Mirelle tilted her head, her fiery braids swaying slightly. “What affinity do you think we have?” she asked, her tone light and curious.

Tristan froze mid-thought and stared at her, his expression deadpan. The silence hung for a moment too long, and Mirelle’s brows furrowed.

“What? I shouldn’t have asked?” she said, puzzled and slightly annoyed by his reaction.

“No, that’s not the problem,” Tristan said, letting out an exasperated sigh. “But didn’t all of you get an envelope after you were tested?”

The others exchanged uncertain glances before nodding.

Tristan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And you didn’t read it?”

Cale’s expression darkened slightly as he hesitated. “My mom told me I have a metal affinity,” he said quietly. “She and Dad cried a lot after finding out. They weren’t… they didn’t look happy, but they kept saying they were.” His voice trembled, and his gaze dropped as he remembered his mother sobbing, his father barely holding back tears as he tried to smile.

Tristan’s gaze lingered on Cale for a brief moment, but he quickly shifted his attention to Mirelle and Davion. His tone sharpened. “What about you two?”

Davion shifted uncomfortably, his face heating up. “I don’t know how to read,” he admitted, embarrassed, his voice barely audible.

Mirelle crossed her arms defensively. “I lost mine. A strong breeze took it out of my hand before I could even open it,” she said, her cheeks flushing with frustration.

Tristan groaned louder, rubbing his temples as though he could physically push away the headache. “You morons,” he muttered under his breath. “All of us have metal affinity. That’s why we’re together. The Forge of Dominion is a facility that only trains metal mages.”

The revelation hit them like a wave. Mirelle’s jaw dropped, and she looked at the others as if to confirm what Tristan had said. Davion blinked rapidly, while Cale’s eyes widened with realization.

Tristan sighed heavily, leaning back in his seat. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

For a while, the group fell silent. The carriage creaked and swayed gently as it rolled along the uneven road. Mirelle’s head drooped, and soon she was asleep, leaning lightly against Cale’s shoulder. Davion stared out the window, watching the rolling landscape pass by, his thoughts a quiet storm of uncertainty. Tristan remained hunched over his bead, glaring at it with unwavering determination. Cale, however, found his gaze drifting to Tristan, intrigued by his intense focus.

Finally, Tristan broke the silence, his voice low and irritated. “Can you move your gaze somewhere else? It’s annoying.”

“Sorry,” Cale said quickly. After a brief pause, he added, “Can I try it too?”

Tristan scoffed, leaning back and tossing the bead into Cale’s lap. “Be my guest,” he said bitterly. “I feel like if I stare at it any longer, my eyes will pop out.”

Cale glanced at him, then down at the bead. “Is it even possible?” he asked hesitantly.

Tristan shrugged, his frustration evident. “Who knows.”

Cale took a deep breath and focused on the bead, his expression calm and thoughtful. Tristan gave him a side-eye, fully expecting nothing to happen. But then, to his utter disbelief, the bead trembled slightly before rolling a fraction of an inch.

“How?! How did you do it?!” Tristan demanded, jumping to his feet, his blue eyes wide with shock.

Cale looked at him, startled by the outburst, and then glanced at Mirelle, who stirred at the noise. She mumbled something incoherent before settling back into her sleep.

“Shhh,” Cale said, pressing a finger to his lips.

Davion’s head snapped around, his eyes darting between Cale and Tristan. He said nothing, though his curiosity was evident. Tristan leaned closer, his voice now a fierce whisper. “Tell me. How did you do it?”

Cale hesitated, his brow furrowing in thought. “I just… told it to move,” he said finally.

Tristan fell back into his seat with a groan, dragging his hands down his face. “Just told it to move,” he muttered, the frustration evident in his tone.

Leaning forward, he snatched the bead back from Cale and gritted his teeth. 'Move, you stupid bead,' he growled in his mind, but the metal remained stubbornly still.

“Do you have another one of those beads?” Cale asked cautiously. “I… I want to try again.”

Tristan’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and almost murderous. For a moment, Cale shrank back, intimidated, but then Tristan exhaled heavily and reached into his vest pocket. Wordlessly, he handed another identical bead to Cale.

“Can I have one too? Please?” Davion asked, his voice tentative.

