The Second Halo of Ciazel,

Wyn,

Vexal Elementary School

Waiting, Val learned at the ripe old age of twelve, was nothing if not boring.

Gnawing the inner lining of her cheeks, her foot tapped a hole through the plywood floor as she willed the grand clock to do its rounds. No matter what she wished for, the clock affixed to Vexel Prep’s slate brick wall ticked by the minute, dragging on the electric lull preceding the start of Deduction Day.

Families trickled in, most composed of a child sandwiched by two parents possibly more nervous than the children being tested, stunned at the absence of seats.

Spaces between cliques disappeared as the crowd grew in chattering spectators, scouts searching for promising prospects—clipboard and notepads an easy telltale—and her peers of unidentified children.

Arms crossed over her torso in an action closer to a self-hug than a stance of impassiveness, Val lingered a few feet from the lower tiers of the full stands, far too hyper—not nervous—to remain seated. Hard to when her life’s entire trajectory would be decided by a duo of tests she had no say in. Not a test she could study for, a spar she could train for, nor an exam she could ripe up should the results come out horrid.

Most eyes were trained on a vertical, thermometer-like instrument situated perpendicularly to the polished gym floor, taller than Val could ever be. Instead of numbers donning the edges of the device, glass orbs bisected it down the middle.

The Identifier gleamed in the light as if it knew it held the fate of appraising a child’s talent, Identification Strain, and pretty much one’s entire future. The idea sat within Val as well as a steel bar in water. Could it not malfunction? Work improperly? Be inaccurate? Even if it only conducted one of the two tests taking place today, both were in no way unequal.

Val clicked her tongue at the thought, dragging herself through the gathering crowd, up the aisles, shuffled down the benches with more than a few mentions of ‘excuse me’ and finally sat with a much-deserved sigh.

One of the nearby students cocked her head, a wry smirk spreading across their face. “And I thought I’m the strung up one.”

Val’s gaze veered to the left, skipping the sleeping form of her two brothers and meeting the almond-brown eyes of a girl her age. “I think today’s anxiety is enough to make anyone strung up.”

“No lie there, and it doesn’t help that we’ve been waiting here for two whole hours.” Caro held up a couple of fingers for emphasis. “Two. Like, it’s only my career as a mage that’s waiting, no biggie. I swear, if the Tripartite Trial is like this imma just take my cash back and—Val?”

Caro’s rant cut off as her eyes—rolled up towards Vexal Prep’s concrete ceiling in exasperation—descended to behold her best friend’s gaze goring a hole in the adjacent empty seat. A reserved seat that—as of Monomber 29th—will never be filled by either of her parents, according to current knowledge.

However, her mother was still savable, regardless of what the internet had to say about her condition. Afterall, in a world where humans could level mountains with their words alone, how bizarre would it be for Mom to awake from her neverending slumber?

Once she found a hint of a direction—and she will find it—Val planned on staying on that path till she arrived at her goal no matter the hurdles.

“Sorry.” Val blinked out of her reverie, tugging at the collar that seemed tighter all of a sudden.

Caro caught her look, looping an arm around Val’s neck. “You have nothing to be sorry about, V. Nothing, you hear?”

The light crystals hanging from the ceilings dimmed before Val had the chance to answer, the once clear visage of the vast gymnasium now a faint shadow Val needed to squint to perceive. An ensemble of nebulous, cloaked figures emerged from the depths of Vexal Prep’s hallways and lined themselves in parallel formation, creating a barrier of bodies leading up to the Identifier. As they raised their bowed heads, the transparent glow emanating from their eyes lit the way.

‘Let us commence.’

A hush chorus of whispered words slithered into Val’s ears, coming from everywhere and nowhere. She straightened in her seat, a faint twinkle in her eyes.

In the same ghost-like manner, the ensemble spoke in a unified voice. ‘When called, step forth. We begin with Owen Wolfhart.’

Owen, a gaunt boy who struggled to fit his clothes, rose within a cluster of yellow and black. Val recognized the uniform in an instant. Suncrest High’s up first, huh.

Three stands away, Val could see his chest rise and fall with each heave, somewhere in the middle of hyperventilating and gulping air. With a nod probably directed towards none other than himself and a few claps on his back given by his fellow classmates, he trod with uneven steps down the stairs. Gazes marked his hunched back, the boy glancing both ways round as he walked the lane to the Identifier, looking as if lost in a store with bodies as walls and eyes for windows.

"What do I do now?"

His voice came out with more air than sound, yet it travelled across the silent gymnasium with no effort. All focus was given to the event occurring. A cloaked figure stepped out of line, pulling out a hidden lever from behind the Identifier. A knob covered in lines of glowing runes hovered in front of Owen, dying his sun-coloured dress shirt in lapis-blue.

‘Touch the handle.’

