The academy was overwhelming. Countless towers stretched toward the sky, their spires almost vanishing into the dazzling midday sunlight, like the clouds of an ancient fairytale. The scent of aged stone mixed with a faint hint of magical herbs hung heavy in the air. Conversations echoed like distant whispers through the halls, and the creak of heavy wooden doors sounded like the cracking of tree trunks in a deep winter forest. At the center loomed the grand hall, its gilded dome shining like a fiery sun.

Naethan stopped, tilting his head back slightly, a mixture of awe and nervousness swelling in his chest. This was the academy—the heart of magic, the place where dreams were forged and nightmares born. Every stone seemed to scrutinize him, every tower a silent witness to his doubts. What if I’m not good enough? What if all my effort was for nothing? The dome seemed to whisper back: Are you ready to face the truth?

With heavy steps, he approached the grand hall. A long line of aspirants stretched to the massive doors, each presenting their recommendation letters before being admitted. When Naethan and Finn reached the front, the mage scrutinized their letters, nodded, and allowed them to pass.

The inside of the hall was breathtaking—a testament to magical craftsmanship. Massive columns, smooth as polished marble, supported the dome, their surfaces veined with fine lines that resembled frozen lightning. These were no ordinary columns; they seemed alive, like immense trees whose branches intertwined with the dome to form a magical canopy. On the dome itself was an impressive fresco—a living story depicting the era before the Archmage revolutionized magic, when shamans performed rituals under open skies to appease the gods.

Finn nudged him lightly. “Look ahead,” he murmured, and Naethan tore his gaze away. But what he saw next made him pause.

In the center of the hall rose an altar that looked more like a sacrificial stone than a sanctuary. Dark stone, stained crimson with ancient blood that could never fully be washed away. Time itself seemed unable to cleanse it. How many lives had it consumed? How many occultists had performed their dark rites here?

“Come on,” Finn said quietly, though his voice was tense. “Don’t stare too long. It feels like it stares back.”

On the altar rested a glass orb, streaked with blue veins that pulsed like living lightning in the warm light of a floating miniature sun. Occasionally, small red sparks flared within it, as if concealing a secret Naethan couldn’t grasp. It seemed to breathe—a cold, quiet pulsing that filled the room.

“The Orb of Gorganthia,” Finn whispered reverently. “A relic from ancient times. Since the gods left this world, no one has been able to replicate its craftsmanship.”

He leaned closer to Naethan, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “They say it can peer into your innermost self and reveal your dirtiest secrets. Maybe even those little sins you like to keep hidden.”

Naethan snorted, trying to ignore the unease rising in his chest. “Oh, stop it. What can the orb actually do?”

Finn’s grin faded, his gaze returning to the orb. “No one knows for sure,” he murmured. “Some say it shows a mage’s true potential—what they can achieve in their lifetime.” He hesitated, as if weighing whether to continue. “Others believe it reveals your deepest fear. Your greatest weakness.”

Naethan swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure which was more unsettling: what the orb might reveal—or what it might not.

He and Finn joined the line of aspirants forming in front of the altar. The orb rested in its place, surrounded by an almost tangible aura. A mage in an ornate robe stood nearby, his posture upright, his gaze sharp, monitoring every breath of those present.

When Finn’s turn came, he stepped forward without hesitation. With a confidence Naethan could only admire, Finn placed his hand on the orb. Immediately, the red sparks inside began to pulse—a faint flickering that grew stronger with each passing second. A murmur rippled through the crowd as the lightning within the orb danced like living beings.

Naethan heard sharp intakes of breath, and even the mage stepped back slightly, his eyes wide with amazement. “Incredible…” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Potential of this magnitude…”

Eventually, the orb released Finn, the red glow fading, and the mage regained his composure. With a broad, almost reverent smile, he said, “Accepted! Welcome to the Towers of Valmor, young man.”

Finn nodded curtly and turned, throwing Naethan a triumphant glance. “Your turn,” he said with a wink. “Good luck.”

Naethan felt a knot tighten in his chest as he stepped forward. His heart pounded in an erratic rhythm as he stared at the glowing orb. Had it truly recognized Finn’s potential? Or was something else at play?

Hesitantly, he raised his hand and placed it on the orb’s surface. But instead of a reaction, something unexpected happened: the time crystal in his pocket grew warm, a faint hum filling his awareness, and then… nothing. No flicker, no glow. The orb remained still, as though it didn’t even notice him.

The mage frowned, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Boy, are you carrying a relic?” His voice was sharp and piercing. “It is strictly forbidden for a student of the academy to possess a relic. Did your mentor favor you?”

Naethan’s mouth went dry, his thoughts swirling chaotically. “I, uh… no?” he stammered, his voice nearly cracking. His gaze darted to Finn, but his friend remained calm, as if waiting to see how the situation would unfold.

