Her words hung in the air between us.
The Aether.
It was not a word one heard on the bustling streets of Berdon. Mana was the language of life, the currency of power, the breath of the city itself. "The Aether" was a term from old texts, from half-forgotten theories and marginal research.
I stopped turning away to leave and froze.
"What do you mean?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her dark eyes seemed to measure my very existence.
"Mana is a wave on the surface of the ocean," she said at last. "You… you are not a wave. You are the silence beneath it. You don't repel mana. You are its absence."
"Who are you?" I asked, a crack appearing in my usually impassive tone.
She straightened up, and an imperceptible change came over her with that simple movement.
"Lyrael von Arventor. Though that is unimportant right now. What matters is that I found you. Rumors about a guy who can't feel mana at all, yet isn't weak, have been circulating long enough to pique my interest. It took a little time to find that particular bar and follow you after your shift."
A chill ran down my spine. I had been watched. And by, it seemed, a scion of one of the Empire's most influential families.
"Congratulations," I muttered. "You found your oddity."
"If I wanted mere spectacle, I would have gone to an illusionist theater," her voice remained icy and even. "I am interested in the anomaly. And its potential. The Imperial Academy's entrance trials begin in a week. You will participate."
It sounded not like a suggestion, but a statement of fact.
"You're out of your mind," I blurted out. "They won't let me anywhere near the place."
"They will," she countered. "The Academy Charter allows admission through exceptional performance in non-magical disciplines: physical prowess, tactics, logic, theoretical knowledge. It's a rule. I will merely ensure your application is reviewed, not discarded at the gate due to your lack of mana. The rest is on your conscience and your muscles."
She spoke as if discussing the weather. Her confidence was frightening.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you refuse," she shrugged. "And you return to your bar, your clients, and your… dull, predictable life. I will find another subject for study. But," her dark eyes fixed on me, "I don't think you will refuse. The rumors speak not only of your emptiness but also of your strength. You yourself are curious about what you are capable of. It's easier to deny it than to admit it."
She hit the mark. The hateful boredom in my chest tightened into a hard, painful knot.
"All the necessary information—the schedule, the rules, last year's obstacle course map, sample problems—will be waiting for you at your apartment door tomorrow morning."
A new wave of cold dread washed over me. She knew not only where I worked but also where I lived.
"You're not giving me a choice," I said quietly.
"There is always a choice," she corrected. "You can throw those papers away. Or not open the door. That will be your answer. If, however, you decide to try… come to the North Gate of the Academy at dawn exactly one week from now. Say your application was approved under Charter Article 14-b. Nothing more is required of you. Not now, not later. Your successes or failures are your own."
She took a step back, her silhouette beginning to blend with the evening twilight.
"I am curious, Roel," she said, using my name for the first time, which she had undoubtedly also discovered. "Curious how strong 'silence' can become if honed in the Empire's most severe forge. Decide."
And before I could say anything, she turned and walked away, her footsteps dissolving silently into the city's hum. No dramatic gestures, no magical effects. She simply left, leaving me alone with her words and the chilling realization that my life might have just been split in two.
I slowly trudged home. My thoughts were tangled. The Academy. The trials. A chance breaking through the thickness of rules like a sprout through asphalt.
The next morning, opening the door, I saw a thick brown envelope of expensive, waxed paper on the floor. It bore no name, no seal.
I took the envelope, locked the door, and broke the seal. Inside were several sheets with detailed diagrams, tables, descriptions. Everything was clear, precise, devoid of superfluous words. Tools for making a decision.
Seven days.
I looked at my hands. Hands that felt nothing but could do anything.
The boredom was dead. In its place was something else—a cold, honed resolve. I spread the sheets on the table and began to read.