60 scholars had stepped forward out of 80, their fates measured in fleeting moments. The results unfolded as expected.
3 scholars possessed more than one affinitas.
54 had at least one.
And the remaining 5… had none.
There were 20 scholars of Class E, yet to be measured. Ruvian watched their reactions unfold, each one a silent echo of triumph, relief, or silent despair.
The girl near the front was the sole scholar blessed with two affinities. She was alight with exhilaration, her hands trembling as she stared at the results. Around her, hushed murmurs filled the room, admiration intertwined with envy in her peers' gazes.
Those with a single affinitas exhaled in relief. Some clenched their fists, quiet victories written in their posture. Others nodded to themselves, as if affirming what they had always believed to be true.
A few wore thinly veiled disappointment, their hopes for rarer or stronger elements left unmet, but even they could not deny the fortune of having an affinitas at all.
And then, there were the five.
A silent pressure pressed upon them, heavier than any spoken words. Their faces were rigid, their eyes distant, staring at the calibrator as if willing it to yield a different answer.
Some set their jaws, hands tightening at their sides. Others merely stood there, unmoving, lost in the hollow ache of realization. But no second attempt would rewrite fate.
And then, Ruvian heard it, overlapping with the murmurs of hushed conversations.
A fragile voice.
Quivering in fear.
Ruvian's gaze drawn to the source. Slightly in front of his seat, a boy sat hunched over, fingers gripping the edge of his seat as though it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.
His uniform was neatly worn, but did little to conceal the frailty of his frame. Thick-rimmed glasses perched uneasily on the bridge of his nose, tilted slightly.
His hair was a mix of black and white.
Ruvian didn't need to ask what plagued him.
For an aspiring mage, the elemental affinitas test was more than a mere evaluation. It was a verdict. A moment that could mark the path to greatness or shatter dreams before they could even take shape.
Fear was natural.
But…
Something about this boy made Ruvian pause. He studied him, eyes narrowing, as the faint stirrings of recognition scraped at the edges of his memory. A long silence stretched between them before he finally spoke:
"You. What's your name?"
The boy flinched, as if caught off guard.
Hesitation in his expression before he answered, voice barely above a whisper.
"Ah… I-I'm Corwin Dunley. Y-you're?"
"Ruvian Castelor."
A brief exchange, simple in words. But the moment he heard that name, Ruvian's mind reeled.
'That name…'
His expression remained still but doubt coiled in the recesses of his thoughts.
'Could it truly be him?'
An unremarkable figure in the original storyline, a mere shadow that had barely appeared even once. Yet, if his memory served him right.
This boy was probably the one who unknowingly saved Zian's life in the original narrative.
Ruvian narrowed his eyes, lost in thought. Magic was not this boy's strength. His talent lay elsewhere.
Then, one by one, students continued stepping forward. Their names were called and their fates were measured.
And then, it was finally his turn.
The moment Professor Edvoss spoke his name, Ruvian exhaled slowly. He rose to his feet. A peculiar silence settled over the classroom as he approached the calibrator.
His own footsteps echoed softly in his ears, a soft rhythm against the hushed room. Was it his own nerves, or were the others simply waiting, watching to see how yet another would fare?
Not that it mattered.
He already knew the likelihood of his results.
'Low expectations meant no disappointment.'
Reaching out, he placed his hand upon the mana resonance calibrator. The surface was cool against his fingertips, thrumming faintly, as if the artifact itself had drawn in a breath.
Ruvian remained still, watching as the calibrator shimmered, the patterns flaring with gentle energy, decoding the composition of his Spellcore.
For several moments, nothing happened.
Then, a shift.
The air around his palm lightened, a delicate ripple of change. As if something was subtly moving, like a breeze passing through the edges of his consciousness. And then, the calibrator flashed before he could fully register the sensation.
A green glow lighted from its surface, swirling like mist before dispersing into the air. It wasn't a strong glow, not nearly as vibrant as some of the others before him, but it was there.
