The Last Sonata

The air in the examination hall had changed, becoming heavy, akin to the feeling of ascending a mountain when your lungs feel as though they're filled with lead, and you can't muster the strength to climb any further. Gurzhik felt it keenly, but no less so than the penetrating gazes of those around him, who were anxiously awaiting his "performance."

"I must push forward... For you, father. I long to see that radiant smile on your face once more. I've caused you enough pain already... I don't want to be a laughingstock again! Not now. Not today!" Gurzhik murmured with determination. Taking a step forward, he greeted everyone present.

"Please proceed, Mr. Shadowmore," the instructor said.

Panic gripped Gurzhik once more: his hands began to tremble... He was at a loss, unsure of what to say, caught in the turmoil of choosing his element. Awkward silence stretched on. The spectators began to whisper amongst themselves, intensifying the young man's anxiety, which spread through him like a bolt of lightning. Yet, for a moment, determination flickered in his eyes, and he declared, hiding his nervousness: "I choose the element of fire."

A mocking murmur filled the hall, and even the air seemed to carry a sense of hopelessness. Gurzhik took a deep breath. "No turning back now. I will prove my worth."

"Are you going to take much longer, Mr. Shadowmore?" the teacher, Merlindor, asked contemptuously.

"Yes, sorry," the youth with the scarf replied timidly.

And so his incantation began: a small, fluffy spark of light slowly appeared in his palm. And it seemed to grow larger and brighter by several hundred times, akin to our celestial body, but first impressions are often deceptive. The bright sphere began to fade so quickly that none of the onlookers even had time to blink. Gurzhik's face paled; he stood in bewilderment and disappointment, watching his failure... He trembled again, like an autumn leaf in the wind, succumbing to the whirlwind of emotions raging within his soul.

The whispers grew louder, and Gurzhik, realizing he had lost everything in an instant, fell to his knees and wept: "I've let you down, father. I tried, I really tried, but it seems I'm not destined to be the pride of our family, as you wished... I don't want to go home. Please!"

He was so close to the summit, but our beacon dimmed, akin to a fallen star, unlikely to flare again... No matter how hard he toiled, he would never be as worthy as even the lowest-ranking mages... Is that fair? Shouldn't effort be rewarded? Then why bother trying? Just to waste time?... Just to be disappointed in life? No. Because those who give up early will never unlock the doors to boundless harmony with the world.

"I must try again!" Gurzhik cried out in desperation, attempting to cast another element. But... Only failure awaited him... He waved his hands helplessly, like a bird lost in the darkness of night, seeking a path to freedom under the impenetrable celestial dome, his voice trembling as he pleaded, "Come on. Please!"

"Enough!" Merlindor interrupted. "You've done what you could." The youth with the scarf, ignoring him, continued to wave his hands, hoping for a miracle. But miracles were reserved for his previous performance. And this... How to put it mildly?... Was a failure.

"Enough!" the teacher raised his voice again. Realizing that his student had lost his senses, he reluctantly resorted to magic. With a graceful flick of his wand, he calmed Gurzhik, sending him into slumber. Subsequently, the attendants took care of him, escorting him back to his room.

Artemon observed it all, witnessing every moment of his performance. He saw Gurzhik struggle against the odds and suffer defeat. But not against the light. No. Against himself. Artemon felt a pang of pain watching his once friend fall in agony right before him. A barely noticeable sympathy crept into his heart, growing with each passing minute. In a burst of emotion, he decided to write a letter to his old comrade.

"What happened? How did I end up here? I remember taking the exam and... It's all a blur..." Gurzhik thought after waking up suddenly in his room. A brown letter with the school seal lay on his nightstand. Trembling, he opened the envelope and began to read: "We regret to inform you of the decision to expel you from the Eseryon School of Magic. This decision was made due to your unsuccessful completion of the mandatory exam." Gurzhik, holding back tears, whispered, "What will I tell Father?" The youth with the scarf, consumed by sorrow, sat silently, staring into the hollow corner of his room. All he wanted was to become a good mage, but... Fate had other plans.

"The morning is wiser than the evening," Gurzhik murmured halfheartedly, lying back in his warm bed.

With a heavy heart, Gurzhik woke up. It was a clear morning, when you feel the freshness and lightness of the air, which you want to breathe in deeply. The wind gently caressed the grass, which had lost its usual color in the brightness of the sun. The sweet scent of flowers beckoned to go outside. But, though the weather was clear, everything seemed foggy to Gurzhik: he didn't know what to say to his father, didn't know what he would do next.

After his morning routines, he began to pack his things. Then he headed to the school gates, where a carriage was already waiting. Stopping by the gates, he said warmly, "At least I had a good time here. I don't regret coming. I tried... But my attempts were in vain." "Wait. I didn't say goodbye to Artemon... Although he could have come himself... He knows I'm leaving today..." the youth with the scarf added.

"Are you ready to leave soon, Mr. Shadowmore?" the coachman interrupted.

"Yes. Right now," Gurzhik shouted back, heading towards the carriage.

As he sat down, Gurzhik thought, "Do I mean nothing to him? Although, perhaps, it's my own fault..." Gurzhik added.

"You have a good journey ahead, Mr. Shadowmore," the coachman called out.

"I don't doubt it..." the youth replied wearily.

But Artemon hadn't forgotten...

As the carriage began to move, Gurzhik noticed a flickering light rising in the air. Like a magical message, a glowing figure flew towards him. It was Artemon, who, though he hadn't had a chance to say goodbye, used magic to deliver a letter. Gurzhik took the letter and opened it with surprise, realizing that his friend had found a way to bid him farewell. The letter read:

"My dear Gurzhik,

I know our paths have taken unexpected turns, and our friendship has weathered storms. Though the wind may be harsh, remember that even in the darkest night, the stars illuminate your path. Your magic is like a gentle breeze whispering through ancient trees—subtle, yet profoundly beautiful. Don't let the opinions of others drown out your unique light.

May the road ahead lead you to new horizons and unforeseen wonders. Embrace the challenges, for they shape the essence of your being. I wish you a future bathed in the radiance of your own potential.

I don't say farewell. For soon we shall meet again, my Friend.

May your heart find solace, and your dreams take flight.

Best wishes,

Artemon Feldrin."

Tears welled up in Gurzhik's eyes, not from sadness, but from gratitude. In Artemon's eloquent words, he found comfort and the realization that his friend valued him. The shadows of expulsion couldn't extinguish the warmth ignited by Artemon's heartfelt letter.

As the sun set below the horizon, Gurzhik continued his journey home, carrying with him the wisdom of his path and the sincere wishes of his friend.