Assesment Day - Part 1

Two girls confidently stepped forward through a narrow alley in the Docks district of Tramiria, the capital city of the Empire. They swung their arms in unison, humming a merry melody as they moved along the ramshackle dwellings that clung to life in the city walls' shadows. The setting sun, teetering on the horizon, draped its dying light over these sprawling wooden constructions that reached four stories high and housed thousands of inhabitants seeking a more affordable existence. This labyrinthine area, a product of explosive population growth, featured buildings huddled together in organic, cramped clusters. They leaned on each other for support, their closeness trapping the acrid scents that wafted through the corridors beneath them.

"Ha, ha. That's just what I needed. Thanks, Vivi," said one girl after the vibrant notes of their tune faded away.

Catching her friend's eye, the other girl chuckled. "When I spotted you stomping around the corner with that angry face, I knew you needed a bit of cheer. So, what happened?" she asked, giving a reassuring pat on the back.

"Uh. I spent the day with my dim-witted cousin Brick. We played together the entire time, and at the end, I told him about my hopes for tomorrow. You can guess the rest…"

"Ari… Not that again…" Vivi paused, her eyes widening in reaction to the icy glare she received. "I mean, you know that I've always tolerated this fixation of yours. Don't give me that look now. But you can't expect others to treat you seriously. And they're worried about you too—who in their right mind wants to get cursed?"

"What curse? Everyone uses the Power just fine. And I'll have my Power too!"

"Others, maybe. But we don't. You know the stories better than anyone, don't you?" Vivi winked, her voice teasing but underscored with concern.

"Of course I do. My father won't let me forget. I'm sure he even concocted a few of his own when he grew bored with the old ones."

Seeing Ari's expression sour, Vivi softened her voice. "They're worried, and I am too. It would be better if you had no Power. Sorry," she said.

"We've had these talks before, Vivi, but this is the first time you've actually said it out loud." Ari's face brightened, a newfound light sparkling in her eyes. "I don't care, though. I want my Power and I won't be swayed. Four hundreds years ago, we lost to the Empire because we stood no chance against mages. The resistance we Bandawi are so proud of? It's nothing but a hollow boast—utterly useless. Those who migrated and settled in the Empire's capital, who now frequent my uncle's tavern, waste their hours, inflating their courage with empty talk of reclaiming our land. But with what? How? Perhaps, at best, they could defeat the Empire in a drinking contest, or a tavern brawl," Ari spat, her voice dripping with scorn.

Vivi's expression tightened. "Don't speak like that. We, Bandawi, are proud people. Our history is not something to be belittled. There is wisdom in our traditions, our ways."

"Oh, wisdom indeed. A wisdom that teaches us to fear and loathe that which lies beyond our understanding." Ari's sneer was bitter, a shadow of anger crossing her face. "Still, being Bandawi has its perks. We don't need to fear anything in the Docks. No sane person would dare to cross us in fear of retribution." Her voice turned lighter, almost mischievous, as she chuckled.

Vivi, however, remained serious. "With the morrow looming, how do your parents fare?"

"They can't stop me, and they know it. I remember all too well when I overheard them saying that testing us, Bandawi, is worthless, a waste of time. But 'the Empire carries out the examinations more scrupulously than tax collection', they said. It eased my fears about them trying to lock me up or something. My father? He keeps warning me that my eyes and teeth would pop out if I ever dared to use the Power. But now, it's just one day away. I'm almost there."

"You're setting yourself for disappointment, Ari. You can't wield the Power. It's true, and you know it."

"Here we go again…" Ari sighed.

"I'm being realistic. When it happens, you can come to me to cry. I'll be here to cheer you up, as always."

"I'll come alright, but it will be to dazzle you with my newfound Power."

They stopped. The narrow slit between buildings, a mere crack in the skyline of Tramiria, allowed the fading sunshine to grace them for the last time that evening. Their silver hair—a distinctive Bandawi trait—shimmered like the surface of a tranquil millpond, reflecting the twilight's amber glow.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but good luck tomorrow," Vivi said, her eyes holding a mixture of worry and support. With a last glance, she turned, disappearing into a narrow passage that swallowed her in shadows.

"Thanks." Ari's response was soft, barely more than a whisper, a fleeting word thrown to the now empty street.

A shiver crept up her spine, unbidden and unwelcome. Hair bounced on her back as she spun around, her reddish eyes glowing in an attempt to pierce the dusk's veil. She swept her gaze over the darkening corners and hidden recesses of the alley.

She was alone. Not a single trace of movement marred the shadows, yet the sensation lingered. Stillness. Silence. Over the past few years, it had been happening more and more often. The inexplicable, haunting sensation of being observed by unseen eyes.

As the sun dipped behind the horizon, the air darkened, and the walls of the alley seemed to lose their definition, their colors fading into shades of gray. Ari's breath caught in her throat; she gulped and ran. With her heart pounding in her ears, she refused to even glance at the black, unlit spots she passed by. Monsters can't get you if you can't see them, she told herself, yet her mind's eye painted them lurking, waiting.

(Just one more turn.)

Bursting through the entrance to her complex, Ari sprinted up the worn stairs, her feet barely touching the ground. As the building was a communal hive, housing multiple families on each floor, she dashed into a common corridor, dimly lit by a single, feeble lightstone, and moved past washed-out neighbors' doors. Her feet seemed to carry her on her own accord, fueled by lingering dread, until she halted right before the knob to her flat.

The pungent aroma of an everyday local meal—a blend of onions, boiled cabbage, and small lumps of fried meat—assaulted Ari's nose as she stepped inside.

(Uh, dinner's ready.)

Bare walls, interrupted only by the sparse simplicity of a few wooden shelves bearing family trinkets, greeted her as usual. The living room—the family's prime gathering spot—consisted solely of a large rectangular table surrounded by stools that had seen better days. Its austere decor, as unchanging as seasons, had not altered since her birth.

At the timeworn table, Ari's parents and Aunt Kormelia sat together, huddling at the wall's end. They had to be in the middle of hushed conversation before she entered, but now all three pairs of eyes turned, sharpening their focus on her.

"You're late!" Her father's voice boomed as he rose, his face etched with stern lines.

"I was helping Brick!" she shouted back, words escaping without thought.

Her father's jaw circled in a soundless motion, his anger deflating. The name of his nephew had a mollifying effect, a soft spot in his otherwise rigid demeanor. He had always been fond of him.

