"Hurry, Mom. The test is going to start soon."
Kerry wasn't running, but his stride was long, purposeful. At twelve years old, he had a way of carrying himself that felt settled, like a man who had already seen the end of the road. He kept a gentle but firm grip on his mother's hand, guiding her through the thick of the crowd.
They were walking down the main artery of Frostveil, a road choked with dust and the smell of too many people in one place.
Kerry's hair was the thing people noticed first, a stark, unnatural split. Dead white on one side, deep red on the other. It made him a target for stares, a splash of high contrast against the grey, weathered wood of the city.
In this world, your name didn't matter as much as the System that claimed you.
Frostveil was a cold, hard place in the north, and for the children living there, life was a countdown to their twelfth birthday. That was the day you stood before the Altar. That was the day you found out if you were a tool for the world to use, or someone who could actually move it.
The goal for most was the Elementary System. It was the common path, the most reliable. Those who awakened as Elementalists got a ticket out—a spot in the System Academies far to the south in the Wetlands.
DONG—DONG—DONG.
The bell hit. It wasn't just a sound; it was a physical weight that shook the timber of the houses and settled deep in the marrow of Kerry's bones. It felt like a heartbeat, heavy and frantic.
"The test is about to begin! Where are my kids?!"
A man's voice tore through the noise. He was frantic, shoving through the press of bodies, eyes darting over the heads of the crowd as he searched for his twins. He looked like a man who was watching his entire future slip through his fingers.
DONG—DONG—DONG.
The second toll was clearer, more final. The flow of the crowd shifted, everyone moving toward the center of the grounds. People were carrying folding stools, some had wicker baskets with bread, others just stood on their tiptoes. This was the annual spectacle, the moment the city saw its new crop of power.
Every child was born with a seed. Most grew into Elementalists. Some became Mages. But there were the others, the ones from the old stories. The Necromancers. The Voidmancers. Systems that had been wiped off the map millennia ago during the great wars.
They said the only way to get those systems now was through bloodlines that had long since thinned to nothing, or some kind of spiritual ascension that sounded more like a myth than a reality. Or a curse. But nobody in Frostveil really believed in those anymore.
"Mom, faster. We're almost there."
Kerry pulled her toward the massive stone entrance. The registration lines were already long, snaking like a slow, heavy chain down the street.
The testing grounds were a hive. You could hear the hum of it from two streets away, anxious kids whispering, parents trying to look proud while their hands shook, and the audience in the stands, just waiting for something to happen.
There were twenty of them this year. That was the limit. It was rare to see more than twenty kids make it to the Altar in a single cycle. Up on the dais, the city elders and the Academy Representatives were already in their seats. They sat with their backs straight, their faces like carved stone, watching the children with a cold, concentrated interest.
In the center of it all was the Altar. It was ancient, a block of stone that seemed to drink the light around it. To wake it, you just had to touch it. Then, you waited to see what fate had decided.
The line moved with a slow, agonizing rhythm. One by one, the kids ahead of Kerry stepped up, signed their lives away, and moved to the waiting area. Soon, Kerry was the only one left at the desk.
The clerk behind the ledger didn't look up at first. He adjusted his spectacles, the bridge of his nose red from the weight of them. He glanced at the paper, then finally at Kerry.
"How may I help you, ma'am?"
Diana's hand was firm on Kerry's shoulder. Her voice came out sharp, like a crack of a whip. "Oh, please, isn't this the registration block? Why on earth would you ask a thing like that?"
She pointed a finger at him, her eyes narrowed. The man blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"S-sorry, ma'am, sorry. Let's just get this done quickly," he mumbled. He ducked his head, the nib of his pen scratching loudly against the paper.
Name: Kerry Fireborn
Age: 12
Affiliation: Mr. And Mrs. Fireborn
When the ink was dry, Kerry and his mother moved to the right side of the wooden stands. The wood was cold and rough. They sat in silence, watching the last of the preparations.
The elders and representatives stood up in a single, fluid motion, a silent display of authority before sitting back down.
"It is time!" one of the elders shouted. His voice was trained, projected so it reached the back of the stands without him having to strain.
The Senior Elder stepped forward to the edge of the platform. He held a scroll, his fingers moving over the names.
"Thomas Vale!"
The crowd erupted. It was a chaotic mess of noise, cheers, whistles, parents screaming names. They wanted a show. They wanted to see if the first kid would set the bar high.
A skinny boy with a face that seemed all sharp angles stepped onto the Altar. He looked small against the stone. His hands were clenched so tight at his sides that his arms were shaking. He looked like he was bracing for a blow.
"Place your hand upon the Altar," the elder commanded.
Thomas took a breath, his chest heaving, and pressed his palm flat against the stone.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Thousands of people, and not a single one of them made a sound. Even the elders leaned in.
The stone began to hum. It was a low vibration at first, but it grew until the air felt thick. A soft light began to bleed out from under the boy's hand. It gathered, then suddenly lanced upward, a brilliant, solid column of bright blue.
