The mage pulled aside the flap of the tent, revealing an interior far larger than the outside suggested. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over a deep black orb resting on the high table at the center. Just to the right of the orb stood an old man whose robe seemed to float above the ground.

“Dad…” Arlen whispered, suddenly anxious.

Reynold squeezed his hand.

“I’m here.”

“Welcome, Arlen,” said the man in a deep voice that seemed to resonate not only in the air but directly within the boy’s chest. “I am Master Elyrian. I will be overseeing your examination.”

Arlen swallowed hard, gripping his father’s hand tighter.

“Come closer,” the old mage continued, extending his hand. “Do not be afraid. We only want to see whether magic has chosen to make you its friend.”

Reynold stepped forward with his son, crossing the threshold of the tent. The air inside felt different, denser, charged with strange scents of spice and ozone. The sounds of the village suddenly seemed very far away, as if the tent existed in a space apart from the rest of the world.

“Before I test you, I must explain what magic truly is…” The mage paused, watching Arlen carefully, then went on. “Magic is a reaction that can alter laws.”

“Laws? What kind of laws?” asked Arlen, tilting his head.

“A law is a relationship between the elements of the world. They interact with each other in precise ways. For example, if I take water in this glass and let it fall, it will always fall toward the ground. That is a fact, something immutable. That is a natural law. Do you understand?”

Arlen nodded, brows furrowed.

“But… what does magic have to do with that?”

“Ah! An excellent question.” The old mage smiled, stroking his beard. “Magic, you see, likes to change the way these laws work. It interferes with the rules, bends them, breaks them, rewrites them. Take the water again: in that simple fall, many things are at play, water, air, gravity, earth, time… Each obeys its own law. And magic can play with them all.”

The mage drew from his pocket a long, slender wand. Though worn, it looked surprisingly solid, almost unbreakable.

He pointed it at the floor and whispered words too quiet for Arlen to hear.

— “I can’t… hear what he’s saying…” thought the boy.

A moment later, the puddle on the ground began to rise, drop by drop, as though time itself were flowing backward. It floated upward against gravity, gliding smoothly around obstacles.

Arlen’s eyes widened he barely dared to breathe.

— “I could… do that? Move things? Control them?”

Elyrian, amused by the boy’s wonder, sped up the movement of the water. The puddle darted around the tent like a playful bead of light before calmly settling back into the glass on the table.

“And that was only a glimpse,” Elyrian said with a wink.  

“I could even extract the soil within that water, but that requires true mastery of the element.”

He nudged the other mage standing silently at his side.

“Not bad as a transition, right?”

The other shot him a glare, and Elyrian rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come now. The boy’s nervous, you can see it. A little levity helps. Anxiety can affect exam results, you know.”

Then, his tone turned serious once again.

“As I was saying: the elements. They are everywhere. If you join the Academy, you’ll study them in depth. But for today, let me show you the basics.”

Elyrian raised his wand and performed a series of precise movements. With each gesture, an element appeared:

“Behold, Water.”  

A crystalline jet shot toward the ceiling.

“Behold, Wind.”  

A sharp gust sent the droplets spiraling.

“Fire.”  

A gentle flame bloomed at the wand’s tip, then vanished without burning.

“Earth.”  

A compact clump of dust rose from the ground, hovering in the air.

“And finally, Light.”  

A golden glow spread through the tent, warm and soft as a miniature sunrise.

“Everyone capable of magic has an affinity with an element. Which will be yours? And at what level? Some are much rarer than others for example, fire is very common, unlike light.”

“Step closer to the black orb, my child,” the mage said solemnly. “Let me explain how the test works.”

“Okay…” Arlen murmured, taking a hesitant step toward the central table.

“Listen carefully,” Master Elyrian said, holding up three fingers. “First rule: whatever happens, never remove your hands from the orb.

Second: do not try to force it with strength or otherwise. It does not like that and may distort the result.

Third: once the test is over, you must tell me what temperature the orb gave off. Do you understand?”