Her mother gestured to an empty seat. "Ari, come here and sit across from Aunt Kormelia." It was a command, not an invitation.

Ari put her head down and obeyed, footsteps echoing a reluctant march. She already knew what this was about. Kormelia was not her real aunt, only her mother's friend. Not even a close one—more of a colleague—they worked together at the docks. Kormelia was known for her talent in Power reading and source detection.

(Talent my ass. She still has to work, just like my mother does. Useless,) Ari mused.

With a sigh, Ari took a seat and held out her right hand towards Kormelia. Her aunt's pale, bony fingers, seasoned by years of labor, skimmed across her palm and wrist, leaving a trail of sensations in their wake. They continued upward with practiced ease until they grasped Ari's forearm, clutching like skeletal hands.

"Ari, relax and look into my eyes," Kormelia said, her voice calm, almost soothing.

It was not the first time, but that did not make it any easier. Ari steeled herself, drew in a deep breath, and plunged her gaze into her aunt's eyes. An unseen current surged through her shoulders, causing an irrepressible shudder to rattle her spine. Kormelia's warm brown irises receded, her black pupils dilating rapidly, until they swallowed Ari's entire field of vision, immersing her in an abyss of deep, unyielding blackness. Within that dark expanse, someone—or something—was there, inside her mind. A minuscule presence prowled the edges of her consciousness, insolent and invasive. She struggled to expel it, pushing with all her might, but it did not budge. The invader meandered unaffected, treating her like an insignificant insect not worth its attention.

"Ari." The muffled voice reached her from far away, reminding her of a scene when she had fallen into a dark, churning river. The children laughed. The adults screamed. All the noise trapped behind a veil, dulled and distant.

"Ari…? Hey!"

She jerked, her thoughts sluggish, like waking from an evening nap soaked in nightmares. The room swam into focus; she was at the table again. Kormelia's cold hand no longer held hers. The alien presence had dissipated, but her body still trembled, resonating with the intrusion.

Her mother's gaze weighed on her for a moment before she nodded—a satisfied affirmation. All three of them returned to their discussion.

"… there was nothing, just as always. You don't need to worry Reif. She doesn't have a single shred of Power." Kormelia smiled at the girl's father. "However, I did encounter a slight resistance. It must be an effect of her blood. She looks, and feels like, a normal Bandawi girl."

Tears gleamed in Ari's eyes, hot and stinging. (Do they have to do this even now, the day before?)

"I will have my Power, you'll see!" Her voice was heavy with rage and frustration. She slammed the table, rising, her movement so abrupt the stool heaved and toppled over with a resounding thud.

The noise acted like a catalyst for her escape, a final crack that broke her restraint. She ran without looking back. Half of the reason was that she could not bear to watch their judgmental faces full of hollow pity. The other half—she needed to hide the tears that threatened to spill. She darted past the kitchen, the aroma of the dinner now nauseating, and climbed the creaking stairs, each footfall a beat driving her away from the pain, until she found herself in her small room, door slammed shut, the echoes of their words a haunting melody she could never quite escape.

"Ari! ... Ari!" Reif's wife sprang up, but their daughter had already vanished.

"Let her be. A harsh day of shattered illusions and disappointed hopes awaits her tomorrow. But at least it'll be over then," Kormelia said, her lips curling as though she had tasted something bitter. "I speak from experience."

Reif's forehead creased with concern as he shook his head. "Her attitude… Where did she get it from? To fancy the Power. It's a disgrace to our family." Reif sighed, relaxing as Kormelia's barren reading dispelled the tension ignited by the check-up. None of his other children were as troublesome, not even his rebellious eldest son. The fear of having a cursed daughter had been gnawing at him this entire time.

"And she didn't eat dinner," complained his wife.

"Kormelia's right. Let's leave her be." Reif rose to his feet. "We've endured it for this long; we can do it for one more day." He strode towards the kitchen, a new idea brightening his features. "I recently procured a bottle of fine Highlands brew. As a token of gratitude for your assistance, perhaps you'd care to stay a little longer?"

Kormelia's smile softened. "I'd be delighted," she said.

Wooden cups clattered onto the table, soon followed by the husky laughter and chatter of the Docks' gossip. The mood in the room bloomed, shedding its weight like old skin. Reif leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling, letting his alcohol-laden mind spin. (Tomorrow, it will finally be over.)

Ari's flight ended when she slammed the door behind her, collapsing onto her bed in a controllable tumble. She swaddled herself in a thin quilt, molding her body to the confines of the small place. The space was cramped, a tight fit for her growing limbs, but it was solely hers—a luxury her brothers did not enjoy, sharing the common room.

Beneath the quilt, she muffled a quiet sob, her tears soaking the pillow. (Damned goat herders and their senseless hatred for the Power. They can keep their vaunted resistance holed up in their mountain hideouts. What will they do next? Will they banish me or worse, just as they did in the old days? It serves them right to be trampled by the Empire. How do they plan to fight against mages? Shoot them with a bow? The entire nation is damning itself into oblivion because of these idiotic beliefs. And they want me to be the same!)

In her heart, Ari knew that her rage was misplaced. It was not the faceless Bandawi populace she was truly furious with; it was her own parents. They scolded and rebuked her every time she so much as breathed a word about the Power. Their reproach was not just verbal; they buried her beneath an avalanche of chores, their misguided attempts to 'keep her from thinking about nonsense'.

Icy hatred roused in her heart. Too many nights spiraled like this. Right before falling asleep, the hush of darkness made her mind a treacherous stage, replaying conversations in her head. The things she wanted to say. The scenes she wanted to happen. With each remembrance, the chill of resentment burrowed deeper, invoking even more potent hate. Yet, at some point, she realized this state of her mind was not persistent. Come morning, she would run down the stairs and laugh alongside her mother again as though nothing had happened, the previous night's ephemeral ire vanishing like morning mist on a sunny day. But these feelings were never truly gone. They lurked, waiting to surge back unscathed and stronger, their intensity redoubled right after another misstep or wrong word ignited her parents' wrath once more. This never-ending cycle baffled her. How could such fervent feelings simply melt away overnight? She was certain of one thing—the pile grew larger with each recurrence. She stored her resentment in layers, letting the simmering pyre to burn a little brighter and hotter every next time.

