Eryndor turn came. He walked to the center, the sheer magic emanating from the orb pressing down on him. He felt exposed, vulnerable, in the harsh, judging light of the arena. He could hear the low whispers, undoubtedly about the "boy who writes with a stick." Some laughed at him and Julianne stared at him, "he does not have any magic how is he going to pass the test, such an ambitious human, " she scoffed.
He placed his hands on the pedestal, but not on the orb. He closed his eyes, drowning out the world, the whispers, the mocking laughter of Darius.
No magic. Just will. Just intent.
He thought of his grandfather's hands, strong and steady, planting seeds. He thought of the unyielding bedrock of the mountains surrounding his village, ancient and immovable. He remembered the simple truth: a farmer doesn't force a seed to grow, he provides the perfect conditions and trusts it will. A craftsman doesn't force wood to become a chair; he envisions the chair and shapes the wood with precise, unwavering purpose.
He couldn't add magic to the orb. But could he refine it? Could he perfect it? Eryndor opened his eyes, focusing every fiber of his being on the shimmering sphere. He didn't try to make it move, or glow brighter, or dim. He poured his entire will, his complete, unwavering intent, into the single, pure idea of Balance.
He envisioned every fluctuating ripple within the orb smoothing out. Every tiny, chaotic pulse harmonizing. He imagined its light becoming utterly steady, its form becoming perfectly spherical, perfectly still, perfectly calm. He channeled not a burst of power, but an absolute, unyielding desire for perfection of form and energy. His face was a mask of intense concentration with twisted lips, sweat beading on his brow, but his hands remained still on the pedestal, connected only by his sheer, indomitable will.
"What is he doing? Is he trying hard to get his will on the orb for it to brighten, what a pitiful soul, " a guy from the Acranums ranks blurted.
The orb, which had been subtly shifting and pulsating, began to change. Its undulating surface slowly, incredibly, smoothed. The chaotic shimmer lessened, giving way to a pure, unwavering glow. The gentle, almost imperceptible vibrations within it ceased. It didn't move, it didn't brighten in a dramatic flash, but it settled into a state of absolute, profound stillness, a state of perfect, unmoving, balanced light. It became the most stable, most perfect sphere of light anyone in the arena had ever witnessed. It was a manifestation not of power, but of perfect control and an unyielding will to order.
A hush fell over the Arena of Manifestation. The whispers died. The laughter ceased. Even Darius, who had been preening, stood frozen, his eyes wide, his jaw slightly agape. "He did that without magic? " Whispers started aerating, "I'm impressed, he is the only person who doesn't have magic but have used his human energy to perform akin to that of the magical ones, " a faint smile replaced her solemn lips.
"Does he have hidden powers, why is he passing all these exam without magic, that seem to be extreme for the ones with magic, but it looks facile to him, is he a illusionist.
Illusionist are magicians whose powers can't be seen, but can only be seen by that person.
The three white-bearded Proctors, who had observed countless such trials, leaned in closer, their expressions shifting from polite interest to outright awe. They exchanged swift, astonished glances. One, who had initially scoffed at Eryndor unconventional approach, now murmured, "Unprecedented... such stillness. Pure will, unburdened by mana." The Acranums ranking student usually impassive and prideful, had a look of stunned wonder on their face, kaiden lips slightly parted. He glanced at the Proctors, then back at Eryndor, a new light of profound amazement in his eyes.
When the five minutes were up, the lead Proctor's voice was softer than before, almost reverent. "Candidate... that was... truly remarkable."
Eryndor physically and mentally drained, stumbled away from the pedestal, the perfect orb of light now a beacon of his quiet triumph. He didn't know if he had passed, but he knew he had given everything.
Hours later, the entire assembly of hopeful candidates, now a smaller, more anxious crowd, gathered in the assembly hall once more with the yellow sun casting dark images in the ground, it's yellow light blazing at the crowd of uniformed students.
The atmosphere was thick with obvious tension, a stark contrast to the initial hopeful buzz. Faces were drawn, eyes darted nervously, searching for answers. Those who had struggled clearly showed their apprehension.
