Rhys wrinkled his nose. He smelled... clean. Not that he wasn't normally clean, just that he didn't smell it. Apparently nobles couldn't have a bath without scenting everything. It was taking him a long moment to decide whether or not he liked the citrus smell that clung to him, along with the silks he now wore.

Apparently it was required to look one’s best when meeting the king. Rhys certainly looked like something, and not a practical something. He stood in front of large ornate doors with long robes that dragged across the tiled floor. The primary color he wore was a bright yellow, followed by a deep violet silk scarf that draped across his shoulders which he feared would fray from how many times he stepped on it. Impressive they found clothes so long, considering his height.

“They'll ask you some questions, perhaps even test your aptitude. It's possible the dean might want proof of your mana himself,” Bryne warned.

“I am not drinking anymore poison,” Rhys hissed, barely containing a scowl.

“You won't be getting a choice if it's what the dean wants, Rhys,” Bryne warned, his expression tense. “Just do what they want. You'll make less enemies that way. Trust me, you do not want enemies right now.”

Rhys couldn't help his scowl this time, but looked away from the captain to hide it. At least he's being helpful, he reasoned. Bryne didn't have to give him any warnings at all, and yet he did. Really, Rhys wanted a reason to hate the knight, but the only one he could seem to find was that the man was probably good at his job.

The large wooden doors creaked as they slowly opened from the inside, revealing a grand hall beyond. Rhys’ jaw slowly slackened the more he looked up, Bryne grabbing his arm and pulling him to walk when he didn't initially move. Instead, he was gawking at crystal chandeliers, tall stained glass windows, and high arching ceilings. All of it wrapped towards the pinnacle of the room━a courtly bench of four men and one woman sitting at a C-shaped table atop a dais.

Bryne stopped them before the nobles, each bearing circlets, save for the king himself. He donned a gold warcrown that looked hardly different than his locks.

A door echoed through the hall, and Rhys turned, seeing a man, teal robes billowing as he walked from behind the court. “Pardon my tardiness, your highness,” he said.

“No need. You're a busy man,” the king said, briefly regarding the willowy latecomer before looking directly at Rhys with bright blue eyes. “Introduce him, captain.”

“Your majesty,” Bryne saluted with a fist to his chest. “Rhys Geddings. Deep mana wells for both light and dark magic.”

Low whispers passed through the court, lasting hardly a second before the man in teal asked, “And this can be proven?”

Rhys grimaced, holding his tongue.

“We can provide ellee tea,” Bryne offered.

“Our stores are low on ellee,” the woman said. “Perhaps, dean,” she looked at the man in teal, “you can teach him some simple spells to demonstrate?”

“The stores might be low, but to prove such a thing may well be worth it. This is an outlandish claim,” the man across from her argued.

“Yet the only ones in the room who can confirm it are myself and Rhys,” the dean said, stepping away from the bench and down the steps towards Rhys.

“The choice is yours, Samlet, but I've not known any of the manacasters to lie after a direstorm,” the king spoke, tapping the table in front of him with his forefinger.

“Very well,” the dean said, stepping up directly in front of Rhys, looking down at him with brown eyes. “What is your profession?”

“What?” Rhys asked, raising his brow.

“What did you do before the direstorm, manacaster.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Rhys frowned at the title. “I was a blacksmith. Horseshoes, mostly, but I was supposed to start an apprenticeship...” he paused. “Two days ago. What does━”

“It'll help me know how to teach you,” Samlet clarified. He reached over, taking Rhys’ hand and holding it palm up. “Keep it there. This,” he poked the center of Rhys’ palm, “is your point of focus.”

Samlet let go, slowly walking away. “I want you to look nowhere else but that spot, Rhys. Imagine your forge, the heat against your skin, and the sweat on your brow,” he explained, Rhys momentarily glancing at the him as the dean paced back. “Look at your hand━don’t lose that focus,” he reminded.