A gust of crisp air wove through her fingers, and a dense, swirling fog enveloped her. White wisps curled around her, its tendrils performing a wild ballet, playfully wrapping her form before stretching into distant streaks, lost in the uniform expanse of the milky haze.

It was her dream, the one that kept repeating. Here, all the bitterness fled as if it was a mere illusion. With a grace she never knew she had, she pirouetted and soared, letting go of the worldly notions of up and down. Unhindered by the constraints of gravity, she reveled in the freedom to glide in any direction she chose.

Propelling through the ethereal mist, her eyes caught the twisted forms of familiar dense vapor pillars. These ever-shifting structures served as landmarks in her dreamscape, and even though they were morphing over time, they retained enough similarity for recognition. They were her guiding markers, heralding the proximity of the lone denizen of this realm.

A humanoid figure loomed in the distance, an outline obscured by the fog's veil. As she approached, the shroud of mist pulled back to reveal an imposing set of armor. Dominating its visage was a helmet shaped like the snarling face of a wolf, its craftsmanship so intricate that one could almost hear the growls emanating from the metal. The helmet's detailed fur lines, sharp fangs, and deep-set eyes gave it an uncanny realism. It was seamlessly integrated with the breastplate which further extended to the arm and legs protectors. Gleaming gauntlets and greaves crowned the ensemble, each piece of metal shimmering even in the light-deprived fog.

Shifting her trajectory, Ari reoriented herself to match the armor's alignment, floating beside it, as if an invisible force anchored them both in space. There they stood, face to face, Ari and the vacant sentinel.

From the depths of the helmet's eye sockets, twin crimson orbs ignited. "All… must… die…" came the slow, ominous rumble.

"Hey Wolfie," Ari greeted the armor, her smile widening.

She had been visiting him every few nights, or perhaps it was he who haunted her dreams. She could not tell. Bound to utter but a single phrase, it stood alone, doing nothing else. Just existing there, in the fog.

Settling down, she wrapped her arms around the armor's sturdy leg guard, her cheek rubbing against the metal as she exhaled from the pleasant sensation. The ambient warmth seeped into her skin, filling her with a serenity she had not felt in the waking world. The cool metal also warmed beneath her touch, sending an additional rush of comfort through her. In its unwavering company, for the first time that day, she felt a profound sense of safety and contentment. The armor's relentless chant continued, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

"You know, Wolfie," she whispered, her words imbued with hope. "Tomorrow's my day. I'll take that stage, show them all—especially my parents—that I have the Power. They won't look down on me anymore. They won't treat me like this again. Everything's about to change."

"All… must… die…" came the armor's unchanging refrain.

Ari's senses dulled, the comforting warmth lulling her into a gradual drift from one dream to another.

As Ari succumbed to the embrace of sleep, a massive cat arched his curved back and rolled to his other side, settling on a small circular scatter rug next to the bed. His pitch-black fur concealed his presence in the dark room, lit only by the twin moons hanging over the capital. But the cat did not care about hiding—no mortal or immortal being could perceive him unless he willed it. Emitting a soft, rhythmic purr, he cast a brief glance at the sleeping girl, poised to resume his nap, when an abrupt, brilliant light erupted by the window-facing wall.

A stunning blonde woman, adorned in a pristine white dress, emerged from the light. As the radiance waned, her azure gaze roved the cramped room. Pausing for a moment to look gleefully at Ari, she then turned to the cat.

"Yo." The beauty smiled, noting the cat's focus upon her. "Long time no see."

"You should be slumbering, you ought to be dormant." The cat was not amused. His tail wiggled up and down, hitting the floor. "Why have you come?"

"Maybe I should be. So should Core, but neither I nor he is, so…" She shrugged in response.

"Core is awake? It's getting better and better. But still. Why are you here?"

The woman gave him a sly grin. "Must you even ask?" She tilted her head, directing her attention to the sleeping child, her soft, golden curls swaying with the motion. "I've come to see my little girl."

With featherlight steps, she approached the bed, extending a hand to caress Ari's cheek. Her fingertips drifted, tracing the girl's jawline, delicately shifting strands of silver.

"Can you sense her seething rage? It's intoxicating—so chilling, so pure. It sends tremors through my very soul. I intend to linger, to experience the blossoming of her ire." She reclined beside Ari, murmuring, "Ah, but she's already plunging into the depths of sleep. Her fiery emotions are waning. A pity."

The cat remained silent, recognizing the capriciousness of the woman. Engaging with her was a delicate dance, one he hoped would not disrupt his assignment. Opting for diplomacy, he spared a fleeting look through the window, catching a concealed shadow lurking on a distant rooftop, its focus on Ari's room. Satisfied that the ongoing sequence of events followed the schedule, the cat returned to his nap.

 *

Twin celestial guardians, the moons Taro and Tarra—the elder brother and younger sister—beamed their silvery embrace upon the dwellings of the docks area. A cloudless sky allowed the chorus of stars to contribute their glimmers, resulting in a night bathed in ethereal luminescence, one of the season's most radiant.

Atop one particular roof, Shadow Guard Naymila Vego perched, her knees drawn to her chest, fingers laced around them. Stiffness had clawed at her body after holding this rigid stance for nearly two hours, not allowing even the whisper of movement. The wind, insistent and unforgiving, lashed at her, piercing her clothing and draping her in a mantle of frost. Yet, she remained a statue, unseen by others, unmindful of the icy fangs gnawing at her flesh as she scrutinized the motionless room in the neighboring building.

Inside, her target lay ensconced in sleep, blissfully ignorant of the stalker. Her target's earlier tumultuous entry—marked by tears and sobs—long forgotten. Naymila had braced herself for ensuing domestic drama, but as the time ticked by, silence reigned supreme.

At a fleeting moment, a solitary lock of the girl's hair stirred, a movement too deliberate for mere chance, triggering Naymila's instincts. She scoured the room for signs of an intruder, but it appeared vacant save for the girl. It might have been a stray gust of wind drafting through the ramshackle construction or perhaps a trick of the imperfect night vision, which had misled her on several prior occasions.

(Enough of this idleness.) Naymila pushed herself up, feeling an immediate sense of liberation as she stretched her tense muscled. (Oh, that's good, truly good.) For a moment, her body reveled in subtle spasms of pleasure.

