The soft morning sunlight streamed through the window of their modest apartment, casting a gentle glow on the brass astronomical instruments adorning the shelves. Such a sight was common in Lexican households, where the limited supply of mana led to a strong reliance on technology. Kor dug into his breakfast, savouring each bite of eggs, while his mother’s laughter echoed throughout the kitchen.
“The food isn’t going anywhere, dear,” Lora said, her eyes crinkling with amusement. She glanced over at her husband, shaking her head. “He’s taking far too much after you, Derran.”
His father chuckled, patting his considerable stomach as he sat at the table, surrounded by papers covered in complex equations. “You can’t blame us, Lora. Your cooking is just that good.” He reached for another piece of bacon, proving his point.
The wooden clock on the wall ticked steadily as Lora began clearing away the dishes. “After the testing today, it’ll only be a few weeks until you’re starting your studies with us at the university.” She smiled warmly. “Your father’s already bragging about it to his colleagues.”
Kor mumbled his agreement around a mouthful of perfectly crispy bacon, earning another fond look from his mother. The familiar comfort of their morning routine almost made him forget about the mandatory testing later that day. Almost.
“I still don’t see why they bother with these tests,” his father grumbled, ink-stained fingers drumming against the table. “Lexica needs all the mathematicians it can get. Testing for magical potential is such a waste of time.”
“You know the Edict is there to keep us all safe, honey,” Lora said, her tone gentler now. She placed a reassuring hand on Kor’s shoulder. “Besides, it’s not like Kor is going to get selected. Nobody in our family ever has.”
His father nodded, shooting Kor a concerned look that didn’t quite match his earlier confidence. Something in that glance made Kor’s stomach twist, despite the delicious breakfast.
“Enough of that,” she said with a gentle smile, her voice a salve against the tension in the room. “Let’s talk about something interesting. Have you decided what branch to focus on, Kor? I know you said—”
“Number theory!” Kor said, finishing the last sausage on his plate. The familiar topic helped ease the strange tension that had settled over the table.
“Like father, like son indeed!” Derran gloated; his earlier worry forgotten.
Kor tugged at the folds of his robe, its generous cut hiding the weight he’d gained from too many late-night snacks. Though he was determined to surpass his dad in more than girth.
His father’s picture still hung on the university’s wall of distinguished students, something his mother had proudly shown him when he was younger. That image had burned itself into his mind, setting a standard he was determined not just to live up to, but to surpass.
Lora shot him a look that spoke volumes about old academic debates. “Don’t be too hasty, dear. Geometry still has so much work that needs to be done to advance the field, and with your sharp mind and grades...”
Her voice trailed off as Kor contemplated asking for seconds, weighing the opportunity for extra bacon against having to endure another round of his mother’s gentle campaign for geometry.
The steady clop of horse hooves on cobblestones drifted in through the window, carrying the hum of the waking street. In just a few hours, he’d be at the testing centre—a mere formality, he reminded himself, before he could finally embark on his true journey into mathematics.
By mid-morning, Kor and his parents joined the steady stream of teenagers filing into the testing facility, the atmosphere tinged with nervous energy. The building rose before them, all stern grey stone and official-looking columns—pure Lexican architecture, favouring function over form. Wide double doors stood open, swallowing up nervous students and their families at regular intervals.
“This way, dears,” Lora took charge, ushering them through the entrance. She quickly spotted the signs directing them to queue for testing, her teacher’s eye for detail proving useful as they navigated the busy corridors. Kor adjusted his ponytail nervously as they joined the line.
The noise of countless conversations washed over him as he tried to focus on his university preparations instead of his growing anxiety. His parents had already secured copies of the first-year texts—a privilege of their positions—and he’d read through each of them twice. The chapter on quadratic residues still troubled him, though his pride wouldn’t let him ask for help just yet. He’d figure it out himself, just as soon as—
His thoughts scattered as the blonde girl in front of him conjured a small sphere of mana, letting it hover above her upraised palm. The pearlescent light cast strange shadows on the stone walls.
“Stop that, Mindy!” Her mother’s harsh whisper cut through the background chatter. “Showing off won’t get you admitted to Conflux Academy.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” the girl protested, shoulders slumping. “Waiting around here all day is so boring.”
Her mother’s glare could have etched equations into stone, and the sphere of mana winked out of existence.
‘Strange girl,’ Kor thought, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. ‘The arcane was for the reckless and the otherworlders, those who lacked Lexican discipline. Mathematics didn’t warp the world—it revealed its elegant order.’
After several minutes of waiting, the line shuffled forward, and suddenly the girl turned, catching him staring. A grin spread across her face that made his heart skip several beats. He’d seen that look before, usually right before some social disaster struck.
“Hi, I’m Mindy.”
Kor’s brain seized up like an ill-formed equation. “H-hello,” he managed, fixing his gaze on a particularly fascinating crack in the floor tiles. A strand of hair fell across his face as he fought the urge to brush it away.
