"In the face of adversity, I stood lame; through the caress of magic, I rose empowered. Strength lies not in our limbs, but in the spirit that kindles our will. So I walk, no longer in shadow but in light, defying the boundaries of the flesh."
Plist the Resilient
4185 MA
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4522 MA
Auberon Institute, Rovos, Kartas
Vyas's fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on his thigh as he sat in the grand waiting room, acutely aware that he would be called up soon. The room was a study in contrasts: vibrant portraits hung on the walls, their rich hues juxtaposed against the dark, polished wood paneling, while the gleaming black and white marble floor mirrored its surroundings.
Tapestries lined the walls, each depicting a historic battle or the grand feats of revered mages from the past. As he waited for his name to be called, he couldn't help but feel a sense of smallness in comparison to the looming, heroic figures woven into the fabric.
An hour had passed since Vyas and a dozen other potential trialists had entered the room. Slowly each of them had been summoned to the examination chamber one by one, their names announced by a disembodied voice that reverberated throughout the waiting room.
As Vyas leaned back in his chair, he let his gaze drift idly over the faces of the other trialists, each lost in their own thoughts. Some displayed visible anxiety, their fingers tapping restlessly on the arms of their chairs, while others maintained an air of tranquility, their expressions a practiced mask of calm.
A persistent worry gnawed at Vyas, knotting his stomach. It had only been three days since his first trial, he knew he was unprepared for this. He was aware that the examination's requirements for precision would be demanding and had doubts about his ability to meet those standards.
The room fell silent as the voice called for Vyas and he felt a shiver of apprehension run down his spine as he rose to his feet. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he crossed the room, his footsteps resounding in the hush.
The door to the examination chamber swung open before him, revealing a largely empty room. At its center stood an ornate desk, its surface buffed to a mirror-like sheen. Seated behind it were three figures: a young woman with an intense, intelligent gaze; an elderly woman whose time-worn face bore the marks of wisdom; and an old man whose penetrating eyes seemed to bore into Vyas's very soul.
The young woman offered him an encouraging smile. "Greetings, Vyas," she said warmly. "Are you prepared?"
Vyas nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. "I am."
"Good," she continued, her eyes never leaving him. "You will be led into a chamber tailored to your chosen element. Within this space, you will find a series of objects composed of that element. Your task is to manipulate these objects to form a specific pattern within the allotted time."
"This is a trial of precision, control, and understanding. We will be observing you closely. Do not underestimate the challenge before you," she cautioned. Before we begin," the young woman inquired, "which element would you prefer to be tested with?"
Vyas took a moment to consider before responding decisively, "Earth."
"Very well," she replied, her eyes reflecting a certain approval. She gestured toward a door on the far side of the room, and Vyas felt a surge of nervousness as he approached it.
Upon entering the room, Vyas was momentarily speechless as he beheld the enormous glass wall separating him from the examiners. The immense, unbroken expanse of glass was unlike anything he had ever seen, an undisguised display of ingenuity and wealth from the Institute.
The young woman's voice echoed within the room, drawing Vyas's attention back to the task at hand. "In this chamber," she explained, "you will find a series of stone pillars. Your first task is to manipulate these pillars to form a maze that meets the requirements specified on the paper on the ground in front of you. You will have thirty minutes to complete this task."
Vyas took a deep breath, readying himself. He glanced down at the paper, quickly memorizing the maze's layout. Surveying the room, he noted the various sizes and shapes of the stone pillars, mentally mapping out the movements required to create the desired pattern.
Determination fueling his actions, Vyas began to weave his magic. The stone pillars responded to his will, shifting and sliding into place with a series of muted rumbles. His focus never wavered as he watched the stones move into position. However, Vyas grappled with the angles specified. Though he found the act of summoning and dismissing pillars to be simple, aligning them perfectly proved to be a challenge.
Lifting his arms, he coaxed a pillar from the ground, forming it from the raw earthen materials beneath him. He shaped it with his magic, feeling the rough stone yield under his will. Despite the ease of summoning the pillar, his brows furrowed as he attempted to position it according to the maze's specifications.
A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as the room filled with a low hum, the stones shifting in response to his magic. His gaze was unwavering as he visualized the maze and where each pillar should be. However, when he placed the first pillar into the assigned spot, the angles didn't quite align.
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Refusing to let his disappointment seep in, he examined the pillar, his fingers tracing the roughened stone surface. His movements were precise as he angled his hand, using the tips of his fingers to measure the placement and direction of the pillar. With each passing minute, the shape began to resemble more closely the diagram on the paper.
His energy vibrated through the room, invisible strings of magic tugging at each stone pillar, causing them to grind against the floor as he manipulated their positions. The dust that was kicked up stung his eyes, but he blinked it away, his focus solely on the task at hand.
The minutes ticked by, each second heavy with anticipation and exertion. His magic echoed through the room, causing the pillars to shift and groan as he moved them, slowly but surely, into their intended places.
His muscles ached from the strain of maintaining such a high level of precision. Every movement was calculated, his mind feverishly cross-checking his actions with the diagram. He felt the toll the task was taking on him, the weight of concentration and effort making his limbs feel leaden.