Professor Edvoss glanced at the result and spoke, his tone calm and collected.
"Wind Affinitas."
****
Ruvian returned to his seat, his mind still processing the result.
He hadn't expected much from this evaluation. Unlike those who harbored grand expectations of awakening a powerful element, he had prepared himself for the worst.
No affinitas at all, or at best, something ordinary. But now, as he turned the thought over in his mind, a quiet sense of satisfaction settled in. It wasn't the flashiest of elements, nor the most destructive.
Compared to fire's raw power, earth's stubborn resilience, or water's adaptability, wind often seemed… subtle.
Overlooked.
But to Ruvian, that subtlety was its greatest strength.
Wind is freedom. It could howl like a storm or slip through the cracks. A force without form, yet limitless in its reach.
He had not dared to hope for it, but the truth was undeniable, this was the element that resonated with him.
'With wind, I can use it more as a utility.'
On the other hand, Zian Herga was a scholar unlike any before him. The first to command all elements, to shatter the very limits of magic itself. But now, in the shifting currents of fate, the elements do not call his name.
The one meant to stand at the center of it all is nowhere to be found.
Then, the moment Corwin's name was called, the air in the classroom tightened.
'Right, it's his turn now… I wonder if the results would remain the same.'
He flinched, as if the syllables of his own name had struck him, his fingers curling into trembling fists before he forced himself to rise.
His steps were dragging against the floor like a prisoner walking toward his sentence. The closer he drew, the smaller he seemed, bracing for an outcome he already feared.
From his seat, Ruvian watched.
If his memory served him right… if this was the same boy who had once saved Zian Herga's life in the story he knew, then there was no suspense in what would come next.
'Corwin had no Elemental Affinitas. That's for sure.'
There was something brittle in the way he moved, like spoke of years spent cradling a dream too delicate for reality.
As if he had clung to it, nurtured his very being around it, only to stand now on the precipice of its collapse.
The device beat faintly under his touch.
Then, nothing.
The glow faded. A silence deeper than mere quiet settled over the room, and when Professor Edvoss finally spoke, his voice carried only a practiced neutrality.
"No affinitas."
Corwin couldn't move his fingers from the device. And did not even breathe too for a moment.
It was as if those words had broken a life within him… something that had been holding him together for far too long. His lips parted slightly as if to protest, as if to grasp for something, anything.
But no sound came.
The world around him blurred at the edges, the murmurs of his peers dissolving into a distant.
He could still feel the warmth of the device against his fingertips, still hoped for it to flash, to grant him even the vaguest glow. Just a glimmer enough to prove he wasn't nothing.
But there was nothing.
Slowly, as if moving through a dream, he withdrew his hand. Turned away and walked back to his seat. His steps were stiff, hollow like a marionette with its strings half-severed.
The light in his eyes had gone out, snuffed.
He sank into the chair beside Ruvian.
Dead-eyed.
Ruvian barely spared him a glance.
He had seen this before, people who had poured their entire being into a singular dream, only to learn that the world had no place for them in it.
'How foolish. To think that magic was the only path forward. To believe that a single rejection was the end of everything. Well, I guess it makes sense to him,'
The thought wasn't just meant for the boy beside him but also for himself, his past.
For the version of him that once existed in another life, a boy sculpted by pressure and expectation, taught that success was identity, and that failure was death.
That boy had lived not to grow, but to perform.
That past self, Ruvian loathed him more than anyone.
Not because he had failed. But because he had never once dared to ask what he wanted. He had lived chasing an illusion.
One that was never his to begin with.
And now, sitting beside him, Corwin wore the same expression. The same empty, shattered eyes. That didn't know how to grieve the future they never chose.
Ruvian turned away. His face was calm, his thoughts sharp and cold. He despised that kind of person. But he also understood them better than anyone.
Talent is never given to those who deserve it.
It is given to those who take it.
And Corwin…
'He had yet to realize what was his.'