She cast a final, lingering gaze at the sleeping girl. (Just one more day, little one,) she mused. Just one more day until she was relieved of this duty.

Manipulating the weave of the surrounding Power, she began reshaping her protective auras. Static concealment, a delicate tapestry of deception, hid her entirely from the world, altering the emanations of sound and light around her. Yet it was a challenge to maintain whilst in motion, so she opted now for its more passive counterpart, which only blurred her presence subtly. While it would not render her invisible, it made her barely perceptible unless one looked directly at her.

Roof tiles whispered beneath her feet, their creaking muted by her Power. Like a ghost, Naymila darted, leaping gracefully from one rooftop to the next. Those below, engrossed in their mundane life, remained oblivious to her swift passage overhead. Only those who intentionally sought her out might glimpse her vague, elusive form. Adults rarely did, stuck in their routines and seldom looking beyond what they expected, but children, with their curious eyes and unburdened minds, often stared at her in wide-eyed wonder.

With the closeness of the buildings, traversing between rooftops was nearly effortless. Naymila's long ponytail fluttered in slow, gentle waves despite her speed. Each leap brought her closer to her next destination. The cool air tasted crisp and refreshing against her lips—a pleasant change to the putrid odors wafting from the streets below.

Her body moved with precision, not a single misstep in her path. She entered a trance-like state, her thoughts evaporating, leaving only the sensation. After spending so much time in a locked position, every move she made vibrated in her mind. She perceived every detail around her: moths fluttering in the darkness, hunting for the ever-coveted light; glimmering motes and dust particles, swirling in the air, like stars in a midnight sky; tendrils of smoke curling from chimneys vanishing into the inky night. Every sense was heightened, stretched to its limit, every moment an eternity in itself.

On the next rooftop, a thief crouched in the shadows. It had to be a thief. Who else would be up here in the middle of the night? A cloak, wrapped tight around his shoulders, protected him from the biting wind. The hood on his head, drawn low over his brow, narrowed his vision to the immediate space before him, obscuring the world beyond. He remained clueless that his roof hosted one more visitor now.

Naymila slipped past him, an unnoticeable wraith in the night—the thief would never know the danger he had just avoided. The thrill of his ignorance tingled within her, but he was of no consequence, and petty crime was not her responsibility either. Her eyes fixed on the target building ahead.

A few agile leaps later, she stood poised at its edge. Below, the muffled cacophony of intoxicated banter hinted at the building's nature—a tavern where loud disputes and bickering were as commonplace as spilled ale. She ignored the raised voices, and instead, she descended to the opposite side of the building, drawing close to a small ground-level window.

(All clear.) A fleeting glance confirmed she was alone in the back alley before daring to peer through the glass. Nothing but sheer darkness greeted her from the inside.

Pressing her fingertips to the wall, a faint tingle of energy buzzed against her touch. Her lips curled into a knowing smirk. The structure was laced with protective enchantments designed to alert its occupants to any breach. In the past, she had spent a considerable amount of time unraveling the arcane lattice of this very spell, isolating the singular flaw she needed.

She traced her fingers to the window's upper corner, gently probing the pulsing vein of energy. Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing, as she intertwined her own Power with the enchantment, careful to not disrupt its rhythm. Locating the precise nexus she sought, she expanded her influence over it, inflating the area of control. After a few minutes of tough mental toil, she covered the entire window, wrenching it from the spell's control, and with a confident flick, she swung it open. Ducking low, she peeked again, assuring room's emptiness before hurling herself inside in one smooth motion.

It was a forlorn storage chamber. A thick layer of dust blanketed the scattered wooden crates, while cobwebs hung like old curtains in every corner. The air was thick with the scent of decaying wood.

During the fall, she sent a wave of pacifying energy to quell the rise of a dust storm. After landing, she treaded towards the door, leading any lingering particles to gravitate back toward her tracks, masking the path she took. It was a crafty trick, one that would erase any sign of her intrusion.

She peered through the keyhole, her vision reaching into a dim corridor beyond. Deeming it safe, she opened the door and slipped away. Walking down the corridor she straightened up, her poise confident. She cared little for concealment now. Her primary concern was to safeguard the secret of her entry method.

Up ahead, one room emanated a glow brighter than its surroundings. Drawn to it, she found a man—likely in his forties—ensconced behind a massive desk. The lightstone mounted on the cellar's ceiling shone at his short silver hair. His right hand seemed to have a mind of his own, scribbling notes while his eyes flitted across various papers.

He was so immersed it took him a few heartbeats to register the hand that had suddenly seized his shoulder. His chair gave an alarmed squeak as panic jolted him into motion, but the grip was firm, unyielding.

"Now, now. Don't be a scaredy-cat," Naymila teased.

Recognition flashed in the man's eyes, and his body relaxed, ever so slightly.

"Can you stop that? Do you have to do that every damn time?" he snapped, clearly not amused, irritation lacing his voice.

Naymila's grin was unrepentant as she responded. "Your security is lacking. Don't blame me."

She released his shoulder, circling the desk to occupy a vacant chair, the mischief in her eyes giving way to a more serious demeanor.

"Anyway, that's enough fun, Hamil," she began. "Let's do business now. You have something for me, I believe?"

Hamil's eyes narrowed, locking onto his nighttime guest. The woman sat poised and nonchalant, one leg crossed over the other, her gaze unwavering. He released a weary sigh, filled with both respect and vexation. Dealing with Naymila, one of the Empire's legendary Shadow Guard assassins, was as taxing as it was lucrative. Her demands flowed without cease, each one unique, complex and never simple—but the pay was unmatched.

"Indeed, I have something for you." The smile he mustered as he reached for the drawer hung heavily on his face, a poorly painted mask of pleasure.

Naymila's silence was patient as she watched him retrieve a small pouch tied with a string. Taking it, she wasted no time in examining the contents. "So, Melkar invaded Ail's Forest after all," she mused.

"Yes, and they've begun felling the trees, stripping it bare. Those seeds are from the sacred woods, or whatever they deem them. On my honor."

"You have honor?" Naymila's brows arched in a feigned surprise before her eyes softened with mirth. "Just kidding. Any response from the forest dwellers?"

"None yet that I know of, but Melkarian military is ready for them," Hamil replied, struggling to keep his resentment hidden, a hint of bitterness seeping through.

"Interesting. Thank you, Hamil. I'll deliver these seeds to my master. Now, on to more pressing matters. I have another job for you."

