Episode I — The Great Awakening Test

Chapter 1: The Great Awakening Ceremony (Part 1)

Michael jolts awake, his golden, fiery eyes snapping open. His breath comes in shallow gasps as he runs a hand through his shaggy, platinum-white hair. Rising from his bed, he stretches his slender, athletic frame. On his chest, just above his heart, a distinct birthmark in the shape of a heptagram glows faintly before fading away.

“That odd dream again,” he mutters, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, currently shrouded in shadows. He picks up his phone to check the time. On-screen, it reads ‘9:33 AM, July 14^th.’ A calendar notification pops up below: ‘Great Awakening Test.’

“That damn test,” he grumbles, placing his hands on his forehead as he sinks into the bed. His bedroom door bursts wide open, and his mother, Julie, comes in. Tall and slender, with olive skin, deep brown eyes, and long, dark, silky hair, she exudes an air of elegance. She wears a long white dress for the special occasion and carries a ceremonial cloak patterned in gold and blue.

“Happy birthday . . .” Her mood shifts from festive to horrified. “Michael! Why aren’t you ready? Your grandfather and his guests are in the ballroom, waiting for you!”

Michael rolls his eyes and angrily covers himself in his bedsheets. Julie opens the curtains, revealing a beautiful sunny day in Southern California. The view from Michael’s window is outstanding, with the entire city of Los Angeles sprawling below. Julie opens her son’s messy closet and throws a formal shirt, a pair of jeans, underwear, and shoes onto Michael’s bed. Awkwardly, the mage pushes everything aside as he stands up.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Julie tosses the heavy old cloak over Michael.

With a loud sneeze, he quickly pushes the cloak away.

“Please don’t tell me I have to wear this crap; it smells like an old man’s socks!” he exclaims, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“You know the tradition. That cloak has been worn by each of your predecessors for centuries,” Julie replies.

“It’s a shame it hasn’t been eaten by the moths already!” Michael grumpily exclaims, eyeing the old cloak with disdain.

“Why are you so upset? Shouldn’t you be excited?” says his mother.

“Why would I be?” Michael looks away, avoiding eye contact.

“Well, after the Great Awakening Test, you will officially be recognized as the Archmage Heir . . .”

“Everyone I know gets to spend their eighteenth birthday with whoever or however they want, except me. I’m the only weirdo who has to spend the day doing a stupid magic test surrounded by a bunch of old people I don’t even know!” Michael interrupts his mother.

Julie quietly stares at her son, her demeanor concerned.

“All my life I’ve been told I’ll be the greatest Archmage Agartha has ever seen, but I don’t even want to be the Archmage in the first place.” He stares down at the ceremonial cloak. “The worst part is, I don’t even know what I want anymore.”

“Oh, Mike . . .” Julie begins, wanting to add something comforting but finding herself at a loss for words. She turns around and slowly opens the door. “You know the protocol; please be ready soon. Don’t make your grandfather or his guests wait much longer. I’ll meet you outside.” With that, she leaves his room, leaving Michael to stare hopelessly at the ceremonial cloak.

After ten long minutes, Michael emerges from his bedroom. His mother is waiting for him nervously, clad in a similarly ancient-looking cloak as that of her son, though hers is a deep shade of green.

They move through the elegant hallways of their Victorian-style home, adorned with centuries-old portraits and marble busts of Michael’s ancestors. They seem to stare back at him, and he feels the weight of their judgmental gazes. As they approach a large wooden door, the entrance to the ballroom, Michael and his mother come to a dry stop before the door. Julie grabs the doorknob. “Let’s go, everyone is waiting for you!”

She opens the door, revealing a small but elegant Waldorf-style ballroom. The curtains are closed, casting the room into shadows illuminated by glowing yellow orbs floating gracefully in the air. The ballroom is packed with cloaked figures who slowly turn to face Michael and Julie. Each figure wears a cloak in one of five different colors: green, purple, dark orange, light blue, or silver.

Michael can feel all their eyes on him as he nervously walks to the front of the ballroom, where his grandfather, Archmage Perseus Dryad, awaits him in a majestic and heavily decorated golden cloak, its ornate embroidery setting him apart from everyone else in the room.

Concealed in the shadows of the mezzanine, a figure studies the ballroom below with keen interest. Red-cap Rickiemer, a dwarf distinguished by his pronounced toucan-like nose, sleepy eyes, crooked teeth, and thin pointy mustache, also boasts a disproportionately large head topped with a sagging, red, pointed hat. He wears a short purple vest over an off-white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and orange-and-yellow striped undersleeves, blue knee-length trousers, and sturdy brown boots. His wide leather belt and shoulder strap are crowded with small pouches, tools, and vials. Rickiemer’s expression shifts from deep boredom to sudden, palpable excitement.

“He’s here, at last!” the dwarf exclaims, happily shaking awake his sleeping companion.

Rigel, a diminutive dragon with a chubby body and an oversized head, has been asleep on the floor. His metallic scales shimmer with a light lavender sheen, and his eyelids open slowly to reveal large eyes in a shade of deep reddish-magenta. Despite his adorable appearance, Rigel possesses a fiery temperament and a strong will.

The dragon, visibly annoyed, shoves Rickiemer aside. With a deep, resonant voice, he speaks, “Can you stop? I’m awake now, dwarf, so stay out of my personal space.”

“We need to let Lady Eris know that the brat is here, and that the ceremony is about to begin,” Rickiemer says urgently.

“You call and deal with that bitch,” says the dragon grumpily as he sits aside, looking down at the ceremony.

The dwarf draws a crystal sphere from one of his many pouches and taps the surface. It rises slowly into the air, humming with unseen energy. Within its shimmering surface, a dark silhouette takes shape—a shadowy figure with cascading black hair, a gilded and feathered crown, and eyes that glow a fierce magenta-red.

“Took long enough. So, this is the prospective Archmage?” Eris’s sphere levitates, gliding to the edge of the mezzanine to give her a full view of the ballroom. “What’s his name?”

“Michael Dryad!” says Rickiemer.

“Michael Dryad, eh? What a lovely name for the future Archmage,” she says, her tone malicious and sarcastic. “What about the special guest? Is Nyx here with the Axis Mundi Dagger?”

“I haven’t seen her, but I’m sure she’s here,” Rickiemer nervously replies as he searches through the hooded figures. “All their faces are covered; I don’t know who is who.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait for them to disrobe,” says Eris, visibly annoyed. “Just remember to stick to the plan and don’t mess this up. Our contacts truly struggled to get us here.”

The dwarf nods submissively while Rigel stares back at her with indifference, absentmindedly picking his nose with one claw.

As Michael approaches his grandfather, Perseus, he spots his father, Jack, and younger sister Ember, hidden in the corner. Unlike the colorfully cloaked figures, they wear plain, gray cloaks as befits normal humans. Giving him a timid wave, they catch Michael’s attention. He offers a shy smile in return, oblivious to the looming stairs ahead. Tripping over them, he is caught by Perseus, who firmly grasps his arm.

“Watch your step!” Perseus exclaims, irritated, as he helps his grandson back to his feet. “Today is a big day for our family, and you’re late!” Perseus scolds Michael as he subtly drags his grandson toward the crystal podium.

Thank you for reading Chaos’s Key.

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