“Val, over here!”
A stage whisper cut across the heavy-set anxiety of the gymnasium-sized room, its volume cringeworthy in the silence amidst the two hundred participants inside.
Caro beamed at Val’s entrance, a stark difference from the darkening faces of those filling out the numerous pull-out chairs. Who are they waiting for? Val wondered, setting herself to a brisk pace to the very back, where her friend waved her over.
“Cutting it close there.” Caro jabbed a thumb at an enchanted clock, runic light hardening into rock-solid digits. “It’s 11:56.”
“Didn’t realize finding this place would be such a chore,” Val sighed.
Caro smirked. “You just gotta cut it close for everything, don’t you.”
“At least the food I make is edible,” Val replied, memories of one too many parties gone wrong. Someway, somehow, Caro always managed to sneak in her handmade treats. Empty seats filled the classes the next day, the majority calling in absent in wake of stomach trouble.
“Low blow, Lore," Caro said, a forlorn palm on her chest. "Low blow.”
She patted her friend’s shoulder. “You’ll survive.”
The terse ching of a door closing wrenched the necks of the participants in a sharp direction. Val shifted in her seat, green eyes following a woman dressed in black military fatigues, a megaphone near her lips.
“New additions, very nice.” Her gaze roamed the vicinity as she addressed the waiting youths. “I’m Corporal Wren of the armed forces and it’d be in your best interest to listen to my next instructions.”
She unfurled a lengthy sheet of paper and cleared her throat. “Would the following people accompany me? Grid Forn. Jaiden Jessabel. Elena—”
“What’s going on?” Val asked, watching as people in various areas rose and lined up behind the corporal.
Caro fiddled with her blouse’s collar. “No one knows. I’ve tried asking around, but…”
“No luck?” Val inferred.
Caro shook her head. “Nothing. I mean shit, it’s gotta be the second test, right? Where else could they be taking us?”
Val let the question hang in the air. Corporal Wren nodded at the twenty-something participants gathered at her feet and, like a centipede, the group curved towards the exit without another word.
“The sequence is random,” Val noticed. “Seating order doesn’t seem to be a determining factor of who’s grouped with who.”
“Let’s hope we stick together either way,” Caro said,
The question was… did they want to be called? Was that a way of assuring one’s passage to the next trial or was it a sign of failure instead? Val remained undecided but awaited the announcement of her name nonetheless.
Her performance today decided her mother’s well-being. She couldn’t stop here. I won’t.
The return of the megaphone was announced by a screech like the sound of nails on a blackboard. “Alright people, you know the drill. Kane Fazron. Kelly Brook. Carielle Hayes…”
All faded into the background at the calling of her friend. Val reached out and clenched Caro’s trembling fingers. “Remember what you always tell me about gaming?”
“What, that you suck at it?”
Val’s lips twitched. “Caro.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Caro grinned. “It’s all about the mental game. Once you lose your cool, you’re done for.”
Val nodded. “Don’t let anything get to you. You go in there, you keep your calm, you assess the situation, and you work at it.”
“Right,” Caro breathed out. Together they listened to the names called, none of them being Val’s by the end.
Smiling, Val gestured towards the waiting corporal. “Off you go now. I don’t think she’s keen on tardiness.”
“Boy am I glad I’m not you,” Caro quipped. Squeezing her hand one last time, Caro rose and stalked away, her ponytail of crimson hair bobbing along with each rigid step.
It was weird.
Caro was the more confident of their little group of two, taking everything in stride. From always being the aggressor within spars to being there for Val when she was going through the worst of it.
Yet now, one would have a hard time distinguishing her from a stiff piece of cardboard. The look didn’t fit with the Caro she knew, someone who thrived under pressure. As Caro turned the corner near the head of the line, though, she glanced at Val with a smile full of trepidation, anxiety—and if she saw correctly—excitement?
Val cracked a smile. I should’ve known.
Corporal Wren continued to reappear, call twenty names, and pop right back out in fifteen-minute intervals. Val kept an eye on the people biting their nails, tapping their feet, or constantly fidgeting in some shape or form. She couldn’t blame their incessant squirming.
It was nerve-wracking.
To sit and wait for something you’re not quite positive you want to happen was no different than someone revealing the podium winners from the third place up. On a level, it seemed as if they purposely moulded this segment of the trial in such a way, like the blank papers of the preceding exam. Sneaky.
The door clicked shut, and the familiar sound of a lone pair of footsteps marching to the front of their room raised the fifty heads of the youths remaining.
The corporal plucked the brimmed hat crowning her head and tucked it beneath an elbow, stature rigid. “For those whose names aren’t called, your journey doesn’t end here. As long as you’re under twenty-five, I’m letting you know that you do have another chance to try again next year.”
Val’s back felt lighter for a moment, relief coursing through her veins. Her words meant Caro was well on her way to the second trial and the knowledge sliced the invisible pressure weighing on her shoulders by half.