“Are you hoping to get into Conflux Academy too?” Without waiting for his response, she ploughed ahead, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. Kor took a half-step backward, his loose robes swishing against the floor. “You know there’s only a hundred spots right, and that’s for every sixteen-year-old on the planet!”
He couldn’t even bring himself to nod his head or form words as she continued, his fingers fidgeting with the worn edge of his robes—a nervous habit he’d developed over years of awkward social interactions.
“It’s not like there aren’t other places to study magic, but Conflux is where all the best wizards got their start. Mum wants me to focus on the sciences, but what kind of idiot does that when they can learn magic?” Mindy focused her gaze on him, as if expecting him to answer the question seriously.
“Uh, yeah… Mathematics is best,”
Her expression shifted to an equal mix of confusion and incredulity as Kor mentally winced. The familiar look of disapproval crossed her face—the one he’d seen countless times when girls realised he couldn’t maintain a simple conversation—before she turned back to her mother, interest clearly lost.
‘Smooth, Kor, smooth,’ he chastised himself silently, adjusting his glasses more out of habit than necessity.
His parents pretended to be absorbed in reading the testing facility’s posted notices, their studied nonchalance both mortifying and oddly touching.
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After what felt like an eternity of wallowing in embarrassment, they were finally called into the testing room. At its centre stood a crystal that dominated the space—easily ten feet tall and pulsing with a soft, otherworldly light that made Kor’s eyes water if he looked at it too long. Two government officials waited beside it, their crisp uniforms and clipboards radiating bureaucratic authority.
The lead official adjusted his spectacles and straightened, his tone becoming deliberate and measured, as though pronouncing a decree. “In accordance with Lexica’s commitment to the Voidflame Edict, all citizens of age are required to submit to magical potential testing. Non-compliance will result in indefinite detention until such time as compliance is rendered. Do you, Kor Penman, consent to this testing?”
“Yes, sir,” Kor said, forcing steadiness into his voice.
The official gave a curt nod, setting his papers aside with precision. From a drawer, he retrieved a gleaming ceremonial blade, its edge catching the crystal’s radiance. Kor’s breath hitched, and he instinctively stepped back, colliding with his mother.
“We’ll require a blood sample to attune the crystal,” the official stated, holding the knife out toward Kor with a deliberate motion.
“Would you allow me?” His father stepped forward smoothly, drawing his own pocket knife before Kor could answer. The official paused, studied him for a moment, and then lowered the institutional blade with a slight tilt of his head.
His father spoke softly and gently, calming Kor’s fears. “Just a small cut. Nothing to worry about.”
The crystal loomed before them, its light flickering, almost in recognition. Even without formal training, Kor felt the thrum of arcane energy emanating from it, brushing against his senses like a half-forgotten memory. A memory he had buried. No, he reminded himself. He’d shut that side of himself away; he was going to be a mathematician, just like his parents. Just like his father.
His hand trembled as he extended it, the motion betraying the effort it took to keep steady. A loose strand of hair fell across his face, but he didn’t dare brush it away.
“Hold still,” his father drew the blade swiftly, pricking Kor’s fingertip. The sting bit sharp and clean, grounding him in its simplicity. Blood welled, a vivid red against his pale skin, and his father gently guided his hand to the crystal’s surface.
The air grew heavy as Kor’s blood touched the stone. A pulse of mana rippled outward, pressing against his skin like a warm current. The crystal absorbed the smear of crimson greedily, its surface glowing brighter as a low hum resonated through the room.
Kor.
The voice echoed clearly in his mind, as though someone had whispered directly into his thoughts. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t heard it in years—not since he was a child. Back then, it had been a quiet companion, its presence interwoven with his fascination for numbers and patterns.
Never had it spoken so vividly before. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to meet the crystal’s soft glow. He had never told his parents about the voice—never wanted to risk their confusion or fear. But now, with its resurgence timed so precisely with this test, unease coiled in his stomach.
Kor lingered, his hand still pressed to the stone as the steady thrum of mana pulsed faintly beneath his palm. What did it mean? And why now?
“You can step back,” the government official announced, while his colleague offered Kor a small piece of tissue for his hand. Kor’s knees buckled as he staggered back, colliding with his father. The voice lingered in his mind, an unwelcome guest dredging up half-forgotten fears.
He steadied himself as he accepted the tissue. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out his father’s concerned murmur.
“Thank you,” he said, dabbing at the cut. As he looked up at the crystal, he saw no change. “Are we done then?”
The official was about to answer when the crystal shifted, its clear surface taking on a light green tinge.
“Don’t worry, son.” His father’s voice carried forced cheerfulness. “Your mother and I both scored low orange when we were younger, far from anything the Edict would require.”
Kor nodded, watching as the green darkened to a deep olive. His mind drifted to that mysterious voice from his past. He’d always suspected its arcane origin, though he never wanted to admit it. The weight of his future felt precarious, as if it balanced on a thread. Every year, tens of thousands of sixteen-year-olds underwent this test across the planet; the odds of him being chosen were so slim that he shouldn’t even waste a thought on it.