"I'm listening." He sighed again, more of a weariness than exasperation. Naymila's visits were always dual-edged; a promise of reward weighed against unforeseen challenges. As expected, she always had more work to be done.

Reading his mood, she flashed a disarming smile. "Oh, don't worry, this time it's an official matter. Nothing shady. Ever heard of Mitra's Academy?"

"Um, not really?"

"Ah, no problem. You see… it's like the only interesting thing about Paltra. They're proud of this academy of theirs, but all they do is dig up things from the past. Like, from before the invasion. They're hoping to discover something useful and to bring us the history of ancient times. Or something of the sort."

She paused, collecting her thoughts. "The thing is, they constantly beg for help with an expedition to the east. The Far East. Up to the Mirk in the residuals of Old Bumia."

Hamil paled. Whatever it was, it could be nothing good, so even as Naymila delved deeper into her explanations, he rifled through potential excuses.

"We've refused every time, and they don't have the funds to organize it by themselves. Now, we've received an additional request for help. This time not for the Far East but Great Highlands instead. There is this baffling professor who believes he may have located some interesting cave he wishes to explore. It seems to be a pretty minor request, so the emperor decided it would be appropriate to help them this time. You know," she winked at him, "politics."

Leaning toward the desk, Naymila's tone grew more insistent. "The emperor will allow them to carry on the research and roam freely, but it's Bandawi land, so they require guidance and security. Your role is to find the right people to do the job. Nothing fancy. The expedition period is around half a year, and they want to leave as quickly as possible."

Relief washed over Hamil. It was not bad at all. It was manageable. No perilous Far East. No direct action, just serving as an intermediary.

"And why involve me?" he asked. "Why not order the militia to loan a few footmen?"

"As I said, it's Bandawi land. We'd like to get the cooperation of the natives. It should make things easier on many planes. And you are of the Bandawi, right? Gather the team. Once that's done, we'll talk payment."

Without waiting for his reply, she was up and out of the door. Pausing just before she vanished from the view, she shot back. "I count on you, Hamil. And again, thanks for the seeds!"

With her departure, Hamil deflated in his chair, exhaustion creeping over him. Encounters with this woman drained the life from him.

"Baaaaaart!" he bellowed, "Come here at once!"

After a few seconds, the sound of heavy footsteps followed, and soon the head of his 'right hand' appeared at the door.

"Boss? Do you need anything?" the burly man asked.

"She was here. Again. She sneaked past you, and you were unaware of it AGAIN!"

Bart only shrugged. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last. Despite multiple analyses by different specialists, her infiltration method remained a mystery. That was a Great Mage for you.

"Well, it doesn't matter." With a heavy sigh, Hamil motioned for Bart to come in and take a seat. "We've got another job to do. I need your opinion."

 *

Ari awoke with a jolt, her heart pounding with excitement. Morning sun streamed through the window, beckoning her to the day that awaited. In a flash, she leaped from the covers and darted down the stairway to where the kitchen hummed with life. Her mother, already bustling around, had a spread of breakfast ready. Ari snatched a slice of tangy sourdough, ladled a generous heap of cheese pasta atop it, and took a ravenous bite. She washed it down with a hearty swig of fresh milk. There was not time to waste.

From the corner, her mother extended the ceremonial gown. Ari's fingers tingled as she took it, changing into the garment in what felt like a mere blink of time. Though a touch worn, its contrasting yellow fabric, adorned with intricate white undulating lines, seemed to dance in the morning light. She twirled, the dress spinning around her, radiating mesmerizing charm despite its age.

All morning, Ari was a whirlwind of excitement, darting through the house back and forth. Even the usual jibes and teasing barbs of her three older brothers were like whispers in the wind, unable to pierce her joy-filled armor, bouncing off her radiant bubble of anticipation.

As the hour neared, the entire family embarked on the stroll toward the Docks' main plaza. The crisp morning air kissed their cheeks, but the rising sun's embrace promised the warmth of the day ahead. Lazy clouds meandered across the sky, their shadows playing a leisurely dance on the cobbled streets below. As the family walked, people from neighboring buildings merged with them from all sides, swelling their ranks into a grand procession.

Assessment day was a spectacle, a communal heartbeat that throbbed in the chests of young and old alike. Upon a wooden stage erected in the plaza's heart for this singular purpose, children turning fourteen this year would embrace a chance for a better life. Hopes soared like birds on the wind, only to fall, for many, for most, into the quiet embrace of disappointment. Yet, when the dusk descended, the celebrations would erupt. Whether from the joy of dreams coming true or tears of sorrow, the festivities would reign until dawn. For the young ones, it was a rite of passage—a moment to dine and toast as equals. It was their initial step into adulthood.

As Ari and her family reached the bustling plaza, the assessments were already in full swing. Four austere desks, almost oppressive in their simplicity, were arranged on the stage, each manned by a duo: a stern examiner who evaluated the youths and a diligent scribe ensuring the scrollwork was in order. Beneath, children shuffled nervously in queues, grouped by the streets they hailed from. Parents shepherded their young, ensuring they matched the meticulous records held by the scribes. No one escaped the Empire's watchful eye, and every eligible adolescent was accounted for in the ledger.

Despite its significance, the stage bore a humble appearance. The Docks remained one of the most destitute districts, and the bare, wooden platform, adorned only with simple wreaths and garlands handcrafted by local volunteers, mirrored the minimal funds the city allowed for the occasion.

Ari's father, his face etched with grim determination, ushered her into the appropriate line. His voice cut through the din, speaking to her for the first time that day. "I'll get you after you leave the stage."

And just like that, he vanished into the sea of faces, rejoining the family from where they would spectate the proceedings. A chill of abandonment settled over Ari, leaving her engulfed in a wave of loneliness amid the sea of strangers. (They don't care about me. They only want me to fail, to bend to their will). A pang of realization hit her once again, a wound festering deep within her heart. To them, her sole purpose was to adhere, to conform, to meld into their people's ways, and the mere thought of her desiring something more was an inconceivable idea—a blasphemy.

The air erupted with a deafening cheer, pulling Ari back to the present and dispelling the dark thoughts. A young boy with a mix of awe and bewilderment etched across his face held a pulsing ball of radiant light between his trembling palms. Ari could not make out the examiner's words to him, but the hint of a smile playing on the official's lips spoke volumes. While light affinity was not the most coveted, Ari envied him all the same. She would have embraced any kind of the Power with open arms, no matter how minuscule in strength.

