“Focus.” The attendant clicked his fingers.

“Sorry.” Rane followed him deeper into the arena, still confounded by Linde’s display. During their time together, she had never shown any signs of doubt for Caelus, so why now? His eyes glazed over the torchlights and heavy brass doors that lined the corridor. Perhaps her father’s dark secrets, even without being revealed, had planted the seed of doubt. Whatever the case, information was key in such a situation. On that note, the attendant by his side had been blabbering non stop about rules, the competition and his personal quarters. Perhaps Rane should have been paying attention.

The man stopped beside a door, placing the key in the lock. “Did you get all that?”

“Yes,” Rane lied. “Absolutely.”

“Good. You’re in luck. The last batch of apprentices is being tested today, so you won’t have to wait.” The attendant turned the key and pushed open the door.

Rane found himself inside the arena, rows of metal seats extending to the dark sky above him and digging into the ground below him. At the very bottom, in the open space, large bonfires cast a garish light upon the other apprentices. The vibrant colors of their uniforms filled the arena as far as the eye could see, and their overlapping murmurs charged the space with anticipation. Rane wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. His thick winter clothing burned under the waves of heat rising from the open stage.

He walked between rows of people in search of unoccupied space. The arena was surprisingly spacious, many apprentices having stretched their legs out and sunk back in their seats. Rane found a seat and did the same. He took off the fur and placed it under his head. The journey had been long, and he was tired. He fought to stay awake against the warmth.

Whispers from two apprentices behind him reached his ears. They were apparently anxious about the preliminaries that had caused them to be disqualified last time. Rumour had it that it got harder to qualify for the competition every year. Their voices as the large twin doors that led to the stage slowly opened. Silence spread like a wave over the apprentices. He sat up in his seat and watched as three people in long and luxurious clothing walked to the center of the arena. The sheer potency of their magic outclassed that of all the apprentices combined. He knew what they were.

"Welcome, future mages," The man in the middle of the three stepped forward first. His appearance matched Loric's description. Young and bright, with short white hair. Eyes almost radiant. 'The sole reason Silyra exists today,' Loric had said. 'More legend than man.'

“You have come to be tested, and to pit your skills and wit against one another, until only the best remain. This is a chance for you to make your mentors, and your families, proud.” Veradin circled the stage below, giving the last whispers time to die out. “It’s a blessing to have so many talented apprentices join this year, but it has made running the competition rather difficult. That is why the council has devised additional tests that will help us select the best amongst you.”

That gave birth to some whispers and unrest. Rane had never been to a competition before, so he didn’t know what to expect either way.

“Silence!” The hooded figure behind Veradin yelled, voice reverberating in the stadium and making the bonfires flicker.

“Those dissatisfied are free to leave,” Veradin added. He paused for a few moments, scanning for movement, then smiled. “That’s what I thought.” He clapped once, and the stadium trembled. Thousands of glyphs lit up with mellow blue light, one for each apprentice. The constructs stood one by one, assembling from the metal of the stadium and leaving behind circular hollows. They stood eerily still, only the sigil on their chest pulsing with light. They were similar to the ones he had seen in the fields, yet somehow different. Metal encased their entire body, making them seem more complete.

“Mind, body, and soul,” Veradin continued. “The quintessential elements of every mage. Even though all three are vital, you only need to prove that you have honed two of them. The soul and any of the other two attributes. You are only apprentices after all." Veradin clapped again, and all the constructs moved at once with a loud crack, extending a hand to every apprentice. "The test of soul is simple. A measurement of magic.”

Rane glanced to his side. An apprentice shook the construct’s metallic hand, and the light of its glyph changed from blue to a more vibrant green. Slowly, the entire arena was filled with red and green glyphs. Rane took a deep breath and squeezed the hand of the construct in front of him. He could only hope all the torture Leylin had put him through would be enough. The mist inside the glyph swirled, blue subsiding to give way to crimson.

"All the apprentices who got a green glyph will have to follow their respective constructs back outside. It is regrettable, but this competition is beyond your capabilities." Rane breathed a sigh of relief. The unrest returned anew, as more than two thirds of the apprentices moved towards the exits. Most accepted it silently, though others cried or cursed.