Naethan could feel every eye on him—a burning, piercing sensation that wrapped around him like a net. The mage, a man with gray hair and an intense stare, scrutinized him sharply. His robe, adorned with golden and silver runes, seemed to shimmer in the orb’s light.

“No excuses, boy!” the mage snapped, his voice as sharp as a knife. “I can sense the resonance of a relic. It’s disrupting the connection to the orb.”

Naethan’s heart pounded in his throat. His hand instinctively moved toward the pocket where the time crystal lay, but Finn suddenly stepped beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe he just has no potential,” Finn said with a casual grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Or maybe he’s just too nervous.”

The crowd began to murmur, and Naethan felt the prick of their gazes, like needles stabbing at him. The mage furrowed his brow and pointed at Naethan.

“This isn’t a question of potential,” he said coldly. “The orb can detect even the faintest trace of magic. Something is blocking the connection. Boy, I’ll have to search you.”

Naethan froze. His mind raced, knowing he had no choice. The mage was clearly powerful, and resisting would be foolish. But Finn spoke again, his voice calm and controlled.

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“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.” Finn stepped between Naethan and the mage. “Maybe he just needs a moment to gather himself. He looks like he’s about to faint.”

The words had a strange effect. The mage hesitated, narrowing his eyes as he studied Finn. Finally, he nodded reluctantly.

“Very well. But only because you vouch for him, young man.” He turned his piercing gaze back to Naethan. “You’ll get a second chance. But if the orb is blocked again, I’ll investigate this personally.”

Naethan nodded hastily as Finn gripped his arm and pulled him away from the orb. Once they were out of earshot, Finn’s relaxed demeanor vanished, and he glared at Naethan.

“What did you do?” he hissed. “What are you carrying?”

“It’s the time crystal,” Naethan whispered, his heart still racing. “It reacted when I touched the orb. I don’t know why.”

“Time crystal?” Finn’s brows knit together, his eyes narrowing in thought. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. But whatever that relic is—it’s clearly bonded to you. There’s a way to shield its presence, but…” He hesitated before continuing. “It’s risky. Are you sure you can feel the crystal?”

Naethan nodded slowly. “Yes… ever since it first broke, I’ve always felt it. It’s like a faint hum that never goes away.”

Finn studied him with a mix of thoughtfulness and hesitation. Finally, he nodded. “All right. Pay attention. There’s a technique I know. You need to imagine pulling mana from your core and wrapping it around the stone like a cloth. Shield it, insulate it. It won’t last long, but it should be enough to trick the orb.”

Naethan frowned. “How… how do you know this?” His voice was wary. “It’s forbidden to teach magic to students outside the academy. Master Alaric told me that over and over—only the Towers of Valmor are allowed. He said the punishment for breaking that rule would be…” He trailed off, the word hanging heavy in the air. “…draconian.”

Finn avoided his gaze, a shadow crossing his face. “That might be true. But sometimes, breaking the rules is the only way to survive.” He gave a crooked smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s just say I have… experiences that gave me this knowledge.”

Naethan wanted to press further, but Finn cut him off with a dismissive wave. “We don’t have time for questions. Just do as I said, or you’ll be exposed.”

Hesitantly, Naethan closed his eyes and focused. The hum of the time crystal was familiar, but reaching for it felt like grasping at something invisible. Finally, he found the spark of mana in his core, a gentle pulse deep within him. Carefully, he drew a small amount of it out, envisioning it wrapping around the stone like a protective layer. It felt strange, almost like an instinct that was only just awakening.

“It’s working,” he murmured at last.

Finn nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now try again.”

With a final deep breath, Naethan stepped back to the orb. His fingers trembled as he placed them on its surface. This time, the orb reacted immediately—red lightning streaked through its core, though it seemed muted, as if striking an unseen barrier.

Then everything changed. The orb’s glow intensified, and Naethan felt a brutal pull. His mana was being drained with an insatiable hunger, faster than he could stop it. His knees buckled, his vision blurred, and a sharp pain tore through his body. He tried to pull his hand away, but it seemed fused to the orb.

Then he heard the mage’s voice. “Ah… as expected. That’s a potential hardly worth mentioning.” His tone was cold, almost indifferent. “You’ll likely never become a full-fledged mage. But the recommendation letter is valid. You are accepted.”

Naethan stumbled back, his hand numb, a sharp ache pounding in his head. Finn was by his side instantly, steadying him as they moved away from the orb.

“You said it would trick the orb,” Naethan whispered, his voice thick with exhaustion and frustration.