The three white-bearded Proctors stood on the dais, their expressions solemn. Kaiden and the other senior students stood to the side, their gazes serious, no longer simply observing but clearly privy to the weighty decisions that had been made.
"Candidates," the lead Proctor began, his voice echoing with finality, "we have evaluated your performance across all three trials. The path to arcane mastery is not for the faint of heart, nor for the unfocused. Many of you have demonstrated admirable spirit, but not all possess the unique aptitudes required by this esteemed institution."
A collective sigh, like a dying wind, swept through the hall, Faces fell. Some candidates, already knowing their fate, bowed their heads, their shoulders slumping in defeat. Eryndor saw a few tearful eyes among those nearest the him, already anticipating being turned away.
"We will now announce the admitted students and their class assignments," the Proctor continued. "Listen carefully. Upon hearing your name, you are to proceed to your designated class section as indicated. Classes are assigned based on a combination of overall performance and perceived aptitude for specific magical disciplines."
He gestured to a glowing runic projection that appeared beside the dais, showing four distinct areas of the chamber, labeled "Class A," "Class B," "Class C," and "Class D."
"We will begin with Class A – the Scholars of Inherent Power and Grand Theory," the Proctor announced. "Those who displayed exceptional raw magical talent and profound theoretical understanding." Names began to be called, mostly from the noble families, including Darius, Van Leon and Julianne , who swaggered towards the "A" section with a triumphant grin, occasionally casting a condescending glance at the remaining crowd. Many were beaming, rushing to their elite section.
Then came Class B – "The Practitioners of Elemental and Conjuration Arts." These were students with strong foundational magic and a clear affinity for practical spell-casting.
Next, Class C – "The Apprentices of Subtle Arts and Scholastic Pursuit." These students showed promise in specialized fields like illusion, divining, or had exceptional academic potential despite slightly lesser raw power. Finn's name was called here. His face held a glimmer of excitement as he gave a curt nod to Eryndor, a wide grin breaking across his face as he moved to his assigned section.
Eryndor heart hammered. His name hadn't been called. He looked around. The crowd of unadmitted students was growing larger, their faces drawn with despair.
Finally, the lead Proctor cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping over the remaining hopefuls. "And now, for Class D – The Pathfinders of Unconventional Aptitude."
A murmur rippled through the hall. Class D was not a usual designation.
"These are students who, while demonstrating proficiency in the trials, displayed... atypical magical inclinations, or whose unique strengths require a more specialized and focused curriculum.". He paused, and Eryndor held his breath.
"Kaiden if you please."
Kaiden stepped forward, his voice clear and precise. "The following candidates are admitted to Class D." he began to read names, most of them unfamiliar to Eryndor, students who seemed as bewildered by their assignment as he was.
Then, he called it. "Eryndor Thorne of Venervile."
Relief, so potent it made him sway, washed over Eryndor. He was in! He was an Academy student!
But then, as he began to move towards the designated Class D section, he heard the faint whispers from some of the Proctors, though they were careful to keep their voices very low.
"...no magical signature... how can we admit someone with no magic?"
"...the intent projection was unprecedented, yes, but powerless."
"...Class D is a necessary compromise. His theoretical knowledge is undeniable, and that stillness on the final trial was peculiar, yes, but he's a true anomaly. We cannot place him with students who actually cast."
"...it's an experiment. If he truly has no mana, he will fall behind. But his will..."
Eryndor euphoria dimmed slightly. So, he was in, but still an outcast. Class D because he had no magic. His excitement remained, but it was now tinged with a fresh determination. They might have placed him in Class D because he lacked power, but he would prove to them that his "unconventional aptitude" was a strength, not a weakness.
He found his place in the Class D section, looking out at the disheartened faces of those who had not been admitted, their dreams shattered. He felt a pang of sympathy, but also a deep, abiding gratitude. He was here. He had done it.
He couldn't wait to inform his grandfather. The old man wouldn't care about "Class D" or "unconventional aptitude." He would only hear that his grandson, the boy with no magic, was now a student of the Imperial Argentum Magic Academy. And that, to Eryndor, was a victory more important than any spell.