Vinyl banners were suspended on the ceiling far back, lit by buzzing bars of radiance. The words imprinted on the pointed flags recited a story of their own, noting key incidents in the city’s past. As the varied orders seeped through the room’s swiveling entrance, new lines of history were in the works.
All of that, in the face of grub, of course, was second news.
Punctured by a skewer, strings of assorted food sat in digestible cubes. Calling her name with such power, it might as have well been a mind spell. The batch closest to the banners carried a meat mixture, chicken and beef mixed on the wooden stick, the midpoint a blend of seafood, and the nearest a set for vegetable lovers.
To Val’s dismay, where food was shared, conversations followed.
Gnawing on the perfectly-cooked broccoli, a group of three encroached on her peaceful boundaries. Much like any in the room was capable of, Val identified her strange company in a brisk second. Morning's Honour was a guild to notice, said to exist among the elite. Designated colours anywhere along the pastel hues of the early sunrise, the enchanters decided to overlay a muted pink top on white bottoms.
“Can I—” Val forced the chunk of greens down her throat, largely unprepared for the encounter “—help you?”
“Haven’t seen your kind grace our presence in quite some time,” a Kidraan remarked, blue tinges of dye accenting her black coils. “After failing to breach the top positions for a while, everyone thought you guys washed out.”
“We walked past your table though,” one of them added, blonde curls an unusual sight for the Auricean. “It was loaded, man.”
Val froze at the barrage of sentiments, her kabob stick uplifted at her forefront. “Um,” she swiftly dropped her hand out of the awkward position, blinking. “Thank—”
“And decided you must’ve possessed a substantial ASC.” The Saradonian boy’s emerald-green gaze locked on Val. “Discover our surprise that an Age of Atera member hadn’t hit even the thirties.”
Val traced his face, searching for signs of genuine curiosity. While being a question mark to straighten was the last objective she hoped to fulfill, it was three times better than discerning the contempt she’d likely find in its absence. As she suspected, on the lift of his lips, she spotted a sneer.
Seriously?
Dismissals seemed to trail her every win, accompanied by a sickening fatigue that dragged her shoulders to the ground. As a mage growing into her own pair of shoes, the logical and sensible reaction would be to refute it, to dig deep into her growing self-assurance and become a wall impermeable to insults.
Instead, she jabbed her skewer toward the water pitchers meters away. “I think I’m going to grab a drink. I’ll be back in a second, is that okay?”
Val didn’t stay for the response, feet striding for the supposed entrance.
What you don’t give attention to, you don’t give power. The words rang in her head, crystal clear from the moments the tilted pitchers poured limpid water into her cup, all the way up to Lesedi’s arrival.
The Rookie Competition, it seemed, waited for no one, unsteady or steadfast, primed or indisposed.
~
Yeah, this is most definitely not a part of the event hall.
The notion cut through her conscious mind unbidden, the newly-introduced facility eliciting amazed whistles throughout the entering cohort. A pristine sheet of metal skated to the ends of the roomy area, the plating as clean as an untouched car. Hardened light formed solid characters, bouncing off the refractive walls—made of material much like the floor—and leaving pools of darkness outside of their orbits.
A little over one hundred enchanters ambled into the room, regarding the columns of curtains spilling from the metallic top of the room. Stalking ahead of the inflowing stream, the preemptive ones moved to peek inside the translucent veils.
“Enchanters!” Engaging in the arcane arts, a latent aura drenched Lesedi’s commonplace words in authority. “Curb your craft!”
Three-quarters of the participants whirled to his body, backs straight, legs shoulder-width apart, and arms up in an enchanter’s salute. The remaining—unaware of certain formalities due to a lack of affiliations—gawked at the adolescent scholars rivaling the building’s still-art in immobility.
“Are you not enchanters?” Lesedi thrust a hand. “You don’t get any special treatment. Fall in line.”
As the bewildering moment dissolved in an awkward lull, they resolved to imitate the majority. Dominant forearm affixed to the chest, an index finger sprouted out a sky-bound, closed fist, resemblant of a certain pen they used to fabricate.
“Face the leftmost wall,” the chaperon ordered, and the crowd moved as one.
Stripes of reflecting light diminished as one of the walls were traded out for a see-through barrier. Lines of seated guests swallowed the uncovered viewing room’s space, many inside thrice their age.
