The sun was high, the earth already dry from the day before. In a field yellowed by the heat, a figure wearing a straw hat almost too small for his broad frame moved slowly… Each step was an effort under the blazing sun, his hoe striking the parched ground in a steady rhythm.

The man lifted his head, scanning the horizon as he stretched.

“At last I’m done… I’ll stop by the village before heading home. Maybe I can find a gift for Arlen. His birthday is coming soon.”

glancing up at the sun.

“It’s nearly noon. I’d better hurry if I want to be on time for lunch…”

As he passed through the central square, a gathering of people caught his attention.

—“Why are so many people gath…”

“Your attention, everyone! I am Inergo Poget, spokesperson of the Academy of Herbomia. By decree of the Academy and King Arthur II, tomorrow we will conduct a magic census! It will apply to all children of the village under the age of seven! I ask for your full cooperation—otherwise it will be considered rebellion!”

The crowd grew louder, voices rising, until the man in the long blue hat clapped his hands for silence.

“Do not worry! Our king and the Elders have decreed that parents will be allowed to attend their children’s examination!”

—“But Arlen will be seven in two days! I’ll have to take him tomorrow… I’ll ask Hélène to find a gift for him while we’re there.”

The sun still burned fiercely as the man left the square. His weathered face, carved by years of labor in the fields, held the stoic expression villagers learned to wear. Yet inside, a chill crawled up his spine.

—A magic census?

He quickened his pace. His boots struck the dry earth with heavy thuds, raising small clouds of dust along the dirt path. One hand held his hat, as though he feared the wind might take more than just fabric from him.

The house was modest, built of wood at the edge of the village. A garden overrun with weeds and brambles bordered the façade. On the doorstep sat a small boy, cross-legged, eyes shining as he watched the birds hop from branch to branch. The bird flew away as his father approached.

“Papa! You’re late! Mama said the sun would melt you!”

The father gave a tired smile.

“I’m tough, don’t worry. You’d melt before I did.”

The boy giggled.

“Come on, let’s go inside. I have something to tell you.”

Inside, the cool walls contrasted with the crushing heat outside. Hélène busied herself by the stove, a cloth in hand, her cheeks flushed from cooking.

“Did you hear what they’re saying in the square?” he asked as he kicked off his boots.

“No, I haven’t been out. Why, what’s going on?”

“The Academy. Tomorrow they’re coming to do a magic census. All children under seven must undergo an examination. Order of the king.”

Hélène froze, her hand suspended above a pot. Arlen, sitting at the table, widened his eyes.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of it… That’s all the information we’ve been given. I think the Academy will take in as students those who have magic within them.” He leaned in to kiss Hélène.

“A magic exam?” Arlen asked softly.

“Yes. And you’ll be going, little man. You’ll still be six for a few more hours, so they’re including you. I’ll be with you, of course.” He winked at his son.

“We’ll need to set out your best clothes. And… maybe a little gift for afterward? To mark the occasion, along with your birthday.”

She nodded slowly, frowning.

“All right… I’ll take care of it. But I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

The meal dragged on, strangely quiet. Each of them lost in their thoughts.

Reynold watched his son from the corner of his eye. The boy absentmindedly pushed a carrot around his plate.

—“He’s still so little… Too young to understand what this means. If he does have magic… they’ll want to take him away. The Academy doesn’t pull its punches. And me? What can I do? I’m just a farmer with dirt under my nails and no power at all.”

He clenched his fists on his knees.

—“I want him to have a better life, yes. But not like this. Not at the cost of losing him.”

—“A magic test…” Arlen thought. “That means I might have magic? Me? Sometimes I feel strange things—like shivers in the air when I’m happy, or scared… Is that magic? And if I have it, will I be able to cast spells like in the stories? Protect Mama and Papa? Become someone important?”

Hélène kept her face calm as she cleared the table, but her thoughts roared.

—“I’ve never trusted magic. It brings trouble, war, ambition. And if Arlen has it… they won’t ask our opinion. They’ll say it’s for his own good. And with Azoth’s shadow growing by the day, they’ll need more mages… more cannon fodder…”

She set her hand gently on the table, stopping herself mid-motion, fear tightening her chest.

Reynold took a breath, forcing the shadows from his mind with a smile.

“Go on, Arlen. Play outside for a bit. I saw the twins from the farm down the road near the old apple tree.”

Arlen grinned, hesitated, then dashed out, pulling on his little boots. The door closed softly behind him.

A heavy silence settled.

Hélène sat down slowly. Reynold washed the dishes.

“You think they’d really take him?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I think… if he has magic, they won’t let him stay here.”

“He’s just a child. He needs us—not some cold academy and a teacher telling him who to be!”

“Maybe…” Reynold murmured. “But if that’s his fate… we won’t be able to protect him forever.”

She bit her lip, turning her gaze away.