As the boy scribbled his name on the parchments, the scribe gave an approving nod. Moments later, he was handed a pristine white envelope, the symbol of the acceptance into the official schooling program. The crowd's shouts swelled while the joy and encouragement rolled across the plaza as the boy dashed into the arms of his waiting parents. In that moment, Ari's resolve hardened. She would face the stage, and whatever lay beyond, with courage.

Until that moment, Ari had only ever been a spectator to the assessments, a distant observer yearning for her chance. Now, the realization that her turn was imminent sent a chill skittering down her spine. The line before her dwindled, and with each child that ascended the stage, her former determination wavered. Doubts she had tried to lock away trashed about in her mind. She was of Bandawi people; she could not possess any Power. It was just not possible.

As the stage loomed larger with each heartbeat, her breath came shallow and quick, and anxiety clawed at her. The wild, cherished dream she had nurtured for so long was about to be extinguished today.

A sharp poke to her arm interrupted the train of negative thoughts. She whipped around to find her eldest brother, her fourth sibling, who trod his own path and no longer lived with the family. A rebel against their father's iron will, he had forged his own destiny. Gone was the scrawny boy; in his place stood a self-made merchant, a beacon of defiance and hope to Ari's cause. Their parents had predicted his fall, yet that prediction had not aged well—instead of crawling back in shame, he was now thriving in his small enterprise, ensconced in his own place in the affluent West Gate district, far from the family's reach. Ari alone maintained a connection with him; he alone understood her ambitions and dared to hope for her success.

"Perry!" she exclaimed, eyes wide with surprise, and tugged at her brother.

"Look at you, all prepped up and ready for the spotlight," he said, ruffling her hair, with that mischievous glint she remembered so well lighting up in his eyes.

"Oy! My hair!" she protested, swatting his hand away.

His chuckle was warm. "Sorry," he said. "Just remember, I'll be right here, cheering you on. You've got this, Ari. Go on! Show them!"

But time was fleeting. The line moved inexorably forward, drawing her closer to her fate. With a heavy heart, she stepped away from her brother, the press of the crowd preventing him from following. "Of course I will. Watch me!" she called back, her hand raised in farewell. He returned her wave, then vanished, probably looking for a clearer vantage point.

Yet, as the stage grew nearer, the specter of doubt resurfaced, now amplified by the fear of letting her sole supporter down. Her father's smug "I told you so" she could bear, but how would she face Perry's eyes if she failed? He had seen in her the strength to choose her own path, to shape her own destiny. And now, all these hopes teetered on the edge of collapse. Soon, all of it would crumble into ruin.

Suddenly, she was the first in line. Her heart pounded and her body quivered like jelly as the thin boy from her neighborhood, who had been standing before her in the queue, approached the examiner. She had often painted vivid scenes in her imagination, where she would take the stage, standing tall before a sea of spectators, manifesting the Power so profound it would leave all in awe. Yet, when reality brushed its cold fingers against her cheek and the gaping maw of fate loomed to swallow her next, she could not compose a single coherent thought. A desperate urge to flee welled up; she wanted to run and not look back. But the masses surrounded her. No way out, her only path leading forward—onto the stage.

The boy's hope flickered out. The assistant's quill danced across the page, recording his failure to conjure any Power. Ari felt a vice grip her chest, each squeeze making it harder to breathe. That would be her fate as well, would it not? Everything would follow exactly step by step, as in the boy's case. Her stomach turned to stone.

The examiner's raised hand beckoned her, a silent herald of her reckoning.

(It's happening.) She swallowed.

Yet, as she steeled herself to step forward, an unexpected figure approached her examiner. Their words were lost to her, becoming a mere backdrop to her mounting dread, but the outcome was clear: her examiner departed, replaced by the newcomer. The man's eyes met hers, a practiced smile on his face as he gestured for her to join him on the stage.

Each step was a battle, but one after another, she was getting closer to this inevitable point in her life. Her mind spun in a whirlwind of emotion, her vision narrowed to a single point: the examiner's outstretched hand. The world seemed to fall away, the sounds of the crowd fading to an unnatural silence. All she could hear were the creaking stairs beneath her feet and her own ragged breaths. Should she hear them? It should be impossible in the plaza's clamor.

(It's not right, something's wrong.)

 She struggled to calm herself, but part of her yearned to glimpse the crowd. In the end, she had no courage for a backward glance at the audience, fearing she might collapse on the spot under the weight of so many watchful eyes. Her sole focus became reaching the desk and the examiner.

Once she was close enough, the examiner's voice pierced the oppressive silence, clear and commanding. "Grab my hands and close your eyes."

His words lingered as she processed them, their crystal clarity almost uncanny. A fleeting thought brushed her mind—was it his Power? Some sort of silence field, perhaps? But that musing was lost as she reached for his hands and shut her eyes.

In that instant, the world shifted.

Then, an electric jolt surged through her, more profound and potent than anything she had felt before. It was nothing like the meager attempts of Aunt Kormelia. An abyss opened beneath her feet, and she was falling, plummeting into an endless void. Her body instinctively tensed, awaiting the jarring end of her descent, but it never came. Instead, she continued to spiral, lost in an eternal free fall.

Reif stood among the crowd, a scowl etched into his weathered face as he surveyed the spectacle before him with a simmering contempt. Each cheer that erupted from the audience, lauding a child's feeble display of minor talent, evoked a hearty sneer from him. The Power, as they called it, was nothing more than a blight. Generations of Bandawi had thrived without it, their inherent resistance proof that it was a force of ruin. Any who willingly invited such poison, tainting oneself with its touch, deserved the harshest fate.

He could not fathom the world's infatuation with the Power. A few select mages held dominion over the continent, overshadowing the wisdom and strength of ordinary folk. Had this menace never been allowed to fester, his people might have retained their honor and dignity, leading their nations as their forefathers had in bygone ages. But now, the Empire's influence had blemished every land, every soul.

Fury churned within him. Not only had they been stripped of their homeland, but many of his own had forsaken their Bandawi heritage. Assimilation was a fact. The allure of the Empire's cities seduced the feeble, promising ease and luxury. His own son, his firstborn, was an example. He had traded his kin and duty to peddle trinkets to the very enemy, becoming a measly seller of worthless goods to those imperial leeches.

