A genius

Annabelle's turn finally came. The person examining her was Helen Capu de Brouges. Marcus followed suit to stand in front of Charles-Henri Marcelo de Gariga. The latter stared at him for a second with the strange impression of having seen him somewhere before without knowing where and when before indicating the ball to him.

"Put your hand on the crystal ball and be confident."

It was the same phrase he repeated in a loop to each new candidate since the beginning of the ceremony. Helen Capu de Brouges and the old Ernest did the same. Marcus obeyed without saying a word. As his index finger touched the perfect sphere resembling ice, a dazzling light appeared. It was as if the sun had entered the temple they had all been summoned to. Marcus thought he was hallucinating so bright and sudden was the light. In surprise, he withdrew his hand, but the light persisted for a few more seconds. However, it did not come from his ball but from the one on the table next to it.

"Annabelle?"

The girl stared without understanding at the crystal ball, whose light seemed to be fading. Naturally, all eyes had turned to her. When the light disappeared, the ball lost its appearance of an ice sphere to resemble pure and transparent glass. A few orange points of light danced like sparks.

"Annabelle, nameless, twelve years old," pronounced the young magus who seemed to have gathered energy.

"Twelve years old?!" exclaimed the old man as he jumped out of his seat.

"A genius," continued the alchemist with excitement.

"Darn, if only I had been faster, cough cough! Faster with the other. I would have had it..."

"Main element: fire," concluded Helen Capu de Brouges.

The old magus Ernest Gal de Montargent lamented shaking his head. Charles-Henri Marcelo de Gariga was as jealous as his colleague, yet he remained master of his emotions. With a faint hope, he asked Marcus to put his hand on the crystal ball, without really believing in it.

The young man hesitated before complying. He felt Annabelle's and the magus's gaze on him and the sphere. Then a miracle happened. A bright light appeared for the second time, and consecutively, which was a first in the annals of the Empire (excluding, of course, the capital), and the ball gained in clarity. It was difficult to see them, but inside were a few white dots resembling tiny snowflakes.

"Marcus, nameless, fifteen years old. Main element: air."

Helen Capu de Brouges turned to her colleague and congratulated him as if he had just awakened. Ernest Gal de Montargent's jaw trembled. He turned sharply to the young man facing him.

"You, put your hand on the crystal ball, now!"

Basile refocused on his ball and, with a lump in his throat and sweaty hands, placed one of them on its cold surface. A few seconds passed with nothing happening. Disappointed, the old man uttered the fateful words again.

"Negative. Next."

At the end of the day, out of the two thousand candidates of age to take the exam that the city of Niers counted, only Marcus and Annabelle were detected, making this year a fruitful one. It was not uncommon for no candidates to be chosen by the gods.

The instructions given to Marcus and Annabelle were clear: bid farewell to their loved ones and prepare for their departure, which was to take place that very evening. Of course, they would be accompanied. After all, it was out of the question to let unattended the young people who had just awakened, especially the very young Annabelle, whose value was immense.

However, it was unthinkable to lead these strangers to the Hideout. At the first opportunity, they escaped like criminals and returned to the Hideout located under the city of Niers. Indeed, there were multiple underground passages, some of which dated back to the end of the Carthaginian Empire, the one that preceded the current empire. Sometimes, one could find engravings or paintings on the walls representing mostly forgotten and forbidden deities. There had been some very violent revolts in this city over the religion practiced by the locals and the official religion brought by the Carthaginians. Those who wanted to continue worshipping their gods had taken refuge here, away from prying eyes, but eventually only the official religion remained. All other cults had long since disappeared.

The Hideout was in one of these underground passages, sheltered from guards, rain, cold, and other gangs. Only accessible through a small entrance hidden under a stone bridge, the Hideout was their fortress. Many times they had fought to preserve it. Now, Marcus and Annabelle would have to abandon it.

The gang there consisted of about fifty people in total and was led by a ruthless man named Baltsar. Together, they formed Baltsar's gang. Alone, they were weak, but together they survived. Everyone contributed in their own way for the common good. The youngest stole food, and the best stole gold or jewels. Marcus was one of them. He loved anything that sparkled and couldn't help but steal. He had had some problems because of it. Several times he had narrowly escaped being caught for trying to take a little something extra. Fortunately, he was more agile and quicker than most of the guards who patrolled on the surface.

His latest feat dated back to the previous week when he had indeed had the courage, or madness, to break into the house of the high priest of the temple of Eshmun and had stolen a silver bracelet with a rune on it. It had been made and engraved by a renowned alchemist in the capital and allowed its owner to increase the power of his spells by 10%. This bracelet was worth more than his life added to the lives of all those who lived in the Hideout. He had run for an hour through the entire city to escape angry guards.

Contrary to the rules, he had not handed this bracelet over to Baltsar. Instead, he had carefully hidden it behind a stone in a small, rarely frequented room covered in old paintings. It was here that he stored all his treasures. Marcus checked that no one was following him for the third consecutive time and, seeing nothing abnormal, went to the right corner where the secret hiding place was.

Marcus was a born thief. To survive, he had been ready for anything, but sometimes it was more for the pleasure that he had put his hand in someone else's purse. If he could be accused of stealing the shoes he wore, his clothes, and even his little knife, there was one object on him that he hadn't stolen. It was a small gold ring with a small orange stone shining like fire. This ring had always belonged to him as far back as he could remember. He was certain that this object had belonged to one of his parents. If he had no memory of his father, not even a shadow or a smell, he had nevertheless kept the memory of his mother over time. In his memory, she was a woman of great beauty with hair as blond as wheat. He had inherited her golden hair, but that was all, at least all he remembered.

Like a talisman to never forget her, he kept this ring around his neck.

Marcus checked for the third time behind him and, seeing nothing abnormal, went to the alcove with walls covered in paintings. He had seen them so many times that he didn't even pay attention to them anymore. Suddenly, he froze like an ancient statue. The stone had been removed from the wall and lay on the ground among the others.

"No, no, no, no, no!"

The hole left by the stone was naturally empty. The small canvas bag containing his treasures had disappeared, including his precious bracelet. He looked up and fixed his gaze on the female face painted on this piece of wall. It seemed peaceful, yet he had the impression that she was mocking him.

"Shit!"

In the grip of anger, he kicked the stone forcefully, causing it to fly across the room to the other side of the alcove. In the heat of the moment, he completely ignored the intense pain that had seized his foot.