The gates of Veridian Academy swung open, and for the first time, the children stepped onto its hallowed grounds. A wave of excitement rippled through them, whispers and wide-eyed gasps quickly suppressed into a respectful silence. They trailed the stern-faced Archons in an obedient procession, no one daring to stray from the path.
The campus was a tapestry of lush greenery. Exotic trees with iridescent leaves cast dappled shadows over serene ponds, and nestled between them stood elegant buildings of stone and timber, their architecture a graceful blend of nature and arcane design.
After several minutes, their journey ended in a large clearing where dozens of simple, unadorned tents had been erected in neat rows.
The Archons turned to face them. The old Magus who had led the procession stepped forward, his voice carrying over the field. "This is the first hurdle you must pass: the aptitude test!"
A nervous clamor erupted from the hundreds of children, but it died just as quickly when the old Magus continued. His voice wasn't loud, yet it possessed a strange, resonant quality that made it sound as though he were standing beside each and every one of them.
"The minimum requirement for our students is a C-grade aptitude. Anything below that, and you will be eliminated. Veridian Academy will not invest its resources nurturing a Magus who lacks the talent to walk the path to its end."
A palpable wave of anxiety swept through the crowd. None of them had known there would be a cutoff. They all knew they possessed some talent for magic—that was why they were here—but none had any idea how that talent would be measured, or if it would be enough.
Alaric was just as confused as everyone else. Leaning toward the boy next to him, he whispered, "Excuse me, how many aptitude grades are there?"
A portly boy in a luxurious black silk robe trimmed with gold turned to him, an incredulous look on his round face. "You… don't even know that?"
Alaric gave an awkward smile, trying to formulate an excuse. But the other boy simply shrugged, his expression softening. "Whatever. I suppose it's not common knowledge where you're from."
This boy… Alaric was taken aback. He'd expected scorn, not an amiable explanation. It was a pleasant first.
The boy continued, "There are five grades: A, B, C, D, and F. A is the highest, F is the lowest—"
"Wait a minute," Alaric interrupted. "What about E?"
"Interesting question…" The boy frowned, genuinely perplexed for a moment. "Huh. Forget about it, don't sweat the details. As I was saying, A is the highest, F is the lowest."
"Basically, aptitude determines how far a Magus can go. A higher grade means you're more likely to reach the greater ranks."
"I see." Alaric nodded, the knot in his stomach tightening slightly. He offered the boy a hand. "Thanks for explaining. I'm Alaric."
The boy shook it firmly. "Edric. You're not from around here, are you?"
"No, I'm from Glenhaven—" Alaric began, but the Magus's voice cut him off.
"Now," the old Magus instructed, "enter the tents, one by one."
Edric gave Alaric a small, encouraging nod. "See you on the other side."
Alaric managed a smile. "Good luck."
He watched Edric walk toward a tent, his gait surprisingly confident. Alaric found himself chuckling. Maybe not all noble kids were arrogant snobs.
The line shuffled forward. Within a few minutes, Alaric found himself at the entrance to a tent, waiting for the person ahead of him to finish.
A moment later, a deep, toneless voice echoed from within. "Next."
Alaric took a steadying breath and stepped inside. The interior was far more spacious than the simple canvas exterior suggested. In the center stood a middle-aged man, his dark green cloak marked with the same four-leaf clover crest as the others.
"Stand in the center of the formation. Remain there as long as you can," the man said, his voice flat. He pointed to a complex diagram inscribed on the floor, a lattice of sigils and geometric patterns that made Alaric's head swim.
"Alright." Alaric nodded and moved to stand at its heart.
The Magus made a series of quick, intricate hand gestures. Instantly, the lines of the formation blazed to life, glowing with a brilliant orange light.
Alaric braced himself, closing his eyes as the energy pulsed around him.
It began subtly, but soon beads of sweat were tracing paths down his temples. His body began to tremble. A crushing pressure descended upon him, squeezing his body and mind, though the mental strain was a faint whisper compared to the overwhelming physical force.
He felt as if he were sinking into the deepest ocean trench, the weight of the water threatening to pulverize his very bones.
Alaric gritted his teeth, his vision blurring from the strain. "N-No… more!" he choked out, the words ripped from his lungs.
The light and pressure vanished as one. The Magus had deactivated the formation. He glanced at a device on his wrist and nodded once. "Good. B-grade aptitude. Just barely."
Alaric gasped for air, wiping a sleeve across his sweat-drenched forehead. Relief washed over him so powerfully his knees felt weak. He clenched his fists. I passed!
"Fill out this form and proceed to the next area through the back exit." The man's tone was noticeably warmer now. He handed Alaric a sheet of paper and gestured toward a flap at the rear of the tent.
Alaric borrowed a quill from the Magus and quickly filled in his name, date of birth, place of birth, and his newly-assigned aptitude. He exited through the back and found himself in another, smaller clearing, where he walked to the nearest tent and took his place in a much shorter line.
He looked around, noticing how much the crowd had thinned. The cutoff must have been brutal. He suspected nearly half the hopefuls hadn't made it through.
He was right. Only fifty-five percent of the aspirants would pass this first trial, and that number was destined to shrink with each subsequent test.
"Come in," a woman's voice called from inside. Alaric entered. This tent was much smaller, furnished only with a simple wooden table and two chairs.
A young woman with rich, burgundy hair sat in one of the chairs, regarding him with a pleasant smile. "Your form, please."
"Ah, yes." Alaric hurried forward and presented it with both hands, remaining standing before her.
"You may sit," she said, her voice gentle as she took the paper.
Alaric sat nervously, wondering what came next. The woman scanned his form, her smile widening slightly. "B-grade aptitude? That's splendid, Alaric. Now, let us proceed to the analytical test."
She snapped her fingers. A glowing, beautiful lattice of light took shape in the air between them. It was an intricate geometrical pattern, but Alaric could see it was incomplete, with lines, angles, and entire shapes clearly missing.
"Complete the model."
"H-How?" Alaric stammered, completely baffled.
The woman's smile turned into a knowing smirk. "Well, that is the test."