As Reif braced himself to launch his usual round of swearing, he spotted a boy leaving Ari's line. His daughter was next. Like her elder brother, she was problematic too, infected with that deluded aspiration to wield the Power, a desire whose origins he could not trace. If he ever discovered the source of her misguided dreams, he would ensure they met a fitting end. Yet, hope for her still burned in his heart. The path for her to embrace the model Bandawi ways, like her other brothers, was still open, and today marked a significant stepping stone toward that goal.

An inward smile flickered across his face. Yes, today was the end of her childish pursuits. In just a handful of minutes, they would head home, and after a few days, once the disappointment subsided, they would have a serious conversation about her future. He had endured a lot of her excesses, but the end of her youthful rebellion was nigh.

His thoughts halted abruptly as the examiners swapped positions. The initial examiner retreated, replaced by another figure. A figure that made the very air grow still, silencing the crowd. Here and there, hushed murmurs flitted among the onlookers. Despite the distance, Reif could have sworn he heard the floorboards groan under Ari's hesitant steps.

"By Homini's grace, why is he here?"

He must have voiced his astonishment aloud as a few heads turned, eyes filled with bewilderment, mirroring his own shock and confusion. For there, on the stage, stood a figure whose presence was as confounding as it was terrifying. The creator of the Shadow Guards, the mastermind behind the Empire's espionage, intelligence, and covert operations. Some argued that his very visibility meant he was only a figurehead, a decoy, but as far as Reif knew, those unfortunate enough to cross his path testified to his authenticity. A man who operated in shadows yet shunned none of the spotlight.

The audience's hush was not just reverence but raw disbelief. Why would such a man venture to one of the capital's most impoverished districts to preside over an assessment ceremony? And why now, at the very moment, his daughter stood poised to face the examination?

A dark premonition settled into his thoughts, and Reif's heart began to beat with a foreboding rhythm. He could not escape the feeling that something dreadful was about to unfold.

"Ari?"

The voice sounded distant, a mere whisper lost to the winds. Was it real, or just a figment of her unraveling mind?

"Ariella?"

This time, it thundered in her ears, reverberating through the emptiness. Her eyes flew open, but the world remained shrouded in impenetrable blackness. She blinked once, twice, attempting to pierce the vast expanse of darkness that enveloped her. But she was still caught in the void, plummeting through the endless night. Panic ignited a wild thought: was she collapsing onto the stage? Was her unconscious body dropping in slow motion, watched by the entire crowd, about to crash with the weight of shame? Time must have stretched, and she was trapped in this eternal free fall, about to face impact. Terror constricted her breath, and the air grew thin; she was suffocating.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Out of the abyss, the examiner materialized at the periphery of her vision. Broad shoulders and defined musculature hinted at his strength beneath the fabric of his clothing. His chiseled face, accented by a neatly trimmed boxed beard, bore a tinge of genuine concern as he tilted his head.

(Handsome,) a rogue thought escaped her.

His dark, patient eyes captivated her—the warmth spreading across her cheeks from their momentary connection. With a shy dart of her eyes, she looked away; her gaze shifting downwards. And then it hit her: he was standing with his chest puffed out. Simply standing. The revelation dampened the sensation of falling, and within moments, it ceased altogether.

Everywhere she looked, darkness held dominion, but this was not merely an absence of light. She could make out her own figure as well as the examiner's. Their details were precise and vivid, yet beyond them, only a vast expanse of void stretched out.

"You seem steadier now." The examiner's cordial smile returned, his eyes flickering as he scanned their surroundings. "Do you feel anything? There should be some sort of beckoning, something calling out to you."

She strained, searching for a hint, for any trace of the mystical. Yet, all she found was an all-encompassing emptiness. Hesitating, her voice a mere wisp, she confessed. "I… I don't feel anything." The innate Power she had dared to hope for, the elusive spark of magic, was absent. A truth she had long feared, but never wanted to face, was now laid bare—she was devoid of the Power she so yearned for.

Unfazed by the revelation, the examiner's gaze continued to rove around, intent, as if searching for a hidden secret. Ari could only watch, perplexed.

"Have there been peculiar incidents in your life? Events you couldn't make sense of or felt out of place?" he asked.

She furrowed her brow, sifting through memories for something that might be relevant.

"Um, not really. The only thing that comes to mind is that I often find myself lost in a recurrent dream, where I wander amidst a dense fog. It feels more real than any dream should, as if I'm truly awake, just… elsewhere."

The examiner's focus snapped back to her, his gaze piercing deeply into hers. "Can you take me there?"

"There…?" she stammered, taken aback by his unexpected interest. "But it's only a dream. How could I possibly—"

"Take my hands. Close your eyes," he interrupted, reaching out.

Ari licked her lips, unsure, but obediently followed the order. As she did, a sensation of déjà vu washed over her. Had he not asked her to do this very thing on the stage mere moments ago?

"Relax, and visualize yourself in this world of fog," he instructed. "Embrace the sensations, the memories, and allow them to fill your mind."

She had traversed her foggy dream so often that it was not difficult to summon the emotions and images. She could almost feel the cool touch of mist on her face. But nothing changed. There was no jolt of power, no sensation of descent. She opened her eyes, disappointed, expecting to see the same black abyss. Instead, they were surrounded by a vast stretch of fog, the very one from her dreams.

The examiner moved his hands through the mist as if trying to grasp it. "Curious," he said, his palms caressing the swirling haze. "I feel nothing on my skin. I can see it, but it doesn't seem real. Like an optical illusion."

Panic seized Ari. She had fallen asleep! That had to be the only explanation. She was dreaming. Could it get any worse? The moment she thought about it, a terrible notion settled in her head: she had been asleep the whole time. The falling sensation must have been real, and she was now napping at the examiner's feet while the whole plaza laughed.

Tears welled in her eyes in realization of the inevitable conclusion, and she sank to her knees. It caught the examiner's attention—he stared at her with an unspoken question.

"It's all just a dream, isn't it? None of this is real," she whispered, voice trembling.

He chuckled, a rich, warm sound. "Why would you say that? Regardless, try again. Can you sense the calling now?"

And as if a switch had been flipped, Ari felt a pull, a gentle tug in a specific direction. "Yes," she stammered, rising to her feet. "There's something… there," she responded, pointing.