Val’s eyes sifted the assemblage of spectators, spotting up to five chevrons stitched into their shoulders, collars, or neckties. She wasn’t alone in sucking a breath, crushed by the near-palpable air of her superiors.
Placed in the foremost row with the best of them, Winsford offered a dazzling smile that put his white hair to shame. An instinctive impulse passed through the young scholars, and their limbs swiveled into alike positions as they snapped a mage’s bow to the onlookers.
“Welcome, High Mages and Crafters.” Lesedi joined his escortees in bowing to the distinguished audience “The faces you lay your sights on are the artificers to survive the first two rounds. Artificers that, if not for the laws in place, could have been climbing for Journeymen. Or, dare I say, Meister. Now, these rules—they seem obstructive, correct?”
Val had to stifle the urge to give a fervent nod, the mystery taking turns in her mind to swirl around, and scramble her sureties.
“The answer lies in the history books several of us dread to open,” he said. “There you’d find the incredible numbers of lives saved, of days preserved through the might of enchantments.
“However many days we salvaged and lives we rescued, though, were lost in morality. Thousands of kids younger than you were conscripted to produce goods during these hard years, hundreds losing the flame of creativity, and others the joy of youth.
“No longer will Ciazel nip budding artificers for accelerated resources. It’s wrong, and it didn’t help in centuries past,” he said as almost a… warning to the audience. Were there people operating in dark alleys, conducting authentic apprenticeships for underaged teenagers?
Val couldn’t contemplate the controversial suggestion, rigid as Lesedi turned to stare the participants down. “Oftentimes, grievances are held by younguns, and we are implored to relay this message: the laws inputted to illegalize training before the age of sixteen was to protect you, should such times befall the country.
“So, apprentices,” he said, “let the last of this competition be one to remember.”
The veils disintegrated into snow-like particles, melting into nothingness and leaving cerulean squares behind. They cut a crisp checkered pattern across the once-smooth flooring, with exactly 103 available for the participants.
“Enchanters,” Lesedi began, “proceed to enter the kyanite squares.”
Similar to the hours earlier in the day, there was an extended second of hesitation. This time around, not a soul left it to the Jin Clan to assume the lead, the expectation oozing out of the spectators an ample source of compulsion. Walking inside a square within reach, Val confided in Winsford’s even-tempered countenance from where he rested in the viewing room, drawing a sense of foundation in the familiarity.
“The gemstone you stand on splits into four smaller versions of themselves,” Lesedi paced in the aisles available within sectioned areas. “Each round, you are to detect which of them either possesses the greatest aether, or the least. You’ll receive guidance as we set you off. We will withdraw as you advance into the levels.”
Chills took a hold of her, zipping to her toes and back to her brow. Her performance in the competition, and possibly her future, banked on this final and ultimate round. Here goes.
“Activate.”
Lesedi’s voice sounded far away, like a movie played in the background during menial chores.
As the padding of Val’s boot worked to nullify the thrumming material, an incandescent line bisected the kyanite into quadrants. The ivory particles of the veils reappeared in the meantime, condensing into solid letters above her eyeline.
‘Round 1’
Val’s neck tilted upwards to comprehend the words, taken aback as it returned to oblivion in a matter of two blinks. It was like Elemental Saints of Air and Light worked together hand in hand, the former blowing the letters goodbye, and the latter receiving her offspring before the world could tarnish it.
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A surge of aether restored interest in her feet, invisible to the naked eye. It permeated the entire kyanite ground, the essence concrete-like in the lower-right miniature square. Such solid energy.
“Position yourselves on the quadrant carrying the most aether.”
Lesedi’s voice yanked Val out of her wonder, and she found an ‘up arrow’ hovering in a fixed place for declarations. She scooched a step down, the scholars beside her embarking on the same journey.
As activity settled and people grew confident in their choices, Lesedi gestured to the clear glass, setting their decision in stone. The evanescent particles united to form a bright, vibrant checkmark over Val’s kyanite square, showering her with a relieving green light. Taking on a viridescent hue, the metallic ground caught identical glares from pads across the facility.
This is looking like another long test. Val exhaled as she observed no failures, buckling in for the long haul.
