“Now, let us begin!” Viggo said, and took ten steps from the front of the line. The proctor cleared his throat yet again, and the sound of parchment unfurling filled the air.

“First, we have Zachery Moreno. Affinity for fire magics. You may begin whenever you are ready, Mr. Moreno.” Zachery wasted no time and began his incantation.

“The heat of the day, the spark in the night, may these demons feel my might, I call forth Undead Smite!” Aidric stood in awe as Zachery unleashed a powerful third-tier spell, conjuring a massive ball of fiery orange that floated above his head, and launched multiple flaming projectiles... only to see them fizzle out before reaching their intended target. All the same, Zachery was left trying to collect himself and his honor, but it's hard to maintain dignity when you're hunched over gasping for air.

“Excellent job!” Viggo Trauger said, causing the proctor and a majority of the gathered students to clap their hands together so fiercely it sounded like the man was the hero of a decisive battle. “I would expect nothing less from my predecessor’s blood. Class one.” Zachery stepped off to the side of the line, observing with a self-assured smirk as the trim of his robe transformed into the colors of his royal house, purple and orange, which marked his acceptance into the academy, and the five-pointed star of his family’s symbol materialized on top of both biceps.

“Next, we have…” The proctor’s voice trailed off as Aidric delved into his mind, yet never took his eyes off the Ascended standing in the foyer, passing judgment on spell after spell hurled his way.

‘That… was good?’ Aidric thought, as his anxiety waned a bit and a pleased trill to vibrate in his mind.

“Pitiful, is it not? You were capable of such things before you were nine, and yet, they dare to look down upon you. Why do you play their games? You deserve to rule.”

‘Ruling isn’t the end goal here… not yet.’ The next chuff was of dissatisfaction, and Sam went back to being his same old grumpy self.

“You have all this power, yet you hide amongst sheep and expect them not to sniff you out. You are more pathetic than I had feared.”

‘Quit whining or I’ll have your dad come and put you to sleep again.’ Jaws snapped at the back of Aidric’s mind.

“He is not my father! Detestable betrayer. He will know my wrath soon enough.”

‘I’m sure he will.’

“Nervous?” Aidric snapped from his ‘daydream’ when Eriss turned her head towards him, and the scent of her lavender shampoo hit his nose as her heels clicked against the stones.

“Very. You?” Aidric asked. Eriss gave an impish grin and turned her gaze back towards the dwindling line.

“Very.”

“You’ve got this.” Aidric said. “Show them what the heir to house Quatan is capable of.” Eriss seemed a bit surprised at the pep-talk, but smiled brightly regardless, as she reached the front of the line, standing in wait for her name to be called.

“I do wish our parents could attend the exams.” Eriss said, her voice regaining its royal grammar this close to the officials, and the Second Ascended. “It would certainly cut down on the anxiety. Although… mother did appear rather agitated this morning.”

“I’m sure she was.” Sam said.

“Class three, well done.” With his talents having been assessed as just above middle of the road, the student retained as much pride as possible as he shuffled off to the side, joining the other nine students assigned to his class, an antique crown appearing on his robes, and faced the proctor. The segregated groups were filled with mostly high-end students, only three having been given ‘mediocre’ status and placed in class four, but that would surely change with the arrival of the six other groups slated for later that day, and the next four days. Eight stood in class one, nine in two, ten in three, and three in four.

 Luis Plinem sat behind his desk under a pop-up tent, in garb much too ornate for someone writing evaluation scores on a piece of parchment, faced away from the line and towards the Ascended and the assigned students. Eriss took a deep breath as the man called her name.

“Next, we have Eriss Quatan. Affinity for… healing magic! Splendid!” Murmurs ran through the already selected students. On a battlefield, you could have rank-and-file mages casting as many spells as you wanted, but if they died or were rendered unable to fight because of an infected sore on their foot, it wouldn't matter. War was a fight of attrition, the first to run out of soldiers or supplies lost, and mages worth their salt with healing magic were like finding a needle in a hay stack, so if you had a healer capable of keeping your troops fighting, that damn sure put you on the right foot.

“Wish me luck!” Eriss muttered under her breath, as she took five steps towards the towering man in front of her. Viggo Trauger pulled his sword from its scabbard, the sound of steel sliding against leather ringing through the air, and made a cut down the palm of his hand, causing crimson blood to leak from the cut and drip onto the stone below.

“Young Eriss, let's see your talent, shall we?” Viggo said. Eriss nodded her head, closed her eyes, and reached out her trembling hands towards the deity’s wound. Speaking in hushed tones, she produced a dazzling green light from her hands, expertly sewing up the cut and leaving behind only a delicate pink scar that would fade with time. The Ascended retracted his hand, flexing his fingers and balling them into a fist before splaying them again, and smiled.

“Truly a class act, young Quatan.” Viggo said. “Your Ascendant will hear of you; of that, I promise. Exceptional talent. Class one.” More cheers came from the gathered groups of students, more subdued by Zachery and his group, but cheers none the less. Eriss bowed to the God and walked over to the students of class one with a smile beaming on her face.

“Shame, we will not have any Whisperers in this group, it seems.” Luis said.

All the smiling faces dropped off the face of the earth, when they turned their attention to the last in line, some only now paying any attention to the sole examinee with a head of full colored hair. The Second Ascended, however, wore a mix of curiosity and humor, as if someone had told a joke that only he could hear.

“Lastly, we have Aidric… Bauer?” Luis Plinem did a double-take at the attendance list before him, and back to Aidric. “Affinity for gravity magic? Is this some sort of joke?” Murmurs turned into outright jeers from the students, minus Eriss, whose jaw tightened as she refused to meet Aidric’s gaze.

