Chirp!
Today was a monumental day for the tens of children within the village. Excitement was building not only in the younger generation, but even the old. After all, today was a day that would determine the fate of the village itself. If they would sink into obscurity or rise beyond their current status, it all rode on this day.
“Jigril, get the fuck up you dumbass!” A young man screamed at a sleeping figure, ripping the cover he was using without any mercy. Doing so, he revealed a rather tall boy with furrowed brows, a large portion of his forehead covered by his dark hair. His physique was rather skinny, an apparent lack of muscle being clear.
Awoken from his slumber, he moved his scorn towards the shouting boy and returned the favour. “I get it! Why are you shouting this loud so early in the morning?”
“Early!? The sun is long risen! The Inquisitor has already arrived, you dimwit! Get your fucking aptitude checked, damn it! Our one chance to heaven is in the palms of this dumbass? Please…save our famil—”
Signalling his intent to surrender, the sleeping man spoke lightly. “Stop the theatrics. The Inquisitor came already? Hm…weird. I wouldn’t sleep this long normally. Why now…? Ah, but still, how can you treat your older brother like this Orien?!” Jigril laughed as he placed his hand atop of his brother’s head to lift himself up from the mat he slept on.
There wasn’t much room in their hut, having only a single bedroom for a family of four. Jigril Margrave, the elder son, and Orien Margrave, the younger brother would sleep in the kitchen, living room and entrance hybrid. The parents had passed away many years back due to an accident, leaving them to be taken under the care of their uncle and aunt.
Jigril’s languid movements to change from his humble attire to a cleaner shirt seemed to have irritated Orien, causing him to continue shouting at his dullard brother, something Jigril paid no mind to choosing to continue preparing at his own pace. Even as he left their hut, he gave no reaction to the hurrying words.
“Wish me luck, at least? Ah, I’m already going you dumbass, why do you keep telling me to leave?” Placing his hand on Orien’s head one more time, he paced out into the embrace of warmth.
He basked under the comfort from the beaming sun, kicking away some of the waste he had stepped on before trotting along towards the center of the village. Doing so, a haggard man came into view, holding some sort of bottle. An odour had crept up behind the individual, pervading Jigril’s nose.
“Hmm? Is that you, Jagaril?” The man had snuck towards Jigril and recklessly slammed his hand on Jigril’s shoulder, missing his face by a narrow margin.
A small smile was placed on Jigril’s face as he nodded. “Indeed, uncle. Get home safely.”
Giving nothing more than a hysterical giggle, the man continued walking towards his home.
The same as always, I guess. Jigril shook his head and sighed in resignation, instead turning his mind towards other things. Things that he had longed for many years. Finally, he would be able to know if he had any talent in manipulating mana. The tales of how mere mortals had overturned their fates and became gods amongst men—who didn’t dream of such grandiose things? Having such thoughts, Jigril chuckled.
I don’t need such insane talent. Just…enough to become a normal Mage? Mhm, I could buy a nice house for us all. Ah, sleeping without having droplets of rain fall on me would be great.
Jigril drummed his fingers across his thighs as he gradually increased his speed; the once pleasant atmosphere had started to become more and more electrifying. Each step on the cracked dirt became deeper and deeper the closer he arrived to his destination.
Right ahead of his eyes lay a few ten people all huddled around, fervently staring at something Jigril couldn’t see. However, looking at the bronze statue of the village elder asserting its might, the answer became obvious.
The center of the village, and the place where fate was being handed out one by one.
Jigril jogged into the huddle, joining the crowd in watching a rather bulky man place his hand on an ashen orb. Situated next to him was a ghostly figure adorning a long, chalky cloak that covered the majority of their face; discerning their gender didn’t seem possible due to how little details could be seen. Still, the identity was clear.
Inquisitor—the giver of destiny.
As Jigril tried getting a closer look, an arm had thrown itself onto his shoulders exerting an obscene force, bringing a deafening whisper along with it. “Jigril, when did you become so carefree, haha?! I could hardly sleep and came runnin’ here as soon as the sun rose, but the Inquisitor only came an hour ago or so. Got fuckin’ pushed back, damn scoundrels stole my spot! But it's fine, Sei got evaluated with no talent! That self indulgent fucker deserved it. All those who steal my spot will be punished…”
The man, Oseier, gave a sinister laugh, eliciting a small chuckle from Jigril that quickly wiped off as the two intensified their gaze on the orb.
Jigril had recognised the person standing with the Inquisitor to be the 16 year old Arsen whom had proclaimed himself to be one of the most talented people in the village. Was Arsen right? It’s not impossible…he was really good at running. Is physical strength reflective of someone’s talent in mana? Whether or not his words were valid would be unveiled today.
Whilst Arsen clutched onto the orb, the Inquisitor placed his hand on the boy's head. Although Jigril couldn’t hear anything, it was clear that something was being muttered.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Oseier continued to whisper into Jigril's ear. “Apparently, the Inquistor can instinctively tell if you have affinity by placing his hand on your head. I think the condition is that you’re holding onto that orb. It changes colour to how ever much affinity you got. Isn’t that interestin’? Sylvie changed it to a gold tint; even that ghoul of a human had their mouth parted at the sight. But…Arsen’s ain’t changin’? Really…would’ve thought he’d get it…”
Looking at Arsen revealed the trembles in his arms and the pupils that kept darting around; the scythe of incompetency had already started to edge towards his neck.