She couldn’t have been more wrong. Round 2 came with the viciousness of a cranky teacher, weaving a back-handed trick into an otherwise effortless prompt.
One quadrant vibrated with such a zeal, it screamed to the enchanters like no tomorrow. At the first check-over, its prominence would be above board, indistinguishable from the round prior.
That was where things grew ominous.
The competition dished out its quota of freebies in the previous tests—the fact that no one departed due to the exams said as much. Glancing at the Kidraan’s walking stature, she bided her time for verbal confirmation.
Sniggering scraped her focus, originating from the surrounding pods. It wasn’t a lie to say it irked her, but she’d dealt with this repeatedly in the comforting lobbies of Hall of Eons. Winsford liked to conduct his pop quizzes in public, gifting her the tools to shut out the excess noise.
That old man thinks too far ahead, she thought, refocusing on the tight-lipped chaperon. A realization struck her, like a sudden burst of musical inspiration. Technically, Round 2 existed as an “advancement” of Round 1, meaning Lesedi’s choice to abstain from guidance wasn’t an additional flare for the audience.
No, it signified that he already withdrew. That’s crafty.
Thrown into the deep of things, details required an extra level of vigilance. Activating Vague View, the quadrant in the top-left corner blinded her, and her head recoiled backwards at the brightness. Pushing through the slight pain, she attempted to appraise the workings that lay beneath.
The top-left piece accommodated a bulging vein, aflow with energy. Its lower counterpart, though containing subservient prominence, shined in the sheer amount of pathways streaking its blue face. Junctions abounded with aether, stopping just above the total ASC of the top-left. Or was it lower?
She cordoned the doubting voice with the decisiveness of a blade and took an assertive step backwards. Committed to her answer, she nodded at Lesedi, and he bobbed his head to the viewing room. No going back now.
“I knew it,” one of Morning’s Honour commented, the Saradonian. “Her first exam was a flu—”
He failed to continue his words, bathed in red as a huge ‘X’ crowned his head. He wasn’t alone, a replica shining over seventy others.
“Our first eliminations,” Lesedi announced. “Miserable times, and yet a great opportunity to instruct. Those who are no longer in the running, please take a seat.”
“But—!” someone tried to protest.
“You lost the right to ask questions a few minutes ago,” Lesedi said. “Meditate, and wait until the third test wraps up for any concerns.”
Reluctance hung in the air, indignant frustrations marking various faces in the room. A knockout in the second round dissipated the opportunity to take a stab at the top ten standings. It was two decisions too late to change the outcome, though, leaving them to resolve into the lotus position on the gemstone’s face.
‘Round 3’
On the brink of searching for the square’s dominant quadrant, a downward arrow shifted into position, halting her actions. The prompt switched from the rounds prior, requesting her to identify the least abundant of the four sections.
Val wanted to proceed with extreme caution, to decipher the ploy within the device.
Unfortunately, life liked to have its own plans.
‘Tick, tick, tick, tick…’
An incessant click pulled her eyes to the center of the room to discover a holographic clock. Its hands spun onwards, a flood of black in its wake as it aimed to swallow the remaining chunk of white light.
Of time.
Undecided between the upper half of the square, Val strained her arcane gaze until it existed as a fine tip. A maze of subtle touches and schemes aimed to confuse her, but she managed to decrypt the mess and stride to her spot.
‘Trrrrrng!’
The timer ran its course, killing the hopes of seventeen enchanters in a flash. Green light identified the fifteen participants holding on for dear life, and red those who received the axe. Amid her observation, Val met the bewitching eyes of the Jin Clan’s affiliate, her lips stretching to the far ends of her cheeks.
Val couldn’t help but shoot an excited smile in return.
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Winsford couldn’t deny it any longer. He was grinning like a fool, heedless of the numerous rules he broke by the display of glee, and he could not bother to care.
Valory had done it.
Born in the trenches of the Second Halo, hauled to a high-end city to keep her mother alive, and intent on hunting the cure in the First Halo, the girl didn’t come to solely participate—she came to perform. Witnessing his student awe the old-timers in his company, her perception took a shine to the detection appraisals set inside the gemstone. She won’t be my student for long, that much is apparent.