“My Lord, I sincerely apologize. I will have this urchin returned to the lower city at once!” Luis said. He rose with a labored quickness from his chair, the wooden legs scrapping against the stones as his body allowed him to waddle towards Aidric.

“Will you now?” Aidric asked. His heart was thundering in his chest, but he did his best to keep his cool as he reached into his pants pocket, feeling the smooth paper of the envelope crinkle against his fingers. The proctor recoiled a step, his eyes widening in shock.

“Guards! Apprehend this…!”

“Relax, proctor. It’s a letter.” Aidric pulled the parchment from his pocket and held it out towards Luis. The proctor’s eyes narrowed as his gaze jumped from the letter to Aidric’s face.

“What does it say?” Luis asked. Aidric gritted his teeth and assumed his prior air and played the part of the dimwitted common boy.

“I’ve no clue, Sir. I was told to deliver it to you unopened and untampered.” The man did one more take between the letter and his face, before slinking forward a few steps and snatching the envelope from between Aidric’s loose fingers. As he turned the brown paper in his hands, he understood that the absence of writing on the front was intentional, as the wax seal symbol conveyed a more powerful message than any words could.

“House Quatan…” Luis’s words were enough to make everyone’s gaze shift to Eriss, who in turn gave that same confused look to Aidric. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled on the back of his turtleneck, hoping to let some heat escape. Luis opened the envelope, and unfolded the letter within, making sure to keep his mumbling to himself this time. When he finished, he let out a chuckle and shook his head in disbelief.

“Well, my Lord. It appears this was not a mistake, and this… boy is meant to take the exam after all. I will asses him myself. I couldn’t dare to ask you to participate in this farce.” Luis said, turning his hate filled gaze towards Aidric. “You will be lucky to even sit beneath the dregs of class six, boy. I dare say I may petition my uncle to create a seventh class for you to have all your own to spare us from having to teach you.”

“If it would please you so, I will not argue, but I would hate to see you go through so much trouble for me, proctor.” Aidric said. “I would also request someone to stand in your place, Sir. I would hate to cause you injury. Gravity magic and a poor leg would be an unpleasant combination, no?”

Luis’s face turned as red as a tomato as his lips curled into a vicious sneer that all nobles seemed very talented at making. Aidric pondered if the talent was learned or inherited from their prestigious bloodline. Luis stamped his good foot on the ground, sending a sharp clack rising from the stones.

“You insolent little…!” As Luis started, the sound of the hulking man tapping his sword against the solid stone floor echoed through the foyer, filling the space with a metallic twang.

“Come now proctor.” Viggo said. “If he has earned the endorsement of House Quatan, perhaps we should give him a chance, no? I will be his judge.” Luis’s jaw clenched before his shoulders deflated, and he sunk back into his chair.

“As you wish, my Lord.” Luis said.

“Overwhelm them. Take control and make them fear you. Let them hate you.” Sam’s words did little to quell the once again racing heart in Aidric’s chest, only adding adrenaline on top of an already raging inferno.

“Aidric, was it?” Viggo asked. “Gravity magic. I want you to drive my sword as deep as you can into the stone. I will hold it still with my own magic and remove my hand until you are ready.” Aidric focused on the sword, and a faint purple glow flickered at the corners of his vision as he cast ‘Arrest’.

“No need, my Lord. I have control.” Aidric said. Laughter burst from the gathered students and the proctor until Viggo withdrew his hand from the sword, which now hung suspended in the air. The chuckles ceased, and pale faces and whispers took their place.

“How does a commoner know a third-tier spell?”

“Incantation?”

“Did anyone hear it?”

“A Whisp…” Luis said, rising from his chair in abstract horror that a commoner would hold such precious talent. A smile spread across the God’s face as he stepped back from the sword. Aidric’s hands trembled with anxiety at his sides as he held the weapon.

“Now, drive the blade into the stone.” Viggo said. A raucous growl ran down Aidric’s spine and a smile spread to his lips.

“Make them fear you.”

Aidric raised up his right arm and pressed the pad of his thumb on top of his index finger, and cracked the knuckle. The snap echoed, and the space around the sword shimmered as the spell preloaded in his knuckle was cast near instantly. Time stood still. In the blink of an eye, ‘Gravina’ sent the sword piercing through the stone path… then the foundation… then the mountain below. The sword left a divot in the shape of the guard, a small spiderweb like crack spread around it, and a terrible screech emanating from the hole like the mountain itself was screaming out for help as it sank deeper and deeper.

Aidric dropped his right arm and raised his left, snapping the same knuckle, and released ‘Gravislum’. Once more, the air froze, and from the hole in the pavilion, the sound of reforming rock and screeching steel echoed deep within the mountain. As the noise escalated into a cacophony, the sword emerged unscathed.

“Fi… fifth-tier magic…” Luis was barely able to choke the words out from his malfunctioning brain. The hole closed behind it, the spiderweb crack disappeared, and the dislodged piece of stone found its home back in the divot. The sword's familiar wolf-headed pommel and three embedded amethysts gleamed, unchanged, in their rightful place. Aidric flicked his eyes, and with a graceful motion, the hilt floated towards the God.

“Your sword, my Lord.” Aidric said. Viggo’s hand gripped the hilt of his sword, and with a practiced movement, he slid it back into its scabbard, the leather creaking softly. Any semblance of entertainment on the God’s face had been replaced by a stone-cold gaze, as even as the floor some no-named peasant boy had just sent his sword through. Aidric turned his gaze towards Luis, who remained fixated on the empty space where the hole had been. “Class seven, yes proctor?” The amassed group of students dared not even breathe before the Ascended spoke.

“Aidric Bauer. Class one.”