Veradin waited for them to leave before continuing. “The rest of you, please join us.”

Rane followed the flat, low steps to the stage where the archmages stood. The bonfires surrounding the stage were much larger than they seemed from the stands, and their heat turned from heavy to stifling. Some apprentices removed their robes and left only thin shirts on, but none dared complain.

“Good job on clearing the first trial,” Veradin said as he retreated. “Archmage Atinas will conduct the test of the mind.”

The archmage drifted forward without steps, his long robe concealing his entire body and dragging behind him. At first his face was no more than a shadow under his hood, a faded shape. He tilted his head back slightly, showing a smooth, silver chin and a pair of grey lips. There was a silence. Then, agonizingly slow, he turned his head in Rane’s direction, and grinned.

Rane felt a chill spread through the air. The logs that burned with force were now smoldering. He turned his head away and took half a step back behind another apprentice.

“Forms in rows,” Atinas called, still facing to the right, where Rane was.

With quiet but quick steps, the apprentices lined up to fill the stage. Rane found himself in the first row, almost face to face with the archmages. “The test of mind will now begin.” Atinas shifted his attention away from Rane, and onto the mass of apprentices. Rane glanced over his shoulder. When grouped neatly like that, they appeared less than before.

“Overcoming tribulations is important for any apprentice. It is what gives your magic its might and force.” Atinas held out a gloved hand and conjured a blue flame. “But what use is nora without the knowledge to bend and shape it? If you ever become mages and awaken your origin magic, you will know what to focus on. But for now, you should be well-versed in basic spells.” He put out the flame and drifted a little closer to the apprentices. Without the light of the bonfires, his face went back to being a shadow.

“Everyone in the first row, show me your fire.”

The apprentices exchanged some quick glances and one by one, their hands lit up with magic.

"You." Atinas pointed to an apprentice who was struggling to produce a flame. "Go to the side and wait for the test of body. This one, you failed."

Creating fire was one of the few things that Rane was comfortable doing. What he dreaded was the rest.

"Second row."

Rane didn't turn around. He felt the faint warmth on his back and looked down at his shadow. If it weren't for his safety, he'd never have joined a competition like this. He understood the other apprentices though, their need to prove themselves. But the anxiety and stress that he felt was only theirs.

"Third row."

His mind drifted to what he could do once he lost the protection of the archmages. He was bound to get disqualified at some point. There was a chance he could get out of the capital if he left now, when Caelus expected it the least. But if the man had managed to track him to a place as remote as the Tonginth mountains, he wouldn't get far. He knew the strength of the birds first hand. As for the birds, he had them circle the arena above the clouds. There was no telling when they'd prove useful again.

"Have you no shame?"

Rane glanced over his shoulder. Atinas was facing an apprentice who was suspended upside down in the air, face all red. The archmage bent down and picked up one of the spheres that had fallen out of her pockets. "A spell core," Atinas said in disdain. "You can't even cast the most basic of spells so you resort to this. You're a disgrace."

The apprentice wiggled, trying to free herself. "Let me go! I know the rest!"

"And I know your kind." Atinas turned the apprentice upright and faced her. "You seek the arcane because it brings riches or power."

Rane felt a lone strand of anger, yet it was different. Rather than fierce and overflowing, it was just there… lingering.

"It might serve you well now, but no cheap trick will save you on the battlefield. You'll only be a danger to yourself and those that will have to protect you." Atinas placed both hands on his chest and pulled open his robes. "So I'll release you of your burden. Silyra has no need for mages like you."

The girl stopped protesting. She faced Atinas with a look of frozen horror and tears trickling from her eyes. "No," she pleaded. "Please no."

The apprentices around them distanced themselves with hasty steps. A tendril of gray mist extend out of the Archmage's chest, flickering in and out of view under the low light.

Rane saw Veradin shake his head, but the man didn't step forward or call out. He nervously glanced around at the other apprentices. Why was no one stopping this? Someone had to move… He gazed at the Archmage's back again, at that insurmountable, terrifying presence. Every instinct he had screamed for him to move, but he reined it all in. He couldn't risk being disqualified. It would be equivalent to suicide. And yet…

"Please… Don't do it." The girl's screams had devolved to muffled sobs. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry!"