“Yes…”

“Perfect. Now, let me explain the three phases. The first is only an awakening: the orb will glow faintly and vibrate.”

“The second phase is more unpredictable often the texture or temperature changes dramatically.”

“Will it hurt?”

“No, no, don’t worry,” Elyrian reassured him with a smile. “As for the third phase… it will reveal your element by a colored light. Are you ready?”

“I… I think so, yes.”

“Good. Go on, place your hands.”

Arlen stepped up to the table, which adjusted itself magically to his height. He laid his palms gently on the orb.

“Oh! It’s cold!” he exclaimed.

“That’s normal,” said the mage. “How does it feel?”

“Cold… but nice? Smooth too.”

“Very good. I will now activate it. Whatever you feel, do not let go. Promise?”

“Promise, Master.”

Elyrian lifted his wand and began his incantation. The orb resonated, then trembled.

“It’s shaking!” Arlen cried, eyes wide.

“That’s the first phase. All is well,” the mage said without pausing.

The vibrations grew stronger, then stopped abruptly.

Silence filled the tent.

“Master?” Arlen asked after a while. “It’s not doing anything.”

Elyrian frowned, scribbling in his notebook.

“Is that normal?” the boy pressed. “Is the test done?”

“No, no…” the mage muttered, troubled. “Sometimes it remains inert, but even that tells us something…”

He trailed off, unconvinced.

“Tells you what?” Arlen asked.

“Keep your hands there. The third phase should begin soon—the light will reveal your element.”

“How long does it usually take?”

“A few minutes at most…”

But minutes passed. Two, then five, then ten.

“Master, are you sure this is normal?” Arlen asked nervously.

“I… let me check something,” murmured the mage, casting another spell to probe the orb.

“It’s still active,” he muttered, frowning. “But it’s troubling that it takes so long. Normally, in two minutes at most, all phases are complete.”

He hadn’t even finished when a faint light pierced the orb’s darkness. Elyrian’s quill trembled as he hurriedly scribbled notes.

The orb shone with a neutral color—a pure white, contrasting its former blackness. But just as quickly, the glow began to fade.

The mage started to announce the test’s conclusion—when the orb flared again, brighter than ever before.

The light grew so intense it was like standing under the noonday sun. Even with eyes shut tight, it burned. Arlen, directly before it, instinctively turned his head away—but pain lanced his hands. It felt as though sharp thorns were sprouting from the orb’s surface, stabbing and retracting in an endless cycle that drew silent grimaces from him.

When at last the brilliance subsided, the white glow shifted. Crimson red replaced it, then golden yellow, then azure blue, then emerald green. The entire spectrum of colors unfurled before their stunned eyes, each hue purer and brighter than the last.

Finally, the orb sank into a deep black—not the dull darkness it had at first, but something denser, more alive, more mysterious.

Master Elyrian stood frozen, stunned. In all his long career, he had never seen anything like it. He nearly forgot to ask Arlen how he felt—so hypnotized was he by the sight.

But Arlen could not have answered anyway. When he finally withdrew his hands, blood trickled down between his fingers. His palms were torn by the orb’s mysterious thorns. The pain was so overwhelming it drowned out every other sensation—he could not even tell if it was hot or cold.

A tear rolled down his cheek as he turned to his father, voice breaking.

“Was I… was I strong, Dad?”

Reynold knelt instantly, pride shining through his worry.

“Yes, my son. You were extraordinary,” he said tenderly, binding the boy’s wounds.

Once the bandages were secured, Master Elyrian approached, his face grave but filled with newfound respect. He bowed deeply before Arlen and Reynold.

“I offer my deepest apologies,” he said solemnly. “Never has a candidate been harmed during the test. It is unacceptable.”

Reynold’s jaw tightened.

“You’d better make it right,” he replied sharply, eyes blazing. “My son should not have suffered from your exam.”

“Of course, of course,” Elyrian said quickly, producing a pouch from his robe. “Here are one hundred gold pieces for treatment and… for the trauma. And if Arlen chooses to join the Academy, all his fees will be waived. It is the least I can do.”