Freed of her ailment, she had imparted her worries to him, ones about losing her sharp edge. Confronting death in the many loose tunnels of the Dark Mineshaft, and previously Ashless Forest, she’d grown wary of her situational judgement.
Indeed, her sole method of perceiving the world as an unbound disappeared once her ASC climbed, the occurrence mitigating the disparity waging within. However, it opened opportunities to let her silver PAST shine in the diverse ways remaining.
And heavens, did she shine.
Once Round 5 reared its head around, the competition began to slim by the twos. A glaring red would drown them in defeat, bereft of any choice except to accept their circumstances. Ten rounds later, the nest’s been shaken well enough to allow only the best of the best to remain.
Three participants seemed to be particularly versed in detecting aether lines, and the difference among the trio was almost uncanny. To the far left, a lowborn rising star dissected the ever-changing puzzle, attracting the eyes of Winsford’s peers. Like Valory, he was of Desni descent, glistening sweat beaded his bronze skin, his burnt-brown hair tied into a loose mane above.
In comparison, Valory was the picture of an unmovable mountain. Although confined by identical alarm clocks, it seemed like she possessed more time. Her actions flowed with a sense of ease, and Winsford shook his head. There’s no doubt she’s second-guessing her every move.
Then, there stood the prodigy from the Jin Clan, claimed by the faction at birth due to an unknown variable—a mystery. The girl herself looked to be Zingese-Auricean, light-brown hair cascading over her midnight-black irises, a chilling grin spread wide across her face.
Winsford could appreciate the diversity, as it displaced the highborn-superiority assumption.
Or, at least, it did.
Struggling as he might, the lowborn succumbed to Round 17, a cunning level that wove overfilled junctions into every quadrant. Only the keen could detect the single section that was off-target by the smallest margin. Thereupon, the actual show began, the pair dancing across the kyanite squares as they moved based on split-second judgement.
‘Tick, tick, tick, trrrrng!’
Four seconds—rounds in the twenties permitted four seconds to the enchanters, raising the bar by miles. Bodies in the audience surged forward, one adventurous idea slashing through their minds as their sights affixed to Valory’s calm stature.
Would Valory bring about an upheaval—could she decrown the Jin Clan?
As if the saints had enough of Valory’s good fortune, they pulled the plug on her graceful display. The lapis-blue glow in her green irises vanished, and her eyes widened long before defeat laughed in her face in full.
There was a resounding groan in the spectators. “Aw crap,” a Meister muttered, voicing the thoughts of many.
Her AV was as dry as the Glass Dunes.
Without the aid of the sensory Aetherial Art, Valory could only guess Round 25’s solution. Her estimate sprung forth a quick resolution, startling the assembly of enchanters—those watching and the participants—out of their shared daze.
One girl lingered in the green luster, alive and zestful, and the other in a damning maroon, stunned and let down. Winsford filed out alongside his colleagues, offhandedly accepting the congratulations thrown at his face. With the gentleness of a warm spring breeze, he planted a palm on his student’s shoulder. Jolting at his touch, she found his softening expression as he spoke words no truer than minutes before. “Valory. You did it.”
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The disappointment of losing the detection test didn’t harbour in Val's gut for long. Anxiety was a bully of an emotion, shoving the mixture of excitement and anticipation to the distant corners of her thoughts.
Val didn’t care to check her surroundings, nor to ignore the ostentatious attempts to become chums. Tunnel vision pinned on the stage, a host sauntered to the stage’s center and cleared his throat. The halo-shaped microphone screeched at his tap, and he grimaced as he opened the letter tucked safely away inside his suit’s pocket.
His eyes enlarged to the size of plates, and a stress-induced cramp took a hold of Val as he cracked his lips open.
“Visitors, teachers, masters of the crafting arts, and poachers of talent—yes, you aren’t as sneaky as you think. We know you’re in the crowd this afternoon.”
He drew laughs from the invited audience, and threefold the number of muttered complaints in the participant’s section.
“I'm of the opinion that there truly is never a dull moment as an enchanter, and this—” he waved the piece of paper “—proves it. As I’m sure you’re all dying to know, the awarding ceremony commences with this Rookie Competition’s top ten runescribes, an announcement that will leave you surprised!”
“Oh saints,” an enchanter muttered up ahead. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”
You and me both, buddy, Val thought. You and me both.