Rhys took a deep breath, staring with tired eyes.

“Imagine. Focus. Feel the heat of the fire that rages in your forge.”

Heat wafted against his skin, and Rhys could feel his forge, fire blazing whenever he opened it. The heat stretched across his body, then moved, golden tendrils dancing through his clothes as the heat traveled from his chest and face, centering in his hand. A spark danced out of it, then a golden flame erupted in his hand, flaring towards him.

Rhys jumped back from the flame, dropping it with a gasp. It grew a tad, then rapidly dissipated, never catching fire to anything else. Instead, an alert popped up in his vision in gold lettering.

[Life Flame acquired]

[Qualities: A flame that produces heat without catching fire to its surrounding]

[Luminar level 1]

“Excellent. We've established that you're at least a luminar. How much mana did that take?” the dean asked.

Looking at his gold bar, Rhys shook his head. “A hair.”

“A very strong luminar. You're already proving you were worth the wait of your slumber.”

“And if I hadn't been?”

“A hypothetical we will not dwell on,” Samlet gave a slim smile, as if to say “bad things”. “Let's move on. We'll need to be more wary with dark magic. It is an offensive magic, and can be volatile even to its own caster. Hold your hand up again, but your focus should be above it this time. I want you to imagine the same thing, except it's early morning. The forge is barely lit and the cold is refreshing from its usual heat, yet it still burns. The burning is important.”

The heat came to Rhys quicker this time, racing through his body with a tingle. Violet strands warped above his hand, circling until a small, violet flame hovered in their place. However, its heat was already stinging at his palm. He cringed, and Dean Samlet caught his arm before he could drop the flame.

“It's hot, I know, but you will need to manually dismantle this spell unless you wish to catch your own robes on fire,” he said. “Take a deep breath. Let it die like the last coals of your forge. Slow and controlled.”

Rhys winced at the stinging, his palm already red. He nodded, staring at the flame as he envisioned it dying out. His pain was eased as it gradually shrank into nothing. An alert in violet popped up in his vision this time.

[Death Flame acquired]

[Qualities: A flame that burns all within its reaches]

[Eclipser level 1]

“Good, you follow instructions well,” the dean smiled, letting go and stepping aside. “How much mana used?”

The violet bar in Rhys’ vision hardly looked touched. “Less than a hair,” he said.

Samlet’s smile widened as he turned to face the king. “A powerful luminar and eclipser in one, your majesty.”

The king nodded slowly, his hands clasped before his bearded face as he stared at Rhys. “Only your best is to train him. Level him as fast as possible━push him to his limits.”

“My king, at the risk of breaking him?” a regent beside the king asked.

“There is a war to be fought,” the king said with a heavy sigh.

“But if━”

“When do I get paid?” Rhys interceded.

“Paid?” the king asked.

“Surely there is payment to some degree. Manacasters have families. So when do I get paid for my work?” he asked again.

“Students go unpaid,” the dean answered. “You are housed, fed, and clothed by the school.”

“And you'll continue to be provided for at the warfront after your first remastery,” the woman added.

“We do, however, pay for your services in battle,” the king said, lowering his clasped hands to the table. He leaned forward and opened his mouth, but Rhys stole the empty space.

“I'll level faster than any manacaster you've ever had,” he said quickly. “On one condition.”

The king raised an eyebrow and waved a hand. “I'm listening.”

“Send a stipend to my mother every month. Enough to get her by.”

“Unconventional,” the king paused, his expression thoughtful, "but I'll allow it so long as you maintain the highest level in the academy. Know that you are already two days behind.”

Rhys nodded.

“Recognize, Rhys, you have two classes. That is two levels you must level at once,” the dean pointed out.

With a grimace, Rhys nodded again. “Yes sir.”

“I expect much out of you, Rhys Geddings,” the king laid on, standing up. “It is up to the manacasters to prove the myth of immortality in the Immortal War.”

Right, no pressure.