Rane cursed himself even as he pushed the other apprentices aside. Why was he so stupid? Why did he have to sacrifice himself for others? He dashed, placing himself between Atinas and the apprentice.

He faced the writhing mass of translucent tendrils beneath the Archmage's robe. "Stop it," he said, with less confidence than he would have liked.

Atinas paused, and the tendrils of mist pulsed back and forth with an ominous thrum. Rane could feel a hint of surprise despite the man's calm appearance.

"Step aside, apprentice." Atinas stared down at him. "She is not fit to be a mage."

Rane didn't budge. "Who gets to decide that? You?"

"Yes. I've been granted the authority to strip others of their powers," Atinas said. "You try to act noble only to prove my point. You endangered yourself to protect her."

"Why is that wrong? It is what people should do."

Atinas paused, and then covered his chest again. The female apprentice fell to the ground, gasping and coughing. "We don’t have that luxury any more," he said. He leaned in closer and Rane peered under his hood, at the man's hollowed out eyes. "You were born with a rare gift," Atinas whispered. "Don't squander it in heroism."

Rane’s eyes went wide. How had he known?

“You’ve both failed this test.” Atinas stood straight again. “Go wait by the side for the next test.” He turned to face the other apprentices again and walked away. “Form up. Fourth row, show me fire.”

Rane bent to one knee and helped the apprentice up, after she frantically collected her belongings. She was young, perhaps in her twentieth year. A few freckles tinted her cheeks and nose. “Thank you,” she stammered, in shock still.

“It’s okay.” Rane was too afraid to let go of her with how much her legs trembled, so he walked her out of the way. They leaned against the walls of the stage. “Can you stand?”

She nodded and pushed herself up against the wall, clearing some of the dirt caught between her red locks. Color slowly returned to her, and she gave him an apprehensive stare. “Why did you help me?”

Rane simply shrugged and went back to looking at Atinas eliminating one apprentice after another from his test. “Just felt like it.” In truth, helping her had cost him, but he didn’t regret it. It just meant he’d have to succeed in the next test no matter what.

"M-My name is Talah Hariel!" She stood next to him and bowed. "Thank you for helping me today. I promise to repay your grace."

"I'm Rane. And you don't have to," Rane said. The arena crackled with lightning as Atinas inspected the next element. Rane would have failed anyway. "That sphere you used," he said without taking his eyes off the test, "what is it?"

Talah tipped her head to the side. "You mean the spell core?" She took a small metallic sphere out of her pocket and presented it to him. "The inside has a blightsteel lining. Mages use it to store some spells for later use, but their utility is limited. There's only a few spells that are simple enough to be reflected inside it endlessly."

"Can I see it?" Rane raised his voice to be heard over the wind the apprentices had kicked up.

She hesitated for a moment. "Just don't twist it," she said and handed it to him, "cause it will release the spell."

Rane held it upright, carefully. It had the size of a fist, and there were patterns and bumps in its design. It reminded him of the sphere that powered the birds. He couldn't open it up, so he handed it back to Talah. By the time he turned his attention back to the stage, only a dozen of apprentices remained.

"Well done." Atinas retreated back to his spot behind Veradin and the bonfires reignited. "You are exempt from the test of body. You may return to your seats."

The few apprentices who had succeeded hurriedly left the arena, perhaps out of fear that Atinas would have another outlandish request. Veradin gestured those that remained back to the center of the stage. “This is your last chance to enter the competition,” he said. “If you fail here, you will be disqualified. So do your best and–”

“I’m Miria! My test is next!” The third mage popped forward and waved in their direction. Her robes and attire were cut shorter than Veradin’s. “I’m not an archmage, but I’m pretty strong, okay? You better respect me!”

The apprentices exchanged confused glances. Rane smiled. She seemed an honest person, and he felt genuine happiness from her. It was a welcome change.

