With the disappointment in my head and the tiny flame of dream in my heart, I followed the others toward the Big Stage where our magic control was going to be tested.
The structure towered over the training grounds, a wide circular platform made of white stone, surrounded by tiered seating where instructors and senior students observed silently. Runes were carved across its surface, glowing faintly like veins of light.
My thoughts were anything but steady.
They crashed against each other like a ship caught in a storm.
What if I am not meant to be a magic knight?
The image of the barely rising water replayed in my mind.
It rose. Just a little.
That means I have mana.
Right?
But what was that color? It was so faint. Was it even real? Or did they just allow me through out of pity?
Maybe I should return to Rocky Village before I embarrass myself further.
Sister Abigail's worried face flashed in my mind.
If I return now… she would say it is alright. She would smile and tell me I tried my best.
And that thought hurt more than the mockery.
No.
I did not come here to run.
The lady from before stood near the stage again, her impossibly long hair flowing behind her like a silver river. She watched the incoming students with composed authority.
When her eyes met mine, her expression did not change.
Unreadable.
Was she amused?
Curious?
Disappointed?
Is she thinking I will fail spectacularly? Or is she surprised I even made it this far?
Before my spiraling thoughts could go any further, a familiar voice cut through the chatter.
"Lady over here, I passed, you happy right?"
The crowd shifted as someone pushed through confidently.
Julian Dave.
Of course.
The lady smirked faintly. "Julian Dave, I am rather surprised that you passed."
He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "Wounded. Truly wounded."
Then he grinned. "Well I am cool, you know. I can use ice magic. If you ever feel hot, just know I can cool you off."
Several students groaned.
A few laughed.
The lady raised an eyebrow. "I see. So the cauldron did not lie."
He winked. "It never does. Much like my heart."
"You will find," she replied smoothly, "that control is far more important than charming remarks."
He leaned slightly closer. "Then I suppose I shall charm the magic itself."
She simply turned away, clearly done indulging him.
I could not help it.
A small smile escaped me.
How is he so fearless?
Does he not think about failing?
Or… does he just not care?
The instructors began arranging us into lines across the stage. Circles of runes lit beneath each student's feet.
The air felt tense.
Magic control.
After barely scraping through the mana test… this might be where I fall apart.
My fingers twitched slightly.
Calm down.
You have mana.
Even if it is small.
Even if they laughed.
You passed.
That means something.
I inhaled slowly as I stepped onto one of the glowing circles.
This is not about impressing anyone.
Just do not lose control.
Just do not embarrass Sister Abigail.
Just… do not run away.
I glanced sideways.
Ceilian Grey stood a few paces away, posture straight, chin slightly raised. The air around him felt sharp somehow, as if even the wind avoided brushing against him without permission.
Rose stood on the opposite side.
Calm. Poised. Her back straight, hands relaxed at her sides.
They were not looking at each other.
But they were.
It was subtle.
A quiet tension.
Like two blades resting in their sheaths, both aware of the other's edge.
A silent competition had already begun.
Before I could dwell on it further, a faint ripple spread through the air above the stage.
The floating pavilion above us shimmered.
An old man appeared.
Not by walking in.
He was simply there.
Crooked back. Long silver hair tied loosely behind him. A wooden staff carved with symbols older than the academy itself supported his weight. His robes hung heavily from his thin frame, embroidered with faded golden threads.
Yet the moment he arrived, the air changed.
It grew denser.
My chest felt tight.
He did not raise his voice.
He barely moved his lips.
But when he murmured, his words did not travel through air.
They appeared directly inside my head.
"All of you… who stand before this ancient ground…"
His voice trembled like brittle parchment.
"Have crossed the first threshold."
The runes beneath our feet glowed slightly brighter.
"To possess mana… is to possess possibility."
His pale eyes swept across us.
"To pass the first trial… is to reveal that the seed within you… has not withered."
Each word felt heavy.
Measured.
As though time itself slowed to listen.
"You stand upon soil watered by centuries of knights… who bled for kingdom and crown."
The wind stirred around the stage, though nothing else moved.
