Aslam stepped out into the bustling streets of Eldrida, his muscles still tense from the encounter with the guild leader.
The herald's voice cut through the market buzz:
"Registration for the Arcane Championship closes in thirty minutes! All aspiring sorcerers report immediately to the guild hall!"
Aslam's fingers tightened on the strap of his bag. He spun around quickly, weaving through the crowd back toward the obsidian obelisk.
He had completely forgotten!
After this quick change of direction, he entered the guild with brisk steps. Elara almost collided with him at the entrance, her ruby eyes wide.
— Aslam! What happened with Lady Lysandra?
— Just a misunderstanding! — he said, grabbing her hand and hurrying her toward the central counter.
Elara blushed slightly, not knowing how to react.
— I need to enter the championship; I completely forgot the registration — he said on the way to the center of the guild.
The guild counter gleamed with freshly polished oak. Elara slid a palm-sized crystal across the surface.
— Full name and family affiliation?
— Aslam Radianthe. No family affiliation — he said.
— That is... unusual for competitors. Most come with noble sponsorship. You will be marked as independent.
The crystal glowed when he pressed his thumb against it. Runes on the edges shifted from cerulean to deep gold—a color Elara had never even seen.
The registration crystal was an indispensable object for any official magical competition. Although it seemed simple, its role was crucial: upon touch, it analyzed the participant's mana in minute detail, as if subjecting it to a thorough reading.
It identified the specific pattern, or "magical code," of the competitor's mana, creating an absolutely unique record, akin to a personal signature. This identification was impossible to forge, ensuring transparency and fairness in tournaments and championships.
The code generated by the crystal not only revealed the participant's identity but also allowed verification of their magical characteristics, such as elemental affinities and mana intensity. Thanks to the exceptional precision of the crystal, any attempt at fraud was practically useless, as the uniqueness of the magical code could not be replicated or altered.
Furthermore, the arbiters had immediate access to each participant's history through this record, allowing them to quickly analyze if the use of magic was consistent with the previously identified mana essence. Thus, the registration crystal was not merely a bureaucratic means of enrollment; it became an essential tool to guarantee the legitimacy and technical excellence of magical competitions.
Elara stopped and looked at the crystal's display, then at the white-haired youth leaning casually on her desk.
The gold radiating from the crystal wasn't just unusual; it was completely unprecedented. She had seen many rare colors emerge from the artifact over the years, especially in young heroes with promising futures. Soft shades of yellow, for example, had appeared several times, as was the case with Lysandra, whose brilliant abilities were legendary among sorcerers.
But this was different. It was an intense gold, as vivid and pure as molten gold itself.
There were no records of such a thing in the archives she had examined. Her eyes drifted slowly from the crystal to the boy, analyzing him again with caution, while a mixture of curiosity and apprehension grew within her. After all, who exactly was this young man who had just left his mark in a shade that had never been recorded before?
— The opening begins at sunset in the east arena, followed immediately by the preliminaries. — She pushed a bronze token toward him, the surface engraved with luminous numerals. — You are competitor three-seven-two-four. Most don't even watch these first rounds—too many participants, too much chaos. But today is different because it is the opening day.
Her gesture encompassed the crowd accumulating behind them, apprentices running to light torches as the daylight disappeared. Aslam pocketed the token. Behind him, a group of richly dressed nobles discussed animatedly.
— House Sylvaris has always had enviable power — commented Lord Adrian, a middle-aged man whose gray beard and sure gaze betrayed experience in magical tournaments. — Their lineage is pure, impeccable. Just look at Marcus Sylvaris; few young people exhibit such absolute elemental control.
— I agree that Marcus is exceptional — said Lady Seraphine with a slight smile, delicately adjusting the sleeve of her dark dress.
— But you underestimate the Duskens too much. Have you forgotten Dorian? — said Sir Alaric, with a mysterious smile that seemed to hide many secrets. — He possesses not only talent; his cunning is legendary.
— It is rare to see a sorcerer capable of uniting magical engineering and strategy as perfectly as he does. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he had prepared something totally unexpected for this year's championship.
Aslam listened in silence, his eyes fixed on the crowd; he obviously recognized many of the names mentioned.
The herald raised his hand, silencing the multitude. The entire main hall of the guild turned to him, anxious for the start of the tournament.
— The Arcane Championship is about to begin! — he announced, his voice echoing off the walls. — All competitors, report to the east arena!
He knew that, regardless of the outcome, this would be a marking day. With a last look at Elara, he joined the crowd heading to the arena, awaiting the opening.
The sun was setting over Eldria, dyeing the sky in burning hues as he headed to the east arena. The crowd vibrated, a sea of contained expectation. The air was charged with energy, and the aroma of magic hung in the air, mixing with the smell of burnt wood from the torches illuminating the arena.
When Aslam entered, the whispers intensified. His attire was simple, in stark contrast to the richness of the nobles' clothes surrounding him.
His first reaction was to note the subtle divisions among the participants. There were those who moved with confidence. Others exhibited a calculated arrogance, while some anxious youths trembled visibly. Aslam smiled slightly; the luck of the game was uncertain, after all.
The young sorcerer made a point of positioning himself near the entrance, away from the spotlights. His goal was clear: advance through the initial phases and disappear as quickly as possible.
The arena, an imposing limestone structure, shone under the golden rays of twilight, its architraves decorated with magical symbols that seemed to pulse softly as the daylight faded. The crowd packing the stands was a ceaseless ocean of movement and sound. Nobles richly dressed occupied the seats closest to the center of the arena, their jewelry sparkling in the light of mana-powered torches illuminating the site.
Merchants and magic apprentices crowded the higher tiers, shouting and waving colorful banners. The noise was deafening, a constant roar echoing off the arena walls like thunder in a narrow valley.
In the center of the field, the polished stone floor reflected the last rays of sun, shining like a mirror. The area had been divided into five circular zones, each representing an element: earth, water, fire, air, and aether.
In the center of each zone, an imposing statue of an elemental guardian stood tall, hands clenched in support of a crystal pedestal containing a core of pure mana. These cores glowed faintly, responding to the energy of the gathering competitors.
The participants grouped at the arena entrance, some wearing robes decorated with the colors of their noble houses, others in simpler clothes, like Aslam. He remained near the entrance, his gaze fixed on the center of the arena while other competitors moved about, some exchanging looks of confidence, others of tension. The silence among them was heavy, broken only by the sound of footsteps.
Breathing deep and smelling the air charged with ozone and torch smoke, he knew this was just the beginning. Every movement, every decision, would determine the course of the competition.
The crowd roared, demanding the start of the spectacle, and the tension in the air became almost unbearable. The first spectators were already speculating on favorites, pointing out their preferred candidates and placing bets loudly.
The entire arena seemed to live, to breathe, preparing for what was to come. And as the sun finally disappeared on the horizon, plunging the place into a golden twilight, the true magic was about to begin.
— Welcome to the Arcane Championship of Eldria! — announced an old mage, whose hands trembled slightly.