Alaric randomly found a spot in the middle rows and sat down, quietly observing his surroundings. The tension in the room was palpable as the students settled into their seats.
The short man at the front surveyed the hall with a critical eye before clearing his throat, silencing the room completely.
"You are here to prove your worth," he began, his voice carrying a weight of authority despite his small stature. "The written examination will test your general knowledge of history, politics, Ether theory, and elemental magic. You will be judged not just on what you know, but how you apply that knowledge. The academy expects nothing less than excellence."
He paused, his gaze sweeping the room, lingering momentarily on those who appeared calm and confident.
"You have two hours," he continued. "Do not waste it."
Assistants who had entered behind them positioned themselves strategically throughout the hall. They didn't distribute papers; their sole purpose seemed to be monitoring the room.
Yet, even with their presence, Alaric sensed something far more imposing—a force beyond the physical. It felt as if an unseen power was observing, rendering any thoughts of cheating futile. Every shift in the air, every movement of the students, seemed scrutinized by this hidden presence.
Without warning, exam papers materialized before each participant, appearing out of thin air. Alaric's paper shimmered briefly before settling, its questions already inked across the surface. It was a subtle reminder that this academy was no ordinary institution.
He glanced at the first question:
*Describe the origins of Ether Manipulation and its impact on the balance of power between noble houses.*
A standard opening question, though Alaric knew better than to underestimate its simplicity. With a steady hand, he began writing, recalling lessons from his childhood and the rigorous teachings he had absorbed over the years, both as Alaric and under the guise of Luther Kingsley.
The examination proceeded smoothly. Each question delved deeper into the complexities of Ether theories, elemental control, and history. Alaric worked methodically, pacing himself to ensure each answer was thorough and precise.
However, some questions posed a greater challenge. Historical aspects concerning the empire and its surrounding regions eluded him. These were details he hadn't fully grasped yet, and Luther never seemed to pay much attention to the Empire's history too. He briefly considered writing a vague response but quickly gave up altogether.
He simply gave up on them, after all, he'd still pass regardless of his scores anyway, him being there was just a show and the exam was just some form of entertainment on his part.
Occasionally, he glanced at the assistants, their impassive stances unchanging. Yet the weight of the unseen force continued to bear down on him like a mountain.
As the minutes passed, Alaric's attention occasionally flickered to the students around him. Some were furiously scribbling, others staring at their pages in frustration like block heads. A few, like him, remained calm, their quills moving steadily.
Midway through, a particularly intricate question caught his eye:
*In a duel between a lightning elementalist and a wind elementalist, how should each side leverage their abilities to gain an advantage?*
Alaric smirked slightly. This was a subject he knew intimately. Leaning forward, his quill moved swiftly as he described strategies, countermeasures, and the delicate balance between the two elements. He concluded the section with a final thought:
'In the end, victory lies not in the element itself, but in how the elementalist controls their own will.'
Satisfied, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze momentarily drifting toward the large windows. The morning sunlight streamed through, casting long shadows across the room.
The second phase awaited—the mental fortitude test. A test designed to separate those with mere knowledge from those truly capable of surviving the pressures of the world beyond.
As Alaric completed his last answer, the minutes ticked away, and he felt the oppressive sensation of that unseen gaze begin to lift. The short man at the front clapped his hands, the sound booming through the hall.
"Time is up."
The exam papers vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. Alaric sat back, feeling the tension in the room shift. Around him, students released nervous sighs and exchanged anxious whispers.
The assistants stepped forward, guiding the participants toward the exit.
"This concludes the written examination," the scholar announced, his voice steady. "Next, you will proceed to the second phase: the mental fortitude test."
********
The group moved through a long corridor, the light growing dimmer as they descended into what seemed like an underground chamber. The air was cool and damp, and the walls glowed faintly with pale blue light, casting eerie shadows. The space felt cavernous, like an ancient, hidden temple beneath the academy.
At the far end of the hall stood three figures, their forms barely visible, each shrouded in dark cloaks. Their faces remained hidden beneath deep hoods, masking their identities completely.
One of them, standing in the center, stepped forward. Their voice was unnervingly neutral, betraying neither gender nor emotion.
"For the second examination, you will undergo a test of mental fortitude. Each of you will be placed into a mental simulation, where you will experience a certain scenario. Your choices within the scenario will be determined by your subconscious, and it will be as though you are navigating a dream."
The figure paused, allowing the information to sink in. "Do not worry. The process is quick. What you encounter, the actions you take, and the results of those choices—none of it is under our control. Even we do not know what your mind will generate. We will only receive feedback on your decisions and overall performance."
The figure's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Good luck."
Without another word, the three figures raised their hands in unison, and the pale blue light intensified, enveloping the entire room in a soft glow. Alaric felt a strange pull, like the very air around him was warping. His vision began to blur, and a faint ringing filled his ears.
Then, everything faded to black.
Alaric opened his eyes to find himself engulfed in fog and silence. A pale, muted world stretched in all directions, void of any defining features. There was no ground, no sky—just an endless sea of gray. The only sensation was the occasional dry wind brushing against his skin, carrying with it nothing but stillness and cold.
He stood there for a bit, just... taking it in.
It didn't feel dangerous exactly, Not the kind that threatened danger, but a creeping unease.
'Seriously? Again?'
This was the third time in less than a week he'd been pulled into a dream. And the last two? Yeah, they weren't exactly pleasant strolls down memory lane. More like horror show reruns with a splash of existential crisis.
He braced himself, scanning the fog for the inevitable nightmare. A twisted figure. A ruin from his past. The echo of some trauma clawing its way to the surface.
But… nothing came.
He blinked. Looked around.
Still nothing.
"Huh," he muttered. "Well, what do you know?"
A bit of relief settled in, tempered by equal parts boredom and suspicion. He stood there like a statue for another thirty minutes or so, waiting for anything to happen, then finally started moving just to keep his legs from falling asleep.
wandered the mist for what felt like another half hour, occasionally glancing upward—or what he assumed was upward—but saw no change, no stars, no shadows, not even the illusion of a sun.
Wasn't this supposed to be a test? he thought. Where's the nightmare? Where's the hallucination? Where's the clever, traumatic metaphor wrapped in symbolism and tears?
He kicked a patch of fog out of sheer pettiness.
Maybe this was the test. Maybe the real test was patience. Or isolation. Or maybe the simulation bugged out and he was just going to be stuck here for the next twenty-four hours until they pulled him out like a stale tooth.
Eventually, something finally changed.
Off in the distance, barely visible through the haze, was a figure. Just standing there.
Alaric's pace slowed, his body tensing. He took careful steps forward, fog parting around him like a lazy curtain. The closer he got, the clearer the figure became.
A boy, young, lean, with black hair streaked faintly with white… green eyes.
Wait a second...
"That's me," Alaric muttered.
No… no, that wasn't quite right.
"That's probably him."
The real Luther Kingsley.
They stared at each other. No words. No expressions. Just silence thick enough to choke on.
Then Luther moved. Took a few slow steps forward with difficulty… and stumbled.
Without thinking, Alaric reached out and caught him. His hand gripped the boy's arm, steadying him before he hit the ground. For a moment, their eyes met.
And what Alaric saw in them wasn't fear. Wasn't confusion. Just... peace and sadness.
Luther's hand landed softly on Alaric's shoulder.
Trying to drag himself up stubbornly, like he didn't want to be forgotten.
Then, like smoke slipping through
fingers, he faded. His body unraveled into the mist, dissolving without a sound.
Alaric stood there, motionless once again.
Alone.