"If you remain… you will be tempered."
His gaze lingered for half a breath longer on no one and everyone at once.
"I hold expectations… not of your power."
A pause.
"But of your resolve."
Silence swallowed the stage.
Then he turned his head slowly toward the lady with the silver river of hair.
"Lady Evelyn Sardinien… will guide you."
And just as suddenly as he had appeared…
He was gone.
No flash.
No sound.
Just absence.
A breath I did not realize I was holding finally escaped me.
Lady Evelyn stepped forward, completely unaffected by what had just occurred.
"All of you standing within the rune circles," she said calmly, her voice now carried normally through the air, "will perform the most basic spell. No chant. No incantation."
She raised one slender hand.
"Simply shape your primary attribute."
The runes beneath her feet flared.
The ground in front of her trembled.
At first it was subtle. A faint vibration beneath the stone. Then the white platform cracked slightly as soil pushed upward from nowhere.
Earth gathered.
Compressed.
Rotated.
It swirled in a slow spiral, compacting upon itself with controlled pressure. What began as loose soil tightened, darkened, thickened. The grains fused smoothly as though kneaded by invisible hands.
Within seconds, a perfectly rounded sphere hovered before her. Dense. Smooth. Solid. Nearly the size of a human head.
It did not crumble.
It did not shed dust.
It was controlled.
Refined.
"Like this."
She released it. The sphere dissolved instantly back into dust, not scattering, but settling obediently into the runes before vanishing completely.
A faint murmur passed through the students.
Then, behind me, a familiar smug voice.
"Like this."
Ceilian.
The air around him shimmered.
Moisture condensed from nothing. The temperature dipped sharply around my shoulders. A thin mist spiraled toward his outstretched palm.
Water formed.
Not splashing.
Not spilling.
It coiled in midair like a living serpent before compressing into a suspended orb. Its surface was unnaturally smooth, reflecting the light of the runes like polished glass. The sphere rotated slowly, currents swirling visibly within, yet not a single drop escaped.
It hovered there, perfectly balanced.
Controlled.
He did not even look strained.
Across from him, Rose exhaled softly.
The air around her flickered.
A spark.
Then another.
Heat spread outward in a gentle wave. Not wild. Not explosive.
A small ember ignited before her palm. It grew steadily, fed not by wind, but by her will. The flame deepened from orange to crimson, twisting upward without smoke. It folded inward on itself, condensing, shaping.
Within moments, a compact sphere of fire burned steadily in front of her. It did not lash outward. It did not waver.
It pulsed like a steady heartbeat.
The heat was intense, yet contained perfectly within its boundary.
Ceilian's lips twitched.
Rose's eyes did not shift.
Then Julian stepped forward with theatrical flair.
Cold rushed outward abruptly.
Frost crawled across the stone at his feet in delicate patterns. Crystalline structures began forming in the air before him, layer upon layer, thin sheets assembling themselves with sharp precision.
Ice did not simply gather.
It carved.
Edges refined themselves as if chiseled by invisible tools. Angles sharpened. Lines curved. Details emerged from the translucent structure as he adjusted it with tiny flicks of his fingers.
Within moments, a recognizable silhouette stood frozen before him, polished and gleaming.
He bowed slightly.
Some students laughed.
Others groaned.
All around us, magic bloomed.
Golden arcs crackled from one student's fingertips, snapping loudly before condensing into tight coils of energy that vibrated in place. Another caused the ground to bulge unevenly, rough stone jutting upward in jagged formation before settling awkwardly. A girl nearby summoned twisting strands of green that sprouted briefly like living vines before unraveling back into nothing.
The stage filled with color.
Heat.
Cold.
Sparks.
Mist.
Light flickered everywhere.
And then…
There was me.
I lifted my hand.
Focus.
Just shape it.
I reached inward.
It felt faint.
Like trying to grab smoke with bare fingers.
Something stirred.
A small spark snapped at my fingertips.
It startled me.
Another flicker followed, brighter this time, but unstable. A tiny burst of light popped outward, vanishing almost instantly.
I clenched my jaw.
Again.