His fate that had started to tighten had been sealed with the numbing words of the Inquisitor.
“No affinity. Next.”
Three words. That was all it took. With that, the next 70 years of life had been altered, barred from ever entering the land of dream. The Inquisitor removed his hand from Arsen’s blonde hair and beckoned another person to come forward.
Arsen’s face squeezed inwards, but he simply walked back into the crowd without a word. His steps carried a despair that could not be resolved.
Jigril couldn’t help but feel a sense of discrepancy at the boy’s reaction. Someone as rowdy as Arsen made no complaints about failing his dream?
Oseier came to Jigril’s aid. “Take a lesson from him. Don’t complain, ever. The Inquisitor…will not tolerate it. Failing is shitty. No need to make shit into dogshit. Even Arsen can understand that much.”
Jigril moved his eyes towards the Inquisitor once more. What had that person done to instil such discipline into even Arsen? Without any consideration for Arsen, the figure called for the next child.
Of course. They go to tens of villages and act as the angel of fate. How much empathy could they extend to each person? Father said it himself. Don’t think that you're deserving of kindness from others just for living. We shouldn’t act entitled to the Inquisitor’s care.
Still, he felt a shiver down his back as he realised the proximity of his own decision. Would he too end up like Arsen?
He continued watching the people walking up to the Inquisitor with equal parts of excitement and trepidation, and leave with an insurmountable weight placed on their shoulders.
“No affinity. Next.”
“No affinity. Next.”
“No affinity. Next.”
The once roaring excitement had cooled to an extreme. Now, only agitation remained. Was he really special enough to garner a talent greater than all of these people…?
What took him out of his rumination was the slight change in tone from the Inquisitor as they rested their arm on the teste's head.
“Medium affinity. Arrive at the center at dawn. Next.”
Words that were as curt as ever, but withheld a completely different meaning. Someone had true talent. Someone from the village would go on to learn magic and ascend from the life of the mundane and enter a world desired by all.
Just as Oseier had said, the once pallid orb had become stained with a light crimson tint, representing the threshold of ‘medium affinity’. That had become a symbol to the few remaining people waiting to be tested. That had to be what they got.
Jigril recognised the face clearly—Xinrase, his cousin in name. Though they were related to his aunt, everyone considered the relationship of Jigril and his adoptive parents to be a real one and so he was brought into a new family tree alongside the new home.
She was five years younger than Jigril, having turned 11 a few months ago. Out of all the participants of the trial, she was the youngest; though many younger had earnestly begged to also try, it was well known that mana only assimilated with a human from the age of 11 onwards.
Her face had illuminated, seemingly trying to compete with the sun to how much brightness could be displayed. Tears had welled in her eyes as she continued shaking; one would think that her life had entered turmoil looking at the scene. Without any delay, she sprinted out the crowd whilst being on the verge of tripping.
"Next."
Oseier's turn had arrived at last. Jigril had already fallen into deep thought but had managed to pat his back, mumbling words of encouragement. Oseier gave no response. From a simple touch on his back, Jigril could feel the instability of Oseier's body. Am I faring any better? I don't think I'm...I need to stop tapping my fingers.
Flicking his hand away from his thigh, Jigril began to watch Oseier's attempt earnest; even if he failed, he could consolidate himself with the fact that Oseier could succeed where he could not. The sights he had longed for could still be seen, just from another perspective.
The Inquisitor's hand rose. A pressure permeated into the air, crushing the shoulders of all those who stood under that mountain. It descended.
Jigril knew it would take only a few seconds but couldn't resist the sensation of hours passing. It hadn't taken this long for others. Why now?
Providence had acted.
"No affinity. Next."
That couldn't be. Oseier was an intelligent individual, although not very academic. It's impossible. There has to be a mista...no. This is real. Oseier...damn it.
What pained Jigril the most was the smile on Oseier's face. As if speaking to anyone watching the spectacle, he wore a face of indifference, if not amusement. Yet, for all his acting was worth, there was not a single person would believe that story, and definitely not Jigril. How many days had he raved to Jigril about what he would do in the big towns as a mage? How many days had he spent talking with Jigril about what he would do after becoming an Archmage?
All Jigril could do was wince. Both at the misfortune that had befallen, and the words of the Inquisitor.
Breathe. Jigril inhaled, attempting to calm his nerves down as he stepped under the extended arm of the Inqusitor. Before he had the chance to get a bearing of the implications of this moment, an iron grip descended onto his head. Thoughts had completely been wiped out from his mind. He had blanked.
This. This was what would dictate the direction of his life. Such an infinitely small action...one that seemed to span for far too long. Impatience writhed around Jigril's body as he placed as much effort possible to not drum his fingers. The gaze of Oseier and the last 3 people became more and more prominent; the world itself was becoming harrowingly narrow.
The force on his head loosened slightly.
What he once found a disturbing voice had transformed.
"Low affinity. Come to the center by dawn. Next."
It had become a nectar sweeter than anything he could imagine.