Now, it was time to hear her own verdict.
The corporal continued. “Can the following people line up behind me? Valory Efron. Mack River. Steph—”
By the saints. Val let go of a deep sigh. She did it.
She passed.
Straightening her blouse, she moved to fill in her spot behind Corporal Wren as one of the ten called. The corporal didn't adress the eliminated youths once as their group left the waiting room.
She led them through the maze-like hallways, the length of the stroll bordering on five minutes. Heavens, this place is huge.
Arriving in front of a fiberglass door, the corporal faced the lost ducklings ambling after her. “Here you are. One of you enters at a time—and this shouldn’t take more than ten minutes for this group. I trust you’ll follow instructions instead of risking disqualification, so don’t do anything stupid while I run a few errands.” Corporal Wren’s eyes latched onto Val’s frame. “You’re up.”
Val went ahead and rotated the metal handle, the door creaking open a crack. A bespectacled woman clad in a lab coat spun her office chair around. “Efron?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” The woman gestured to a plush, bear-shaped chair beside her. “Sit, I need you to confirm a few things for me.”
She sunk into the soft fabric, closing her eyes and appreciating the comfort. Kenny would love this, even if he would never admit it. The keyboard linked to the black desktop clacked in protest as the woman’s finger walked all over it. “Take a look.”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Not willing to arise from the snug seat just yet, Val stretched her neck to see.
Valory Efron
Aether Strand Count: 11
Aetherial Vessel: Raw
Identification Strain: Unbound
Element(s): N/A
Rank: N/A
Position on the Aether Spectrum of Talent (PAST): TBD
Age: 16
Height: 5’6
Past/Current Institutes: Vexal Preparatory School, Vexal Elementary School
Guild Affiliation: None
Crafting Hall Affiliation: None
Status: Citizen
“Anything out of place?”
Taking one last look, Val began to shake her slowly for an answer. While her ASC was no less pathetic, the rest looked accurate. “The status of my PAST as well as the raw besides Aetherial Vessel has me curious.”
The woman pushed her circular glasses back up the bridge of her nose with a finger. “We’re testing your PAST shortly, so that’ll solve itself. And don’t worry about the ‘raw’ aspect, you’ll know what that means if you pass.”
If I pass. Val pursed her lips at the implicit jab, swallowing down her reply. Anxiety sat in her gut, deep and heavy, at the announcement regarding her PAST. The aptitude results might thwart her near-unsalvageable career.
Or it might save it.
The woman busied herself by roaming the room for various objects, settling down with a metal square frame in hand, the center hollow. “First, we need to make sure you truly are Valory Efron.”
Val raised an eyebrow. “I thought you guys already identified me back when I first entered.”
“For the most part,” she concurred, prying her desk drawer open. “Any experienced illusion or mind mage could do the same, however.”
She grabbed a metallic pad and slid it over to Val, the sheen blinding her as it passed under the light sphere above. “They cannot fake the distinct nature of the aether within you, thankfully. Touch the device, please.”
Val did as told. “Isn’t all aether the same?”
“Look at it this way. If letters came across as identical, the stamp in the corners tells the receiver where it’s from. We imprint all the aether that lives and passes through us by virtue of our soul signature. That stamp is what I’m looking for and… great! Glad to be talking to the real Efron.”
“I’m glad too?”
“Yes, you are. Any indication otherwise and you incur the wrath of some of the most powerful mages.”
Val gulped. That was a fate she wanted to stay far away from.
“Let’s move on.” The woman held the square frame she seized earlier up to the left of her face. “Once I activate it, tell me exactly what you see—or in a more accurate term—sense.”
At Val’s go-ahead, a pale blue filled the square’s hollow core, tinting the woman’s face a sickly colour. The gel-like material fluctuated and bubbled.
A cityscape came into view. Wheeless cars zoomed about in the still depiction of a metropolis. Quite peculiarly, the city had no occupants besides one lone lady holding an umbrella. Why the random umbrella?
Val squinted and the little speckles decorating the piece sharpened, as if clearer. Was that rain?
“Where are you?” The woman asked.
She tried to pinpoint an object able to distinguish the surroundings—banners, signs, anything. Plenty hung over various shops and centers, but she found it difficult to discern. “In a city of sorts. Probably in the First Halo.”
“Could you specify? A name of the city, for example?”
Val shook her head. Though visible, the text appeared faint and blurry, like it was covered by a hazy pane.
Retrieving a notepad out of her white coat, she scribbled down on it. “Why in the First Halo?”
“The cars,” Val said. “Practically everyone is using anti-gravity enchantments, more than midborn like us can afford. Those living within the city must be well-off and, as they say, the First Halo is the richest of the three.”
“Indeed.” She jotted her findings, whatever they were. “And the weather? Is it nice out?”