“So what do we do?”

It took him a moment to respond. Then he said:

“I have a friend. If I talk to him, he might be able to watch over Arlen for a while. Keep him from being taken by the Academy.”

“For now… let him enjoy himself.” He watched his son run in the distance with the twins.

Arlen, for his part, had already stopped thinking about the census, the worry vanishing like mist in the sunlight.

“Come on! I found something amazing over here!” he called, pointing toward the forest near the river that bordered the fields.

His laughter carried across the fields, lifted by the warm evening wind. Hélène leaned against the doorway, following the bounding silhouette with her eyes until it disappeared into the golden light.

The afternoon dragged on slowly, marked by the rustle of nature and the faint shouts of children. When Arlen returned, cheeks flushed and knees stained with grass, he brimmed with stories. He spoke of a hollow tree turned into a secret hideout, of a duel with an imaginary serpent, and of a pact sealed with the twins to guard “the elven frontier by the river.”

Reynold and Hélène listened in silence, smiling at his tales, sometimes laughing. Yet beneath their gaze lingered a silent melancholy—the kind parents feel when they know these ordinary, precious moments may never come again quite the same.

When night fell, Arlen fell asleep almost instantly.

The night was short for Reynold and Hélène. Lying side by side, they stared at the ceiling, whispering between long silences. At dawn, Hélène rose first, carefully laying out Arlen’s clothes for the exam: his whitest linen shirt, his trousers without patches, and his little leather boots.

“He must look presentable,” she said to Reynold at the doorway. “Whatever happens, I don’t want them saying we don’t care for him.”

Reynold nodded, brushing his hand over the fabric.

When Arlen woke, sunlight streamed through the shutters, casting dusty beams across his bed. He stretched, still drowsy, then remembered: today was the special day. The magic exam. Excitement shivered through him, and he leapt from bed to join his parents.

“I’m ready!” he declared, still in his nightshirt.

His mother smiled.

“Breakfast first,” she said gently. “Then we’ll get ready. You need to be strong for today.”

Breakfast was simple but hearty: fresh bread, cheese, and even a little blackberry jam—Arlen’s favorite, usually saved for special occasions. His father ate in silence.

“And after the exam,” Arlen asked suddenly, mouth full, “can I have a wand? Like the mages in the stories?”

Reynold exchanged a glance with Hélène.

“We’ll see,” he said at last. “First the exam. One thing at a time.”

Dressed in his finest clothes, Arlen spun before his parents.

“Do I look like a real mage?” he asked, eyes sparkling.

His mother knelt, fixing his collar.

“You look like my Arlen,” she said, kissing his forehead. “The bravest, most beautiful boy of all.”

The village was unrecognizable when they reached the square. Blue and gold tents had sprung up overnight, bearing the symbols of the Academy of Herbomia. Men and women in long robes bustled about, holding parchments and ornate staffs.

“Look,” Arlen whispered, tugging at his father’s sleeve, “they have real wands!”

Reynold gripped his hand a little tighter.

“Stay close to me, all right?”

The square was already crowded. Families waited with their children, some younger than Arlen, clinging and crying. Others, bolder, darted between the rows of tents, excited by the event.

On a makeshift platform stood Inergo Poget, the man in the long blue hat Reynold had seen the day before. He directed families into different lines by age.

“Children ages five to seven, over here!” he shouted, pointing toward a particularly large tent.

Hélène knelt before Arlen again, fussing with his clothes.

“Listen carefully,” she said tensely. “Whatever happens in there, remember this: you are our son. Our treasure. And we love you more than anything in the world. Do you understand?”

Arlen frowned, puzzled by his mother’s solemnity.

“I understand, Mama. But why do you look sad? It’s just an exam, right?”

She exchanged a look with Reynold, then forced a smile.

“Of course. It’s just that… mothers always worry a little. That’s our job.”

They joined the line of children aged five to seven. The wait was long. The sun climbed higher, and even under the tents the heat grew stifling. Some children emerged from the large tent, faces glowing, others in tears. A few were escorted by mages who whispered to their parents.

“What do they do in there?” Arlen asked, growing more nervous as their turn neared.

“I don’t know,” Reynold admitted. “But I’ll be with you the whole time. I won’t leave your side.”

At last, their turn came. A young man in a dark blue robe approached with a parchment.

“Child’s name?” he asked.

“Arlen,” Reynold replied. “Arlen Termi.”

The mage traced the list with his finger.

“Ah, yes. Six years old… almost seven, correct?”

“Yes. His birthday is the day after tomorrow.”

The mage nodded, signaling to a colleague.

“Just in time, then. Follow me.”

He led them to the entrance of the large tent. From the outside, nothing inside could be seen—the thick, dark canvas blocked all view. Yet as they approached, Arlen felt something strange: a low humming that made his teeth and bones vibrate.