As the minutes ticked by, the maze began to take shape, each pillar settling into its designated spot with a satisfying finality. Vyas worked with a steady, methodical pace, his control over the earth element apparent in the precision of his movements and the seamless construction of the specified pattern.
With only a few minutes remaining, Vyas completed the task, the final pillar sliding into place with a resounding thud that echoed throughout the chamber. The pattern of the maze now mirrored the one outlined on the paper, its path winding through the stone pillars in a dizzying display of complex angles and tight turns. He stepped back, surveying his handiwork. Pride swelled within him as he took in the elaborate maze he had built from the once chaotic array of stone pillars.
From behind the glass wall, the examiners observed Vyas's performance. The young woman's voice rang out once more, "You have completed the first task. Please proceed to the next chamber for the second part of today's trial."
Entering the next chamber, Vyas's gaze fell upon the dominating marble statue of an armored man wielding a sword. Behind another colossal glass wall, a new group of examiners observed him, their expressions inscrutable.
An older man's voice echoed in the chamber, stern yet kind. "Your task is to recreate the statue using the block of clay beside you. You will be given thirty minutes. We will assess your ability to create a close replica, scrutinizing the statue's details."
Vyas inhaled deeply, feeling the enormity of the challenge before him. His eyes swept over the statue, meticulously studying and committing the details of the armor, the man's facial features, and the shape of the sword to memory. As the timer began its relentless countdown, he started shaping the clay, drawing it up from the ground and methodically forming the overall structure of the statue.
In his fervor to perfect the details, Vyas's hands slipped, inadvertently enlarging the statue’s thigh. Realizing his error, he gritted his teeth in frustration and restarted the entire leg, mindful of the ticking timer.
He soon discovered that replicating the complex armor proved more challenging than anticipated. His hands trembled slightly as he channeled his mana to manipulate the earth, his eyes focused in concentration as he attempted to carve out the fine details with painstaking precision. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes as he grappled with the mental burden of accurately working the angles of the armor and the contours of its clasps.
The pressure continued to mount as time mercilessly ticked away. With each passing moment, the task of creating an exact replica grew increasingly daunting. Vyas threw his entire being into his work straining to capture the subtle lines and contours of the statue's face.
After forming the sword and comparing it to the original, he noticed the glaring differences. Though he had poured every ounce of effort into his work, it was far from perfect. Vyas couldn't help but feel disappointment as he realized how far he was from accomplishing the challenge posed to him. Despite the flaws, he hoped that his efforts would be enough to satisfy the examiners.
When the allotted thirty minutes came to an end, Vyas stepped back to assess his work. Although the statue he had created was a decent approximation, it was clear that it was not a great copy. The armor lacked many of the details, and the facial features were nowhere near as refined. The length of the limbs were accurate, but the proportions were more off than he had hoped.
The voice of the older man echoed through the chamber once more, signaling the end of the second task. "You have completed your second trial. Please remember that the third and final trial will take place in exactly one week's time. Please gather at the front gates of the Auberon Institute before noon."
Dusk fell over the Auberon Institute as Vyas exited the examination area, his steps heavy with a mixture of fatigue and frustration. Each misstep and each failure stung like a wound, the reality of his shortcomings a bitter pill lodged in his throat. His best element was earth, yet he had struggled to shape the clay into the statue's likeness, failing to capture the required details.
He caught sight of the small group of trees outside the examination area, their leaves rustling softly in the evening breeze. The soft murmur of the leaves, strangely soothing, offered solace to his troubled mind.
Vyas knelt by the edge of the trees, his hands hovering over the rich, loamy soil. He closed his eyes, focusing on his connection to the earth. With a deep breath, he reached out, feeling the comforting solidity of the ground, the familiar hum of earth magic resonating within him.
Channeling his magic into the ground, Vyas felt the earth respond, the soil reshaping itself under his touch. A block of clay rose from the ground, sitting before him like a blank canvas awaiting an artist's hand.
In his mind, the image of the statue was as clear as day, every curve, every detail imprinted. With a look of utmost concentration, Vyas began his work. His hands moved purposefully over the clay, smoothing rough edges, carving out shapes, and infusing form into the formless. Slowly but surely, the vague silhouette of the statue began to emerge from the shapeless lump of clay.
However, the fine details eluded him as the clay was too pliable. Vyas, whose hands were accustomed to moving mountains, struggled with the delicate work. He found it incredibly challenging to craft the delicate facial features or the complex pattern on the armor.
Frustration filled him as he repeatedly tried and failed to perfect the statue. Each time, the section clay would deform under his hands, the lines of the face becoming blurred, the armor twisted. His shoulders ached, his fingers grew sore, but he pressed on, refusing to be deterred.
Hours passed unnoticed as Vyas continued his arduous struggle against the clay, against himself. His hands were now smeared with mud, the lines of his face etched with weariness and frustration. Despite his relentless efforts, the statue remained an imperfect copy of the original, falling short of the grandeur he had aimed to capture.