The Interview II

Taking a deep breath, I entered the tent. Within, a solitary instructor, likely in his mid-thirties, sat elegantly poised. His sleek, jet-black hair framed a pronounced hooked nose, while his cold, penetrating black eyes emitted an air of detachment.

With a subdued timbre, he introduced himself, "Greetings, I am Orion. I am tasked with instructing magic studies at the Adventurer's Academy."

There was a momentary pause before he continued, his gaze steady, "And you are Alex, if I am not mistaken?"

My breath hitched as a surge of awe washed over me - standing before me was a genuine wizard. "Yes, sir," I managed to reply, my voice laced with a mixture of excitement and reverence.

Orion's expression remained unchanged, his demeanor cold and serious. "Very well. In my segment of this evaluation, I will assess the presence of mana within candidates. The capacity to harness mana is essential for those entering the realm of magic studies. Our academy will not accept adventurers who lack mana within their bodies."

Relief washed over me. I had read my status screen countless times over the course of my training - I knew I had mana points. A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I nodded in response.

I was glad - at least this part of the exam was simple. I had a suspicion that if Orion had delved deeper into testing his candidates, few would have passed. The man's cold and unyielding demeanor, coupled with his intense scrutiny, hinted at a challenging nature that lay just beneath his composed exterior.

Orion's gaze bore into me as he extended his hand. "If you would, Alex, place your hand in mine."

I complied, extending my hand to meet his. As our palms connected, I felt a sudden chill creep up my arm. Orion's touch was cool and deliberate, his fingers firm as they pressed against my skin. It was as if he was probing me, not just physically but on a deeper, magical level.

The sensation was strange, an awareness of something intangible stirring within me. Orion's touch seemed to reach into my very core, seeking something hidden. A tingling sensation spread from his touch, my pulse quickening.

Then, as if he had found what he was looking for, Orion withdrew his hand. With it, the sensation vanished. His expression remained impassive, his black eyes giving nothing away. "You may proceed to the next tent."

I nodded in relief, the corners of my smile widening. "Thank you, sir," I said, my voice tinged with appreciation.

Orion's gaze shifted away from me, his attention already moving on. "You may go," he reiterated, his tone as detached as before.

With a final nod, I turned and exited the tent, leaving behind the enigmatic wizard who seemed to hold so much power and knowledge.

Before me stretched the imposing form of the next tent, a stark contrast to the one I had just departed. Its towering red presence dominated a significant portion of the courtyard, a vibrant deviation from the understated grey of its predecessor.

Gathering my resolve, I closed the gap between myself and the tent's entrance, my mind buzzing with anticipation and curiosity. As I stepped inside, the sight that greeted me was as imposing as the tent's exterior.

A figure of immense proportions stood before me, a mountain of muscle and brawn. Nearly seven feet tall and covered with bulging muscles, he exuded an aura of raw power and strength.

My gaze trailed across the expanse of his form, and my attention was inevitably drawn to the scattered empty alcohol bottles littering the space near him, a visual testament to his penchant for indulgence.

As his gaze swept over me, a rough-hewn smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Name's Thorne," he rumbled, his voice a deep resonance that matched his formidable appearance. "I'll be your instructor in the art of combat."

A surge of trepidation coursed through me as I met his gaze, momentarily caught within the intensity of his scrutiny. The sheer contrast between Orion's composed refinement and Thorne's burning, passionate eyes was extreme.

Thorne's eyes, sharp, passionate, assessing, seemed to linger on me for a moment longer before he nodded with a surprisingly gentle mirth. "I can tell you've got a fair bit of fighting experience."

Surprise surged within me at his observation. "Yes, I've had some training," I admitted, a trace of pride seeping into my words.

His hearty chuckle echoed through the tent, a sound that seemed to reverberate with camaraderie. "Well, that'll serve you well here." His expression, one of unexpected warmth, belied his gruff exterior.

With a final nod of affirmation, Thorne extended a massive hand in greeting. "Well, welcome to the combat evaluation, lad."

I grasped his hand in a firm shake, the unspoken understanding between us creating a bridge despite our differences. "Thank you," I replied, a growing sense of friendship intertwining with my gratitude.

Thorne's broad grin held a promise of challenges to come. "Well, formalities are done. Let's get to the fun part. What're you made of boy? Let me see your mettle."

His words hung in the air, punctuating the growing tension. An abrupt shift suddenly occurred, as though an atmosphere of lead were pressing down upon me, constricting like a tightening noose.

A seismic wave of intensity suddenly rippled outward from him, the very air crackling with an impending tempest. The atmosphere itself coiled and thickened, turning dense and oppressive, like a gathering storm ready to unleash its fury. The weight of his presence was quickly growing, casting an inescapable shadow that cast everything else into obscurity.

The world seemed to shift and warp around me. The once-familiar surroundings dimmed, their edges blurring as if consumed by a swirling vortex of intensity. My vision tunneled, my focus drawn inexorably towards Thorne, the heart of this maelstrom of sensations and emotions rooting me to the floor.

A vice-like grip, relentless and unyielding, clamped around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. It was an invisible hand, cruel and unrelenting. Crushing the very essence of my being. I couldn't breath.

I was being crushed.

I needed to fight.

My heart pounded within my chest, its rhythm erratic and frenzied as it grappled with the overwhelming pressure. A myriad of sensations surged through my body, the pounding of blood in my ears, the tightness in my chest, the cold sweat that gathered on my brow.

A torrent of images and sensations assailed me. Fragments of memories from that ominous day. The day I had tried my best to forget. My heart attack.

Helplessness and dread. That's all that was left.

Each heartbeat echoed.

I was going to die.

I couldn't think.

Just when the pressure seemed insurmountable, it was as if a dam burst, releasing the weight that had oppressed me. The suffocating grip receded, leaving me gulping for breath, my heart thundering within my chest. Disoriented and shaken, I swayed, grappling to find solid footing in the aftermath of the visceral onslaught.

Thorne's brow furrowed, the intensity of his gaze magnified by his surprising face. "Few withstand that trial as you just did," his words carried a blend of astonishment and reverence, his gravelly voice echoing with respect. "Most crumble under the weight of my aura long before reaching this point. Good job."