Tristan grumbled something under his breath but pulled out another bead and handed it over. The group fell into a shared silence, each of them staring at their beads with varying degrees of focus and frustration. Tristan’s gaze kept flicking to Cale, watching how easily the boy seemed to make his bead shift. Every movement Cale achieved stoked the fire of Tristan’s irritation.

In the end, Tristan stuffed his bead back into his pocket with a muttered curse. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in his seat, trying to calm himself. The gentle rocking of the carriage lulled the others into quiet concentration, while Tristan, overwhelmed by his emotions, drifted into a restless nap, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

Later, as the carriage swayed through a particularly rough patch of road, Mirelle stirred awake. She yawned, blinking sleepily before noticing the intense quiet that had settled over the group. Her green eyes darted between Davion, who was still staring at his bead, and Cale, who seemed to be gently coaxing his to move again. Tristan sat with his arms crossed, his expression a storm cloud of irritation.

“What did I miss?” Mirelle asked groggily, brushing her fiery braids over her shoulder.

Cale glanced at her and offered a small smile. “I moved the bead,” he said simply.

Mirelle’s eyebrows shot up. “You did?” she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. “But… how?”

“He just told it to move,” Tristan interjected, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Apparently, that’s all it takes.”

Mirelle’s lips parted in surprise as she turned to Cale. “That’s it? You just told it to move?”

Cale nodded. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just… felt like it would listen if I told it.”

Davion finally spoke up, his voice hesitant. “Do you think your parents knew? You said they cried when they found out you had a metal affinity. Maybe they knew you’d be… special.”

Cale’s gaze dropped, and he fidgeted with the bead. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

The group lapsed into another thoughtful silence.

Suddenly, the carriage jolted violently, throwing them off balance as it came to an abrupt halt. Mirelle screamed, clutching onto Cale as panic surged through her body. The wooden walls of the carriage groaned under the strain of the sudden stop.

A deafening sound echoed from outside—a sharp, metallic clash like two massive pieces of metal colliding. The air itself seemed to vibrate with the impact. Then, just as quickly, silence fell over them. An eerie, unnatural silence that set their nerves on edge.

The ringing in their ears lingered, but beneath it, they heard something else—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, and too heavy to belong to an ordinary man.

The carriage door swung open with a creak, revealing a towering figure. Commander Kaelthar stood before them, but something felt off.

Tristan was the first to speak, his voice sharp and demanding. “What happened? What was that noise?” His eyes darted past Kaelthar, trying to glimpse what lay beyond.

A voice answered, but it wasn’t Kaelthar’s. It came from within the commander’s armor, but it was colder, more mechanical, devoid of emotion.

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“That is not your concern.”

A chill ran down Cale’s spine. Something was wrong.

Tristan narrowed his eyes. “Who are you? Did something happen to Commander Kaelthar?”

No answer. The door was slammed shut with a heavy thud, sealing them back inside.

Tristan clenched his fists, his frustration bubbling over. “Son of a—”

“Tristan!” Mirelle cut him off, her voice a sharp whisper, but her trembling hands betrayed her fear.

Tristan only scoffed, his jaw tightening.

Davion, who had been quiet until now, stared at the door, his unease growing. The air in the carriage felt stifling, heavy with unspoken fear.

Then, without warning, the carriage lurched forward again, resuming its journey.

----------------------------------------

The carriage moved ceaselessly. Day turned to night, then back to day again. Hunger gnawed at their stomachs, their throats burned with thirst, and their bodies ached from the lack of relief. They weren’t allowed to stop, not even to relieve themselves.

It was only when Cale finally spoke that the suffocating silence broke.

“What is that?” His voice was hoarse, his wide eyes locked onto the looming shape in the distance.

Tristan followed his gaze. His breath hitched slightly. “That’s a big castle.”

“And scary,” Mirelle whispered, her fingers gripping the seat so tightly her knuckles turned white.

The carriage rolled closer, revealing the full extent of the fortress before them. The castle was enormous, far larger than anything they had ever seen. Jagged spires reached toward the sky like the claws of some great beast, their blackened tips silhouetted against the bleeding hues of the setting sun. It wasn’t just large—it was oppressive, dominating the horizon with its foreboding presence.