Yet a prickle of doubt gnawed at him, his gut twisting with unease. Deep down, beneath layers of logic and denial, a long-dormant instinct stirred—one he’d spent years trying to silence.
The room fell into tense silence, broken only by the soft rustle of his mother’s robes as she moved to grasp his uninjured hand. The crystal continued its transformation through the various hues before reaching the light orange his parents had mentioned.
But it didn’t stop.
His mother’s grip tightened as the orange deepened to an intense carrot shade. Sweat beaded on Kor’s forehead, his wire-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose.
“Everything is fine, Kor,” his father said, though the crack in his voice betrayed him. “It’s not like we’re anywhere near the draft threshold… not yet.”
“Your father is correct,” the official said, though his tone had taken on an edge of interest that made Kor’s stomach clench. “Most years, even light red won’t get you drafted by the Edict.”
The crystal continued to flow through deepening shades of orange as a subtle red saturated the arcane object. Kor shook his head in denial, his loose hair swaying with the movement. Surely it couldn’t go any further. He’d spent so many years trying to avoid any interaction with the arcane, trying to repress the resonance he felt. He was going to become a mathematician!
His thoughts scattered like equations without solutions as the reddish colour solidified, taking on the same crimson shade as the blood he’d just shed.
“What is the colour of the draft this year?” His father’s voice had lost all its earlier warmth and confidence, replaced by a tremor Kor had never heard before.
“A deep red seems to be the breakpoint this year,” the official responded, his tone apologetic. “With the current measurement, there’s still a chance your son won’t be called on to attend Conflux Academy. You’d best start praying there are more gifted individuals than we usually produce.”
‘Gifted?’ The word seemed to mock everything Kor had ever worked for, every late night spent studying, every careful preparation for university. His academic dreams hung by a thread as thin as the blood still beading on his finger.
The crystal’s colour continued to intensify for several more seconds before seeming to stabilise on a bright ruby red. Kor’s wire-rimmed glasses had slipped down his nose again, but he couldn’t bring himself to adjust them.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” his father said, voice a whisper.
“No. Your son’s exact mana level will need to be weighed against the other candidates this year. Besides, there are worse things than having to attend Conflux Academy.” The official withdrew a separate, smaller crystal, stepping up to the larger one. A soft hum filled the air as something about the crystals seemed to resonate with each other, the smaller one taking on the same hue as the first.
“I’ll have to get this score submitted, but there’s still a chance your son won’t be called up.”
There was still a chance! Relief flooded through Kor as his mother pulled him into a tight hug. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest, matching his own frantic rhythm.
After what felt like an eternity, the official spoke, his voice flat and unyielding. “Wait, a moment. It hasn’t settled yet.”
The relief that had flooded Kor drained away in an instant. He turned, his loose robes swirling, to face the crystal. The deep red shimmered, wavering as if uncertain of its own nature. And then, as though finding resolve, the colour shifted.
“No...” Kor whispered. His voice was barely audible over the hum of the room, the sound of his future slipping away.
The crimson bled into purple, darkening into a bruised hue that seemed to devour the surrounding light, like a ravenous void swallowing the last embers of a dying flame. His breath hitched as the colour deepened further, the crystal radiating with an intensity that made his heart pound in his chest.
“It’s still changing,” one official murmured, clipboard forgotten.
Kor’s mother gripped his hand, her nails digging into his skin. He welcomed the sting; it anchored him against the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. But the crystal wasn’t finished. The purple darkened, deepening into an uncompromising violet, its glow suffused with a raw, thrumming energy.
The room held its breath, every eye fixed on the crystal as it pulsed with deep violet light. The silence was oppressive, as though even sound had fled the suffocating presence of the impossible.
“How can this be?” His father’s voice cracked, breaking the stillness. “We’ve never had a single wizard in the family. This... this has to be some kind of error.”
The official turned, his expression unreadable. “There are no errors with the testing. The crystal has determined your son’s mana affinity. Deep violet is rare, sir. Exceptional.”
Exceptional. The word struck Kor like a slap. Not for his studies. Not for the nights spent solving puzzles and proving theorems. He wanted to scream, to run, but his feet refused to move.
His father’s voice rose, but the words blurred into background noise. Kor’s attention remained fixed on the crystal, its violet glow casting strange shadows across the room. Each flicker of light seemed to mock him, an unspoken reminder of the life he’d lost in an instant.
His mother pulled him into a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
Kor didn’t respond. His world had collapsed into the void of that violet light. Every late-night calculation, every meticulous plan—reduced to ash. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.
The official stepped forward, a smaller crystal in hand. It glowed in tandem with the larger one, mirroring its deep violet hue. “We will submit this result immediately. Your son’s mana level leaves no room for doubt. His future is in Conflux Academy.”
Kor barely heard him. His mother’s arms were the only thing keeping him upright as the future he’d built brick by brick crumbled into ash. Gone was the steady path laid by his father’s legacy, replaced by a road shrouded in arcane uncertainty. The thought of magic, once distant and irrelevant, now loomed over him like an unyielding shadow.