A faint glow formed in my palm. Not red. Not blue. Not anything clear.
Just… bright.
Unsteady.
It pulsed weakly, as though unsure whether it wished to exist.
I tried to compress it.
It scattered.
Tiny sparks sprayed outward like fireflies before fading midair.
A few students nearby noticed.
A quiet snicker.
"That's it?"
"Is that even an attribute?"
My chest tightened.
I tried once more.
This time the light gathered slightly longer. It shimmered, colorless yet luminous, like a reflection on water. For a brief second it almost took shape.
Then it burst softly into a handful of harmless flashes.
Gone.
Silence lingered around my rune circle.
No heat.
No frost.
No grand display.
Just faint remnants of brightness dissolving into the air.
My hand slowly lowered.
So this… is my control.
Or lack of it.
Around me, magic continued to shimmer proudly.
And I stood in the middle of it, holding nothing but fading sparks.
The sparks around my fingers faded.
On the stage, magic still shimmered proudly under the afternoon sun.
But far from the noise of the applicants…
Far above the arena…
Behind layers of stone and silence…
A dark room watched.
No torches burned.
No windows opened.
Only a wide circular chamber carved from black stone. Ancient arrays glowed faintly across the floor and walls, forming a massive observation formation. Within its center hovered a translucent projection of the stage below, every movement reflected in rippling light.
Eight presences occupied the room.
None of their forms were visible.
Only silhouettes swallowed by shadow.
The crooked old man from the pavilion stepped forward into the dim glow of the array. His staff tapped once against the stone floor.
The projection sharpened.
Silver sparks flickered across its surface.
The old man's dry voice broke the silence.
"Well."
A pause.
"What do you think?"
For a moment, no one answered.
Then a smooth feminine voice drifted through the darkness.
"There are some promising ones."
The projection shifted slightly, focusing on Julian as frost spiraled neatly at his command. The ice gleamed under the sun, refined and deliberate.
"He is bold," the feminine voice continued, faint amusement lacing her tone. "Unpolished… but bold."
A low grunt came from another direction.
An older male voice, rough and permanently displeased.
"Hmph."
The projection slid toward a different student. Green light pulsed steadily from the applicant's hands, tendrils coiling gently around his arms before returning obediently to his core.
The grumpy voice spoke again.
"I have found one."
There was satisfaction in it.
"Controlled growth. Balanced output. Nurture magic is rare in such density. He will be valuable."
Silence followed.
The projection shifted again.
Flicker.
A faint burst of pale brightness.
Then another.
Unstable.
Uncertain.
Silver stood there, small sparks dissolving in his palm.
A sharp exhale echoed from the dark.
"He is pathetic."
The voice was cold. Disdain sharpened every syllable.
"Such people are a disgrace to the Fire Kingdom."
The projection zoomed slightly closer on Silver's failed attempt, the brief glow scattering like dying embers.
"The academy should never have opened its doors to low life."
A ripple of tension spread through the chamber.
Then—
A different voice cut in.
Sharp.
Precise.
"Ser Thonwalt Gerdfal."
The name echoed with deliberate clarity.
"I appreciate that you possess opinions."
A faint pause.
"But keep them to your discriminating ass."
The air in the chamber seemed to tighten.
A quiet scoff.
Before the situation could escalate, the earlier feminine voice returned, no longer amused.
"Enough."
Her tone held authority now.
"Shut your dirty mouths."
The projection continued to display the stage, where magic flared in reds, blues, golds, and greens.
Some of the eight remained silent throughout.
Watching.
Measuring.
Weighing.
Then another voice emerged.
Calm.
Balanced.
Neither male nor female in tone, but steady like still water.
"Quarreling now is pointless."
The projection shifted again, displaying Rose's controlled flame and Ceilian's precise water sphere side by side.
"The trial is not over."
A brief pause.
"Watch."
The room quieted.
"After this," the calm voice continued, "we will move to the final round."
The projection widened, showing the full stage once more.
"And then… we shall see them properly."
The old man with the staff said nothing.
He simply watched.
Below, unaware of the eyes in the dark…
The trial continued.