Val winced as multiple voices penetrated her skull. Less so a voice and more of a feeling she interpreted, like when someone grimaces after biting down on a popsicle. You didn’t need a spell to understand the sharp pain jutting through their sensitive teeth. You just knew. Downright freaky for sure.

Owen, oblivious to Val's dilemma, gripped the enchanted device. A harmonious pair of base-tone chimes resounded as the lowermost orb took on an ebony pitch. Another chime went off—higher pitched—the next orb lighting up with grey, followed by the third exuberating white. The progression ceased there, the remaining orbs still dull.

“Damn.” Caro shook her head. “An aether strand count of thirty. Way below average.”

“Still something,” Val said. The orbs affixed to the Identifier measured one’s ASC, each colour designating the aether strands present within a child’s Aetherial Vessel. Ebony for ten, grey for twenty, and the order climbed by the tens like so, the next colours being ivory, red, orange—the average initial ASC across the world—yellow, green, indigo, blue, and lastly, the cap of violet.

Violet was one whole hundred, an ASC otherwise unseen. Rumour was, it existed to round up the real cap of the nineties to a sound, even number.

“If his PAST is somewhere in the high bronze, his career is still salvageable,” a teacher remarked three rows above. He sat in a group of fifteen casually dressed teachers—dress shirts, blazers, slacks and the like—whispering to each other not unlike a group of teenage girls.

“Salvageable?” Another scoffed. “More like impossible.”

“Not if he trains while sleeping.”

Laughter rumbled out from the teachers, and anxiety in the form of butterflies dancing in her stomach set in for Val. One’s Position on the Aether Spectrum of Talent was essential, along with it being the second aspect tested today. As the title suggested, it related a person’s innate ability in various scopes of magic and unlike one’s initial aether strand count, it did not change.

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Owen traded places with a girl. She gripped the Identifier and in quick succession seven chimes went off, the orbs lighting up all the way to green.

An excited buzz took over the crowd, scouts immediately whipping out their phones to type the name of the young talent.

“By the saints,” Val muttered in awe. “She’s got seventy aether strands. Seventy.”

“Twice that of Owen’s,” Caro said, as if to clarify the anomaly. Her eyes trailed the girl as she strutted back into where Suncrest High sat. “Someone to look for depending on which Elemental Gate she binds to if she manages to pass the Tripartite Trial.”

“No doubt,” Val answered, watching the next person go up after being announced by the ensemble.

Be it the push of anticipation keeping her at the edge of her seat, the tendrils of excitement that tugged her eyelids awake, or the weight of nerves that somehow deadened all emotions, time seemed to flow at an oddly—and annoyingly—swift pace.

Perhaps by some magic from an obscured magister in the crowd, the student beside Caro was set to go ahead in what seemed to be the very next moment after Owen’s turn. He earned a dull yellow. Sixty aether strands, quite impressive for the twelve-year-old and he likely knew it, a grin reaching his ears as he waltzed back to his seat.

A grin both Val and Caro did not share with their fellow student, as his sitting spelled Caro’s turn.

Caro looked at Val, painted nails centimetres deep within the plush armrest, her fingers hoping to pin down what could only be fear.

‘Carielle Hayes.’

The pair of girls took a sharp inhale at the chorus of voices in their heads.

Val gave Caro’s thigh a pat of encouragement, tilting her head to the waiting crowd, students, friends, and the gleaming Identifier.

Caro offered a shaky grin and leapt to her feet, starting her journey down the steps. She threw a glance back at Val, whose lips quirked upwards at the edges, and grabbed the lever.

The Identifier tolled once and once only, the bass-tone peal sounding out fully before any other chime could join in.

Ebony.

“No,” Val muttered, shaking her head unknowingly. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

A snicker broke out from one of the amphitheaters. “A typic. Would hate to be her.”

Typic, born from the word typical, meant no different than its progenitor. To be a typic was to be a tiny pebble living among rocks, boulders, hills and nature-made structures like the Alfine Summits. It was to be without the ability to ever engage in any sort of magic, regardless of race or background, social status or an absence of one, and family lineage or work position.

In the same vein, regardless of any of those things, it was to be shamed. Ridiculed. Pitied.

“Don’t you know?” A student whispered to another in Vexal’s very own stand. “It runs in her family. That Owen alone has more aether strands than the lot of them. Whole bunch of bottom feeders.”

Val shot the gossipers a glare, gave her wide-awake brothers the instruction to not budge an inch with her eyes alone, and bolted down the stairs. Pushing her way against the current of whispering bodies, Val broke the crowd-line to spot Caro absolutely frozen in place.

Colour drained from her light-brown face as she wobbled a few steps back. A cloaked figure stepped out of line behind her, barring her exit.

‘It is not finished.’

Val blinked back surprise. Caro didn’t have any of it. “I ain’t staying here a second more!”

‘It is not finished.’

The ensemble repeated themselves, all pointing to the lever in an eerily unified motion.