Finn shook his head, his tone quiet. “It did. But the orb is more powerful than I anticipated. It looks like it took more than I expected.” He paused, his gaze serious as it locked onto Naethan. “Whatever that stone is—you need to be careful. And don’t talk about it to anyone. Understand?”

Naethan nodded weakly, though questions churned deep within him. Why did Finn know so much? And what was he hiding?

As they joined the other accepted aspirants, the process dragged on. It felt like hours before the final candidate was finished—and rejected.

Naethan pulled another mana shard from his pocket, focusing on replenishing his drained reserves. The process was laborious, feeling like a small battle each time, but slowly his energy returned to his core.

When the shard was finally empty, Naethan looked at the remaining shards in his pouch. There were only enough left for about three weeks—if he used them sparingly. But replenishing his core after the orb test had already consumed a significant portion of his reserves.

The weight of the situation pressed heavily on him. Every shard spent brought him closer to the point where he would run out of resources. And then? He would have to find a way to obtain more—or risk succumbing to the void within his own magic and restarting again before even meeting the Archmage.

The mage stepped before the group of newcomers, his posture stiff, his voice cool but tinged with a hint of approval.

“You should consider yourselves fortunate,” he began, his gaze sweeping over the aspirants. “Last year, less than half of the applicants were admitted. Congratulations. You are now officially members of the Mage Guild. Use this opportunity wisely. Your success will honor not only yourselves but your teachers as well. Do not disappoint us.”

He paused briefly, letting the moment sink in, then gestured toward the door. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your quarters.”

The aspirants followed him silently out of the grand hall. Their footsteps echoed on the stone tiles as they passed through a narrow corridor and eventually emerged into the open. The mage led them to one of the towers on the outer edge of the academy. It was smaller and noticeably less ornate than the others, its walls worn and the plaster crumbling in places.

“Here we are,” the mage announced, catching the group’s disappointed glances at the shabby tower. “The Tower of Valmont. Don’t let the name fool you—this is the entry-level dormitory for first-years like yourselves.”

A wry smile crossed his face before he turned and pushed the door open. “Welcome to your new home. You’d better get used to it quickly.”

“And you,” the mage said, turning directly to Finn, his voice sharp and piercing, “will need to come with me. Your result requires further testing.”

Finn hesitated for only a moment, then nodded calmly. “Of course.” He turned to Naethan, offering him a faint smile. “Take care of yourself. We’ll see each other… eventually.”

Naethan returned the smile, but deep down he knew “eventually” might be a long time. As Finn left with the mage, Naethan felt a sudden emptiness. Something told him their paths wouldn’t cross again anytime soon.

The dormitory supervisor led the remaining aspirants to their rooms.

The room was simple: two narrow beds, a wardrobe, a small desk—nothing more. No carpet, no decorations, nothing that suggested comfort. The supervisor left them alone to show the other aspirants their rooms.

Naethan glanced at his roommate—a boy with golden hair and sapphire-blue eyes who regarded him curiously. “I’m Elias,” the boy introduced himself with a smile that hovered somewhere between confidence and shyness. “Nice to meet you.”

“Naethan,” he replied, extending his hand hesitantly. Elias took it with a brief, firm shake.

As Naethan inspected his bed, he noticed something: a quiet muttering, barely more than a murmur, coming from Elias. It wasn’t loud cursing, more like a reflex slipping out from time to time. When Elias opened the wardrobe drawer and it creaked loudly, Naethan heard it again: “Damn it.” Elias turned, their eyes meeting. Naethan must have been staring too long.

“What?” Elias asked, a spark of defiance in his eyes. “Never heard someone curse before?”

“Uh… yeah. Of course,” Naethan stammered, raising his hands slightly in defense. “But… do you… do it often?”

Elias shrugged, his movements casual, though Naethan caught a nervous twitch that accompanied his response. “Tourette’s,” he said bluntly. “Sometimes stuff just comes out. Can’t help it. You’ll get used to it.”

Naethan nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. But before the silence became awkward, Elias smirked and added, “Don’t worry, I only curse at people who deserve it. Most of the time.”

Naethan couldn’t help but chuckle lightly. “Well, then I hope I don’t end up on your list.”

“Not yet,” Elias replied with a wink, settling onto his bed and beginning to unpack his belongings.

For a while, they worked in silence, the faint squeaking of the wardrobe and the rustling of cloth the only sounds in the room. Naethan let his gaze wander over the sparse furnishings before finishing with his own belongings. It wasn’t much, but after the ordeals of the past days, it felt almost… safe.

As Elias finally yawned and flopped onto his bed, Naethan followed suit. He lay on the thin mattress, staring up at the rough ceiling. In his pocket, he could feel the faint pulsing of the time crystal, like a sleeping heartbeat—a gentle but undeniable reminder that things were far from over. The next trial wouldn’t wait long.