He handed the pouch to Reynold, who snatched it.

“Good,” Reynold muttered, anger softening slightly at the generous compensation.

The mage drew a deep breath, weighing each word.

“I will not lie to you, Arlen… You are an absolutely exceptional case. In forty years, I have never witnessed anything like this. What you just accomplished defies all known classifications. You are not simply gifted… magic itself seems to have recognized something unique in you.”

Silence hung heavy in the air before Elyrian continued, his tone darkening.

“Unfortunately… we could not identify your element. All those colors, that final black… it is unprecedented. And without a defined element…”

He hesitated, glancing at his silent colleague.

“Without an element, admission to the Academy is… problematic. The rules are strict.”

Arlen’s face fell, and Reynold squeezed his shoulder.

“But!” Elyrian quickly raised a hand. “I will personally plead your case to the Council of Archmages. What I witnessed cannot be ignored. Never has the orb reacted with such intensity. These wounds prove that magic itself has marked you.”

He leaned toward Arlen, eyes burning with determination.

“I promise I will do everything in my power to see you admitted. Your case requires special attention. The Academy would be mad to let such a talent slip away—element or no element.”

“Well!” the mage declared at last. “The exam is finished. You will have an answer in about two months. You may go home now.”

The sky was painted orange as Reynold and Arlen returned to their modest home. The bandages on Arlen’s hands instantly caught Hélène’s attention. She rushed over, eyes wide with worry.

“What happened?” she cried, taking his bandaged hands gently in hers.

Reynold dropped the pouch of gold on the table with a metallic clink that made her flinch.

“There was… an unusual event. Our son has enormous potential!” he declared proudly, though his voice carried exhaustion.

“But his hands…” Hélène’s eyes darted between the pouch and the bandages, trying to understand.

Arlen collapsed into a chair, the weight of the day pressing down on him.

“Mom… the orb… it shone with every color. It even grew thorns, and then…” He raised his bandaged hands. “It hurt. A lot.”

Tears welled in Hélène’s eyes.

“My poor darling… And the Academy? What will they do? They must compensate us for this!”

“He will have the support of the mage who tested him. And he gave us a hundred gold pieces.”

Hélène stroked her son’s hair, torn between pride and fear.

“Exceptional… yes, you’ve always been that, my love. But sometimes, being different can be hard…”

That night, despite his exhaustion, Arlen struggled to sleep. Again and again he saw the colors dancing in the orb, the final consuming black. What did it mean? Was he truly so different from the others?

One month later…

The Grand Hall of the Council echoed with solemnity. Twelve Archmages, robed in the colors of their elements, sat in a half-circle around a black marble table. At the center stood Master Elyrian, report in hand.

“Honored colleagues,” he said firmly, “I have laid out the facts regarding young Arlen. In forty years of service, never have I witnessed such a manifestation of magic.”

The Archmage of Fire, a woman with blazing hair, leaned forward.

“Master Elyrian, you ask us to admit a child with no identified element. That goes against all our laws.”

“With respect, Archmage Pyra,” Elyrian replied, “this child made the Evaluation Orb bleed. It cycled through every element before settling into a black that appears nowhere in our records.”

The Archmage of Water, a bearded man with deep blue eyes, nodded slowly.

“The wounds are troubling, I admit. But without classification…”

“That is precisely why he must be admitted!” Elyrian interrupted passionately. “We may be facing something entirely new. To refuse this boy would be a historic mistake.”

The Archmage of Air spoke next.  

“And what of stigma? You know as well as I that at the Academy, one’s element determines far more than specialization. It dictates respect, social circles—even dormitories. To bring in a child without an element is not only risky—it is cruel.”

The Archmages exchanged heavy glances. Murmurs rose around the table.

The Supreme Archmage, an elderly woman whose robe shimmered with all elements, raised her hand for silence.

“We have heard your arguments, Master Elyrian. The Council will now deliberate.”

She looked to her peers, then back at Elyrian.

“The verdict on Arlen’s admission to the Academy is…”