The walls were made of an ominous dark stone, smooth yet unnatural in texture. Interwoven within the stone were veins of dark metal, twisting through the structure like an infection spreading through flesh. The material gleamed dully, as though it pulsed with a life of its own.

Encircling the castle was a vast stone wall, standing tall and impenetrable. Towering iron gates loomed ahead, reinforced with the same dark metal that laced the castle’s structure. Above them, banners hung limp in the still air, their insignias too distant to decipher.

A shudder ran through Davion as he swallowed hard. “I have a bad feeling about this.” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of all their fears.

As the carriage passed through the towering gates, an eerie creak echoed in the air, as if the very walls were groaning at their arrival. The sun dipped lower, casting elongated shadows across the courtyard, swallowing the last traces of warmth.

They were here. Wherever "here" was. And something told them that there was no turning back.

The carriage came to a slow, grinding stop, and moments later, the door creaked open. The children hesitated, glancing at each other before their eyes fell on the man standing before them.

He was dressed in simple gray robes, his posture rigid, his lower face obscured by a dull metal mask. His head was completely shaved, and his cold blue eyes swept over each of them with an unreadable intensity. Without a word, he stepped to the side, extending one hand outward in a silent command.

Slowly, the children stepped out. Tristan led the way, his steps steady but cautious. Cale followed. Mirelle walked just behind him, her green eyes flicking between the man and the unfamiliar surroundings. Davion, the last to step down, hesitated for only a moment before falling in line with the others.

They found themselves in a vast, empty courtyard. The stone beneath their feet was cold, the air thick with a strange stillness. Besides the man in the gray robes, only two other figures stood at the gate they had passed through. Their armor was identical to Commander Kaelthar’s—massive, plated, and eerily silent.

Mirelle swallowed hard, then took a small step forward.

“Eh, excuse me?” she asked hesitantly, her voice small against the looming silence.

The man’s head tilted slightly. “Yes?” His voice was rasped, as though strained from disuse.

Mirelle shifted on her feet. “Where’s the bathroom?” she asked, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

The man’s gaze flickered to the main castle door—a towering wooden structure, its surface reinforced with dark metal. He lifted his hand and, with a mere wave, the heavy doors groaned open, revealing a long, well-lit hall lined with simple stone walls. The glow of embedded magic stones cast a pale, sterile light throughout the passage.

“Follow me. You must be exhausted after your travels,” the man said, his tone devoid of warmth.

He turned on his heel, walking forward with measured steps. The children trailed behind, their eyes darting around as they took in the stark emptiness of the castle interior. Aside from the ever-present magic stones that illuminated the hall, there was nothing—no decorations, no tapestries, no sense of life.

The hall eventually opened into a vast chamber, one that made them all stop in their tracks. The room was filled with children—dozens, no, hundreds. They sat in clusters, whispering among themselves or simply waiting in silence. Some looked around Cale and Tristan’s age, others slightly older. Their clothes varied, but all bore the signs of long travel.

“What… what is this?” Cale whispered, his heart hammering in his chest. “Why are there so many kids here?”

The man in gray robes barely acknowledged his question. “Everything will be explained soon,” he said. “But let’s get you to the bathroom first.”

He veered to the right, leading them down another corridor. After a few turns, he stopped in front of two heavy wooden doors standing side by side.

“This one is for the girls,” he said, motioning to the right door. “And this one is for the boys.” He gestured to the left.

Tristan and Davion wasted no time, rushing into the boys’ bathroom, eager for any moment of privacy. Cale lingered by Mirelle, who hesitated, glancing warily at the man.

“Come on, kids. We don’t have all day,” the man pressed, his voice flat and devoid of patience.

Mirelle exhaled slowly before nodding. She cast one last glance at Cale before slipping inside the girls’ bathroom. Cale followed Tristan and Davion into the boys’ side.

The bathrooms were eerily pristine—sterile white stone, a row of stalls, and a long basin with water that rippled unnaturally, clearly enchanted. It felt cold, not just physically but emotionally, as if it lacked the very essence of human presence.

After a brief but much-needed moment of relief, they were escorted back to the massive chamber. The sea of children still murmured amongst themselves, the sheer number of them sending an uneasy ripple down Cale’s spine.