‘Touch the handle.’

“Wait…” Val muttered. Could there be more to the test?

Caro, as fiery as she was, stilled her vexation at the directive commanded by the government-sanctioned group of testers. She huffed and stomped back to the device, hands grazing the knob—

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!

In what must’ve been a second, six orbs lit up straight to yellow—and it didn’t stop there. In fact, it breached the fabled violet, all ten crystals bathing Caro and the ensemble in a rainbow-like radiance before Caro jumped back, tripping over her feet and landing on her bottom.

As if in an enhanced gravity field array, Caro’s head turned ever so slowly to Val’s, the girls gaping unashamedly.

Then, they broke out into silly grins.

A tumultuous wave of uproar flowed throughout the spectators like a point had been scored in the sport of Aether Zone, most rising from their seats to catch a closer glimpse of the girl who’d most definitely rise to fame and power. Val winced as she was bombarded with noise, silenced as the ensemble spoke once more.

‘Valory Efron.’

Val’s blood ran cold as her half-wince, half-smile hardened to a straight line. Caro skipped—not walking, but skipping as if she was on the wrong prescribed potion—to Val, squeezing her in a hug and tugging her towards the Identifier by the hand.

Val didn’t move.

“V.” Caro chuckled. “What’s there to be nervous about? Both your parents were mages, good ones too. You’ll do fine, alright?”

“Right.” Val tried to smile, hoping it would calm her down as she attempted it. “Right, everything will be fine.”

“Exactly.” Caro laughed this time, giving her a gentle shove on the back as she was absorbed by the fawning crowd. “Back up! I can hardly get to my seat with all this—hey, you piece of shit, what part of back up do you not understand?”

“Language, Miss Hayes!”

“Sorry!” Caro exaggeratedly rolled her eyes at one of the teachers’ shout, eliciting a smile out of Val.

‘Silence.’

A call for quiet was inquired by the ensemble, giving Val little reprieve as she stood in front of the Identifier. She drowned out the presence of bodies twice her height and ignored the hum of stifled chatter persisting even after being hushed, focusing on her breathing. In. Hold. Out.

Val prayed to whatever Elemental Saint that was listening from above right now for orange. She was far from religious, figuring the once-believed origins of elemental magic were made up for a good way to swear and nothing else. Nothing too crazy. Please, just not ebony.

Prayers made and focus forged, Val went ahead and grabbed hold of the enchanted knob.

Val gasped as needles and pins erupted throughout her body, like a thousand minuscule ants forming under her skin and taking a simultaneous vicious bite. A headache hammered her head, her olive-brown complexion blanching as collapsed onto one knee.

A part of her being opened up at her sternum, unveiling the faculty of her brain aware of her Aetherial Vessel. She never heard of the process hurting so much. Was it supposed to hurt this much? She wanted it to stop. She yearned for it to stop.

Doubling over on her knees, Val's breaths came out ragged as she focused on anything other than the agony ripping through her.

A hand found her shoulder. Though her vision swam and dark spots appeared in sporadic fashion, she was able to discern the gaze of a woman part of the ensemble as she looked up, her eyes not full of concern for Val, but instead swimming with an emotion Val was certain she had enough of.

Pity.

What happened? Val wanted to ask. No words left her constricting throat, which was fine. A scream probably would’ve come out instead.

Deciding to look for herself, the agony faded to the far background as she beheld the sight of nine dim orbs. Only one shone, if you could call it a light, spilling ebony onto Val’s twisted face, distorting it further.

“What…” Val managed to get out, the rest of her mind blank. From the pain or the shock of being a typic, her mind wasn’t able to tell.

The world blurred as tears burned her eyes, her surroundings morphing into a collage of colours. The brown of the floor, the blue of the enchantments, and, what was probably a figment of her imagination, grey.

“Perhaps…” one of the ensemble began in a normal voice. “We’ll spare you from taking your next test right now and conduct it in a few hours. Someone will call for you when the time comes. Go on, gather yourself outside.”

“Couldn’t be worse than being a typic,” Val mumbled, unable to hold in a whimper at the anguish wracking her body.

“Good thing you’re not, then.”

Val's head snapped towards the Identifier at that, wiping her tears and enforcing her eyes to operate past the pain. She didn’t imagine the grey—it was there, on the bottom half, lighting up only a tenth of the orb.

“Not ten, eleven,” Val mumbled, letting it sink. “Eleven… ha.”

She didn’t know what was worse; being barred from the possibility of a life as a mage or having a magical aptitude so terrible it wasn’t any different. She couldn’t even bank on the second test redeeming her, the odds of it balancing the scale in her favour near-impossible.

Maybe it’d go better another day?

As Val faced the leering crowd and the angry visage of Caro glaring at the Identifier as if it were to blame for Val’s fate, she determined one thing.

Her path as a mage ended before it ever had a chance to start.