"Not bad," one of the seniors said softly. He didn't look impressed, but he didn't look disappointed either. He rose from his seat, his robes fluttering as he drifted toward the Altar.
"This young man has successfully awakened the Elementary System—Water Element."
In the world of Elementalists, the color told the whole story. Blue for water. Red for fire. White for air. Pale blue for ice. Most people knew that water could be turned into ice if you were skilled enough, but that was just a trick of temperature.
True Ice was different. It was a primary element, stable and lethal, not just cold water. It was rare. But today, Thomas was water. Common, but a start.
The crowd went wild. A woman in the stands stood up, her face red, tears streaming down her cheeks. "That's my boy!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with the kind of pride that only comes from knowing your kid won't starve.
The elder led Thomas to the front. The representatives from the academies were waiting. The man from Ironvale Academy stood up, a simple nod of his head signaling his choice.
"Thomas Vale has been chosen to join the Ironvale Academy," the elder announced.
That was the tradition. Once a school claimed you, they dealt with the parents, and then the kid was gone. Usually within the week.
The ceremony didn't slow down.
"Elementalist..."
"Elementalist..."
"Elementary System."
The words became a rhythm. Seventeen times, the light went up. Seventeen times, the crowd cheered. Out of the twenty, seventeen were already done. Their futures were signed and sealed.
Only three were left standing: Kerry Fireborn, Lina Ashcroft, and Darius Wren.
The air in the grounds changed. The casual excitement of the crowd sharpened into something else, a nervous, hungry tension.
These were the final three.
They were told to wait to the side. Lina stood with her parents. Kerry stood with Diana.
Darius Wren stood alone.
He was from the orphanage. He had no parents to beam at him, no one to hold his hand. He just stood there, his eyes fixed on the Altar like it owed him something. He was here because he had to be. There was no other way out for someone like him.
There was a short break. People in the stands leaned into each other, whispering. It had been three years since anyone in Frostveil had seen a rare system. Three years since a multi-elementalist had appeared. The city was thirsty for a miracle.
When the elder stepped back out, the silence was immediate.
"Lina Ashcroft!"
A girl with hair the color of soft straw walked up. She didn't look like the others. Her steps were even, her head held high. She didn't hesitate. She pressed her hand to the stone and held it there.
The ground didn't just vibrate; it shook. A crack formed in the dirt near the base of the Altar. Light exploded upward, but it wasn't one color. It was a swirling, jagged mix of ash-grey and vivid green.
The crowd gasped. It was a collective intake of breath that sounded like a vacuum.
The Senior Elder scrambled forward, nearly losing his footing on the uneven ground. His voice was thick with something like awe.
"After three years... finally, a Metal Elementalist."
The elders on the dais were nodding, smiles breaking through their stoic masks. Lina was a prize. She wouldn't be chosen; she would get to choose.
Then came Darius Wren.
He walked to the Altar with a silence that was almost predatory. His silver hair caught the light. He didn't look like an orphan; he looked like a king in rags.
He slammed his hand onto the stone.
The ground didn't just crack this time. It split.
A sound like breaking glass echoed through the grounds. Four colors shot into the sky—blue, red, white, and pale blue. They didn't just glow; they burned, piercing through the overcast sky with a raw, violent power.
Nobody moved. The representatives were on their feet, chairs scraping harshly against the wood.
"Impossible..."
The Senior Elder sprinted to the Altar. He was on his knees, checking the stone, his eyes wide. "An extremely rare system... This boy has awakened a Multi-Elementary System—every common element at once!"
The eruption of noise from the crowd was deafening. It was a wall of sound. Darius was led to the side, his face still as stone. He knew what he was now.
"I've never seen anything like it," someone yelled from the stands.
"He's the one from the orphanage, right?"
"Silence!"
The shout from the dais was like a thunderclap. The crowd settled, but the humming energy stayed.
"And now, our final participant of the year, Kerry Fireborn!"
Kerry felt the name hit him. His heart did a slow, painful roll in his chest. His hands went cold, then numb. He couldn't feel his fingers.
"Relax, my son. You'll be just fine," Diana whispered. Her smile was tight, her eyes bright with a worry she was trying to hide.
Kerry didn't want to fail. He didn't want to see that smile disappear. He forced his legs to move, each step feeling like he was dragging a weight through deep mud.
Diana watched him go. The chances are high, she thought, her pulse thrumming in her neck. He carries his father's blood.
The Senior Elder looked at Kerry. His voice was quieter now, gentler. "Young man, place your hand on the Altar."
Kerry's mind went blank. Everything felt far away, like he was watching someone else's life. He reached out. His palm met the stone. It was colder than he expected.
One second.
Two.
Five.
Nothing happened. The stone stayed grey. The silence in the crowd grew teeth. It was suffocating.
Then, the Altar didn't just hum. It groaned. A deep, tectonic sound that came from miles below the earth. The stone shuddered, and the vibration was so violent it threw the elder back. It wasn't just the Altar, the very ground beneath their feet began to heave as if something massive was trying to breathe.