The man strode away from the children, his steps precise and measured as he ascended a wooden platform at the end of the vast chamber. A door to the side creaked open, and from its depths emerged a woman whose presence seemed to command the very air around her.

To say she was beautiful would have been an insult—a mere understatement of the aura she exuded. Her long, flowing silver-gray hair cascaded down to her lower back, shimmering like liquid metal. Her skin was as pale and flawless as porcelain, smooth and untouched by time. But it was her eyes that struck Cale the most—a piercing silver, sharp and unreadable, as though they saw straight through everything.

She was clad in a suit of pristine white armor, immaculate and softly glowing, as if it radiated power itself. Every plate of her armor was crafted to perfection, moving with her like a second skin. Behind her, two figures emerged, their imposing forms draped in dark armor, their faces hidden beneath ominous helmets. The contrast between them and the woman made her presence all the more striking.

A collective gasp rippled through the chamber, hushed whispers spreading among the children.

“That must be Isa,” Tristan murmured under his breath beside Cale.

“Who?” Cale asked, eyes still locked onto the woman as she made her way toward the platform.

Tristan scoffed. “You backwater country kid,” he muttered. “She’s one of the strongest—if not the strongest—metal mages alive in all of Vallmoria.”

“Ah,” Cale responded, Tristan’s words only raising more questions, but he chose to hold them back. He would ask later when Tristan was in a better mood. His gaze drifted between Isa and the dark-armored figures flanking her. He had never seen someone so effortlessly commanding.

Isa climbed the wooden platform, and as she reached its center, an expectant hush fell over the room. Every child stood frozen, holding their breath as her silvery eyes swept across them, studying, weighing, judging.

“She’s so beautiful,” Mirelle whispered, unable to hide the awe in her voice.

Then, Isa spoke.

Her voice was smooth, firm, and unwavering, resonating through the chamber as though it carried an innate authority.

“Welcome, children,” she began, her words wrapping around them like an unseen force. “You have all been chosen for something far greater than you can yet comprehend. You are here because you are special—because within you lies the potential to become more than ordinary metal mages. You stand at the precipice of something greater than Vallmoria has ever seen.”

A murmur ran through the gathered children, a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Isa let the silence settle before continuing.

“You will undergo rigorous training—training that will push you past your limits, that will break you and rebuild you. Through discipline, hardship, and sheer will, you will forge yourselves into warriors unlike any the world has known. You will become something greater than mere magic users. You will become the steel that shapes the future of this continent.”

Her gaze sharpened, a flicker of something unreadable flashing behind her silver eyes.

“However, not all of you will succeed.”

A tension rippled through the room, and the excitement in some faces dimmed into uncertainty.

“There is no shame in failure. Those who cannot keep up, those who falter, will be sent to the Forge of Dominion to complete their training as ordinary metal mages. There, you will learn to wield your gift at a more standard level, to serve as capable practitioners of your affinity. But know this—that is not why you are here.”

She let the weight of her words hang in the air, allowing them to sink into the minds of every child standing before her.

“You were not brought here to be ordinary. You were brought here to become exceptional.”

Cale swallowed, his mouth dry. The weight of her words pressed heavily upon his chest.

“For those of you who endure, for those who prove themselves above the rest, an opportunity awaits. The best among you will have the chance to be personally trained by me. You will learn what true mastery over metal is. You will go beyond what history has known. But make no mistake—to earn that privilege, you must be willing to sacrifice everything. Half-measures will not be tolerated.”

The silence that followed was thick, pulsing with unspoken fears, hopes, and determination.

Isa's gaze lingered over them one last time before she stepped back, her expression unreadable.

“Now,” she said, her voice lowering but no less commanding. “Rest. Gather your strength. Tomorrow, the forging begins.”

With that, she turned and descended from the platform, the dark-armored figures following her like shadows. The moment she was gone, the air in the chamber seemed to shift, as if the very walls had exhaled.

Cale let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Around him, whispers erupted among the gathered children, some eager, some terrified.

Tristan exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. “Well,” he muttered, “shit just got real.”

Mirelle still looked entranced, her gaze fixed on the empty platform. “Do you think we can do it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cale looked down at his hands, his fingers tightening into fists.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I guess we’re about to find out.”