nothing if he won't protect his people." He threw himself into the flames, shielding a child as a magical explosion burst. He passed.
"Kellan." The quietest of the three stepped up.
It was a flooded village. His element—water—betrayed him. People screamed as waves engulfed homes. He tried to hold back the current, his hands shaking.
"Why… why won't it stop?" he cried.
A vision of his mother appeared. "Save yourself, Kellan. Let others go."
Tears poured down his face. "No. I won't abandon anyone."
He formed walls of water and lifted others onto rooftops, even when it pulled his own strength to the brink. In the end, as the tide rose one last time, he stood defiant. "If I have to drown saving them, so be it." He passed.