The dog yelps as he grabs it’s fuzzy squirming body with both hands.

A warm breeze carries the smell of flowers over an almost blindingly green field speckled with red and white buds swaying in the wind. The day is sunny and a young girl runs through a field of tulips up to the happily barking black dog in Draken’s hands.

“Well done,” the girl says as she pets the beast. “You’ve succeeded in finding my anchor and gained access to my memories.”

Draken feels power all around him, a very different power than what he felt in the alley and this power he can tell is no memory. As he grasps for the new power he holds the dog tighter.

“We aren't done yet, bitch. You’ve dragged me through horrors i’ve worked a lifetime to forget, now it’s your turn. What’s your most painful experience?”

The dog barks frantically as a hulking man kicks in the cottage door.

“Get behind me, Veronica!” A woman shouts, the girl’s mother perhaps.

Before young Veronica can move the man who reeks of ale has her mother in his hands.

The dog growls, leaping at the drunkard. A hard kick sends the animal into the wall.

Veronica screams as her father’s large boot comes down on the small dog’s head and with a whimper and a sickening crunch the beast lay twitching in pain.

“Stupid mutt!” He spits.

Veronica turns to Draken.

“You’ve made your point,” she says.

“Not yet,” Draken replies.

Veronica’s father grabs her mother by both arms and throws her hard into the bookshelf.

“Think you can leave me, whore!?”

The man pulls a red-hot poker from the fireplace.

“Gonna brand you, woman so everyone will know your mine.”

Veronica tries to put herself between them.

“Papa don’t, please!”

He brandishes the poker at her.

“Wanna take the bitch’s place? Probably aint mine but I’ll put my mark on you just the same.”

Veronica’s father stalks toward her as the broken dog whimpers on the floor. The fire poker glows with hell’s own light and the girl’s eyes widen with growing horror then harden into ice.

She holds out her hands and her fingers twitch as she glances with tears in her eyes at her beloved dog dying on the floor.

“It should be you down there!” She shouts.

Suddenly the poker falls from her father’s hands, charring the wood floor black.

He grips his head, staggers and falls on all four, barking. In the corner the broken animal makes strange yelping sounds which to Draken’s ears sound uncannily like words.

“Yewlp mreewoo, yewlp mooee!”

Veronica turns to Draken, pure rage in her eyes.

“Stop this vision now!”

The boy grins. “What’s wrong, you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

Veronica’s mother groans. The girl reaches down to help but the woman recoils, looking at the child with abject terror painted on her face.

“What have you done?” She asks, unable to hide the disgust in her voice.

Jarring pain impacts Draken in the abdomen, he tumbles over the cushions sprawling out on the floor.

“You cheeky little bastard!” The witch shouts, delivering a lip splitting kick to his face.

Scrambling up, the young thief reaches for his knife and is met by a biting gust of wind.

A gale so powerful that he tumbles past the silk curtain to land on his face on the common room floor.

The rat eyed mage eases him to his feet, steadying him until he’s in no danger of collapsing.

“What the hell did you say to her?” He asks, shaking his head as he thinks better of it. “Nevermind, just clean yourself up.” Draken takes the proffered wet cloth and wipes the blood from his face, slightly alarmed at how much red comes away. These trials are rough as any rumble, he thinks.

A hand smacks him on the shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it but you have a talent for getting under these masters’ skin, I’ve never seen anyone irritate them the way you do.” The older teen smiles broadly. “Guess it’s what they get for making a thief take the trials.”

“You can’t prove a thing!” Draken shouts into the face of the startled youth. “Sorry,” he chuckles, “force of habit.”

Wiping the rest of the blood from his face he probes the inside of his mouth to find to his alarm that something is missing.

“Bitch knocked out one of my teeth.” He tosses the rag to the floor. “How’d it go with Hood?”

The older guy shrugs. “I kept what you said in mind but I might have taken it a little too much to heart. Spent so much time reading those booklets that I didn’t notice how big the blob had gotten until my whole body was inside, tried to keep working the runes but I ran out of air.”

Draken starts to laugh and catches himself.

“Sorry, it’s just the image of you carving out runes while choking for air inside a blob.” He can’t stop himself from snickering.

“You’re one to laugh, Mr. bruised and bloody.”

After a few minutes the last of the stragglers find their way to the common room.

The beady eyed proctor clears his throat. “The masters are now deliberating, the results should be finalized within ten minutes. I’ll repeat that those of you who don’t pass may take the trial again, so please avoid any embarrassing displays.”

A ragged, beaten, desperate bunch of young people fill the common space, growing more restless with each passing minute. The atmosphere has become stifling, air thick with the smell of blood and sweat. Draken is surprised to feel a knot of anticipation in his own stomach. Sucking his teeth and absently probing the gaping space with his tongue he wonders how he can both fear and want a thing so much. He catches himself picturing a life as a mage. For a moment he lets himself hope as desperately as any other applicant.

A well groomed young wizard’s apprentice with splotchy green robes and dark braided hair approaches the proctor, handing him three small scrolls. The sorcerer waves a hand over the scrolls, muttering an incantation and the three small scrolls become one sizable one. He viscously clears his throat, spewing a mucus filled ball of spit into the ground.

“If you can give me your attention, I have the results. I will read the numbers in order, those who pass will hear their number, those who did not won’t. Please save your complaining, your protests and your threats as the decision is not mine nor am I inclined to pass on such whining. If you feel that strongly about it , take the trials again.”

The proctor waves off the usual grumbling and unfurls the scroll.

“Two, five, seven, nine, thirteen, fifteen.”

“You skipped me!” Someone shouts

The proctor continues, ignoring the outburst. “Nineteen, twenty-six and thirty. ”

The pathetic wails and outraged cries roll over chamber like a wave. It takes every ounce of pride for Draken’s voice not to join them. The crushing disappointment feels like a boot stepping on his heart. It’s hard to even breathe, hard to think as the unexpected tears sting his eyes.

“I should know better,” he mutters to himself in a small croak of a voice. He’s known one simple truth all his life, the higher the hopes the greater the heartbreak. Still, he let himself believe he could have this, let himself want it. Maybe because for the first time in years he’s proved his uncle wrong, there are some things worth having that can’t just be taken.

The older youth whispers in his ear. “These guys love to drag it out.”

Draken looks at him, eyes red with tears. “What?”

“Shit, I forgot this is your first time. Come on, stop crying, there’s another list.”

Draken shoves the older boy away from him.

“Who’s cryin? Say it again, I’ll kick yer ass!”

The rat eyed sorcerer clears his throat again. The histrionics continue so he clears it once more with similar results. A thunderous boom quakes the air as he claps his hands and the mother freakin shockwave knocks everyone off their feet.

“If I may have your attention,” he says. “I am about to read another list, those of you who hear your numbers please report to the sorcery alcove for special instructions. One, seventeen,, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-eight and twenty-nine. The rest of you I bid goodbye.”