“I thought it was at first…” Val bit the bottom of her lip. Should she continue? Maybe the rain was her imagination. It could be her eyes too. Caro always complained she needed glasses whenever she squinted at her homework. The lady did say sense though.
“And?” the woman prodded.
“But it’s raining out. Even weirder, there’s only one person in the whole city.”
The woman whistled and continued to write on her notepad. “Last question. Is it night or day?”
Night or day? Val hadn’t thought of that. Looking at the blue, wavy picture, she couldn’t tell. There wasn’t a sun in the sky, nor a moon or any stars. “I don’t know.”
“Honesty is a good trait to have, young lady.” The woman typed on the keyboard. “It was a trick question. It makes your other answers have more weight, even if lying rarely goes in the favour of those tested.”
Typing one last word, she whirled around. “Want to see?”
At Val’s nod, the lady rotated the screen of the desktop her way.
Valory Efron
Aether Strand Count: 11
Aetherial Vessel: Raw
Identification Strain: Unbound
Element(s): N/A
Rank: N/A
Position on the Aether Spectrum of Talent: Silver (High)
Age: 16
Height: 5’6
Past/Current Institutes: Vexal Preparatory School, Vexal Elementary School
Guild Affiliation: None
Crafting Hall Affiliation: None
Status: Citizen
“Silver…” Val muttered, breath hitching.
The assessment knocked around Val’s head a few times, each instance making it harder to assimilate. Silver.
Her eyes alive with enthusiasm, the woman adjusted her glasses once more. “Silver is spectacular! And you’re on the higher end, almost a gold!”
The woman’s energy was infectious, and Val found herself chuckling. “Almost gold!”
“Hold your spell, though.” The lady crouched low. “While this is good news, I need to inform you of the rest. Your ASC of eleven barely marks you as unbound and most in the elemental world will still see you as a typic regardless. Many view even thirty aether strands to be peasant-like. ”
Of course they would. The edges of Val’s lips curled downwards. “That seems unfair.”
“Life hardly ever is.” The woman pointed to the unopened, red tabs staining her screen. “Forty participants were sent home today, who’s to say it was their fault?”
Val winced at the retort.
“Fate has its reasons and mine, currently, is to explain your situation, as per my job,” the woman said. “There’s a reason both ASCs and PASTs are held on equal levels and the best way to explain without breaking the Laws is through a painting analogy.”
Val leaned forward in her plush chair. “I’m listening.”
“We treat aether strand counts as the amount of paint an artist has and the depiction they desire to draw, cultivation,” the woman explained. “As such, the more paint you have, the easier it is to create and build, which is why high ASCs are desirable.
“On the other hand, PASTs determine how well a painter can wield a paintbrush, and therefore the paint they possess.” She tapped the mug parked beside her keyboard, focusing on its curve and volume. “Painting speed, elegance, and the ability to add depth are all determined by this aptitude.”
“Unfortunately, if you only have a droplet of paint like me, you can’t build much,” Val muttered.
“That’s where being a silver comes in.” The woman cracked a slight smile. “Cultivation is a marathon, not a sprint and you won endurance instead of speed. It’ll be slow and definitely tedious, but if you keep at it, eventually, you’ll reach a point where a higher PAST is more favourable than a high ASC. ”
The door swung open, revealing a frowning corporal. “I said it’d take ten minutes for group eight and Efron used half of that time alone. Miss Rox, mind explaining yourself?”
“Her PAST was left blank. It’s a quick and easy fix, though it takes some time,” Miss Rox replied.
“Odd,” Corporal Wren murmured. “That should’ve been done four years ago.”
“Exactly. This is as weird as that other case. What was her name again?”
The Corporal leaned against the wall, her arms folded. “Hayes, I believe.”
Val sprung from her seat. “Caro—I mean—Carielle Hayes?”
Corporal Wren nodded apprehensively. “You can ask her for the details yourself." She glanced at Miss Rox. “Anything else?”
After a few more clicks of the mouse, Miss Rox shook her head. “She’s good to go.”
Corporal Wren slinked out the door. “With me, Efron.”
Val lingered in the room, the news about her friend delaying her actions, before following the corporal’s heels. The next youth slipped past her, glaring daggers at her. Used to the rumours whispered about her father alongside the onslaught of unkind name-callings over the years, the hostile behaviour was almost unnoticeable.
Almost.
She couldn’t control the way her head ducked and the fact turned her stomach.
Val spotted the corporal’s turning figure down the hall and chased after it. Corporal Wren seemed like the kind of lady to leave her behind, not caring whatsoever if it resulted in her disqualification. They twisted and turned for the umpteenth time, soon standing in front of a familiar pair of oversized, grand doors. Back to the stadium?
The Corporal tapped her I.D. on a black box affixed to the side and the doors slid open, an abyss-like tunnel on the other end. “We’re running a bit late on time and group seventeen hasn’t started their second test. Since your case took as long as it did, you can join them.”