“The rules are simple!” Miria raised both hands. Rane could see thin threads glistening under the firelight, one end around her fingers and the other tied to tiny pellets. She swung them in an arc around her and slammed one of them against the ground. It burst apart with red paint. “If you can last one hundred beats without your clothes getting stained, you pass. And don't think of using magic this time, cause you'll be disqualified!"

What sort of test was this? Rane had expected something akin to a lap race or a contest of strength. He composed himself. No matter how silly the challenge seemed, he couldn't lose focus.

Veradin knelt and touched the ground with both hands. The arena trembled and the silvery metal of the inner wall split open horizontally. Hundreds of large metal protrusions snapped in place one by one, like the teeth of a gear that encircled the stage.

"You have thirty beats to prepare." Miria spun the threads idly as she walked to the center of the stage. "Your time starts now. Good luck!"

The mechanism hidden in the walls strained, ring of metal turning with an audible crack. Its fist beat signalled the beginning of the test. With one smooth motion, Rane unsheathed and retreated to the outer edges of the stage. He should be out of her range. As it turned out, many apprentices thought the same and distances themselves. Some even hid behind the bonfires for protection. For some reason that made him anxious. He observed the threads as they spun and tried to make out their individual lengths, but it proved impossible.

"Time's up!" Miria twisted her entire body. The pellets arced from the right like a wave.

There was chaos. Rane ducked underneath a thread, pellet spraying blue on an apprentice behind him. He tried to avoid the pellets closest to him. Yet the threads weaved and intermingled with one another, causing the pellets to take sharp turns in mid air. They whizzed by in blurs he couldn’t track. He had to dodge using his reflexes alone. He bent his waist back out of instinct and a pellet swung overhead. He righted himself right as its thread found another. They tangled and aimed for him again. With a grunt, he threw himself forward and slashed. The thread snapped and he panted.

Miria danced and spun and turned under the firelight like a ritualist, each movement tugging and releasing countless threads. He heard the groans of protest from the apprentices being eliminated around him. The test had only just begun, and yet they were disqualified one after another. The more of them that failed, the more Miria focused on the rest. Soon, it would be impossible to escape.

Rane's mind raced as he weaved through the threads. What was the true solution to this test? He tightened the grip around his sword and slashed out. He’d cut four threads in two beats of the gear, yet there were even more around him somehow.

Months of training on the frozen mountaintops flashed through his mind. She was a mage. This is what Loric had been training him for. He had to get close. Rane fell forward and rolled. Perspiration dripped from his forehead and stung his eyes. Magic gathered in his fingertips, but he held it back. A pellet found the side of his sword and he flung its remains away before standing. His eyes traced the line between himself and Miria. It was close. Close enough to strike, to reach, to win. He sidestepped a thread and assumed his stance.

Rane’s and Miria’s eyes locked. Then he charged her. Miria crossed her hands. Strands of white converged and filled his vision. Pellets rained from every direction, painting the ground behind him as he dodged and ducked and jumped. Two threads found him close and he spun between them, bending and rising to a swing. His sword tore the threads from Miria’s left hand like hair. He arced it in the same beat, stopping shy of Miria’s temple. No. He wanted to stop his attack, but it hadn’t been him. White strings dug into his arms and legs whenever he tried to move them. His hand that held the sword was lost in white cloth. The gears clacked back in place with the final beat.

“Amazing.” Miria stared at him. She ignored the other apprentices and circled him like he was a specimen. "Your movement is fluid, but the style you're using is rigid and sharp. Who is your master?"

"Can I move now?" Rane protested. His pose was embarrassing.

"Oh, right." Miria twirled her fingers and the threads unravelled.

Rane fell to the ground and gasped for air. Most of the adrenaline had faded, leaving him bruised and spent. Talah rushed to his side before the other apprentices and helped him up.

“I told you heroism would cost you.” Atinas shook his head as he approached. “You could have passed this test if you had only kept your distance.”

Rane titled his head. “But I did not get hit.”

“Rane…” Talah shook her head. “Check your back.”

Doubt snuck in his mind. He threw the coat off him and turned it around, only to be greeted with blue paint. He spent a few moments there, looking down.

“The rules were clear.” Atinas pulled his hood down. “You are disqualified.”