"Excellent! Let's seek it out," he said, his voice filled with encouragement. "The source may take the form of a simple shape, like a ball, or something with a more complex structure if it's tainted."

With that, Ari set off, the glimmer of hope rekindling in her eyes. Her inner turmoil was not quite gone as she plunged into the fog, but she pushed aside her fears and apprehensions, her focus concentrated on the beckoning from the depths of this world.

The examiner stayed in place, regret sinking into his bones. Sending the girl into the fog had surely been a terrible idea. She was gone in a blink of an eye, while he remained surrounded by an impenetrable mist, unable to see beyond his outstretched arm. He tried to call after her, but the dense air swallowed his voice.

With a sense of vulnerability creeping in, he explored the floor with his left foot, cautiously testing the ground in every direction. It felt solid beneath his weight and completely level. He crouched down and extended his hand to feel the texture of the unseen surface. But even as he reached out as far as he could, there was nothing to touch. Perplexed, he went down on one knee and reached for the sole of his right shoe. His hand went through the surface on which he stood, as if he were standing on air itself.

Ari, unaware of her examiner's predicament, raced through the fog. Unlike him, she could see for quite a distance, and every object within the immediate vicinity revealed its aura to her. Shapes, sizes, and intricate details manifested in her mind whenever she focused on any particular item floating around there.

The call was now stronger than ever. The fog thickened, restricting her visibility to just a few meters. She slowed as a vague shape began to form in front of her. As she approached, it solidified into a ball about twice her height. Its surface was an amalgamation of faces, limbs, and torsos twisted together. Closer inspection would reveal it was not just a grotesque assembly of body parts, but an entire cluster of mangled human bodies. A ball of corpses.

Ari halted, staring at the gruesome collage. She knew her goal lay nearby.

With a thoughtful frown, she sprinted along the ball's surface, circling it, and pausing on the other side, her unease growing. Something was not right. As there was no discernible up or down in this realm, she tilted her body and changed her anchor point. Following her new orientation, she continued circling the ball as if she was orbiting a tiny planet.

Concluding her inspection, Ari stood back, a smile of realization spreading across her face. The beckoning sensation weakened whenever she moved away from the sphere but remained constant as she orbited it. There could be no doubt—her Power source lay within.

(That makes sense,) she mused, her gaze sweeping the surrounding fog, torn between her choices.

The Power was so close, yet so far away. She could not reveal it to the examiner; that was out of the question. But what else could she do? She did not want to share the existence of Wolfie, either. There had to be another way.

(I'm so close. If my source is in there, I have to display its strength without letting him see it. How can I do that?)

A headache was the only answer that came. The small consolation was that for some reason the examiner had not followed her, still standing in the same place where she had left him. Her shoulders sagging, she returned to him, mind racing to figure out what she should do next.

The examiner stood still, having ventured only a short distance from where they had separated earlier. He hoped the girl could find him despite the oppressive fog, as he could see nothing himself. The surrounding atmosphere seemed to grow more and more malevolent with each passing second. What lurked in this odd world, preying on the blind and defenseless? A series of shivers shook him, in time with the unsettling tingling that crawled up his spine.

(When was the last time I felt fear like this?) He almost chuckled at the thought. Despite his best efforts, his detection skills yielded nothing, an absolute zero information. Was he alone in this place, or did his Power simply not function here? He tugged at his source to make sure he could defend himself should the need arise.

Then, out of the suffocating whiteness before him, Ari's familiar figure emerged. The girl was tilted oddly, not standing upright but appearing to be on an incline. From Ari's perspective, it was the examiner who appeared skewed, so she shifted her stance to match his orientation.

"Did you find it?" he asked.

"Um… No… I mean, I was running and running, but it seemed like no matter how far I ran, I was always getting closer. All the time. Even when I was coming back. It feels like it's everywhere."

The examiner peered intently into her eyes.

(She's lying. Curious. Why would she try to conceal her Power source?)

"Does it beckon to you from all directions?" he asked.

"Yes… Yes! At first, I knew exactly where it was, but the more I ran, the more confusing it became. Then I realized I was wrong, and it's coming from everywhere."

(How amusing, let's see where this goes.)

"That's a good sign," he assured her. "Sometimes the source can spread over vast distances of the inner mind's representation, and it often indicates substantial Power."

Ari's eyes sparkled at the examiner's words.

(Baited! Ha! I got him. He bought it.) Her mind went blank for a moment, elation washing over her, until his next words stifled the surge of joy from her recent accomplishment.

"However, I can't evaluate your strength without seeing the source."

"Oh…" She deflated.

"Worry not. We just need you to demonstrate your Power."

"Demonstrate? What exactly do you mean?" she blurted out, her heart skipping a beat at her own impertinence realized a moment later. But the examiner seemed unbothered, and she let out a sigh of relief.

"The Power you have is quite rare. From what you've said, I assume you haven't used it before. Are there any objects or items nearby?"

Ari was burning with curiosity about what the examiner meant by 'rare', but she answered his question. "A few."

"Could you fetch the nearest one and bring it here?"

She complied and soon returned with a wooden staff longer than she was tall. It had intricate carvings along the entire surface, but she knew nothing about what they represented. The dark brown color of the shaft contrasted with a blue jewel-like orb at the base. The examiner touched it a few times to make sure it was real, but did not take it, even though she tried to hand it over.

"Now, grab it with both hands, keep it straight in front of you, and concentrate. You need to link with the essence of this staff. Once you do, try to wake up from the trance and bring it with you. I know it's a little vague, but that's the best I can offer to guide you. Good luck; I'll wait outside."

Ari blinked, and he was gone. He had dematerialized before she could process his last words. Her heart pounded in her chest like a drum. The trial she had awaited for so long had at last entered the critical phase. Her last stand. Do or die. Yet she still did not understand what kind of the Power she had. It was 'rare', the examiner had said, but what did that mean?

She snapped back to the present, realizing she was stalling the inevitable. Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, she tightened her grip on the wooden staff and focused her thoughts. The immaterial object she held was hers to command, and she would not falter; she would take it with her. Let's do this!

(Please, please don't let it be a dream.)

Reif's boots scraped the cobblestone as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his impatience growing with each passing moment. All eyes in the plaza were on his daughter. Even other examiners had paused their assessments, waiting to see the outcome of the prolonged evaluation. It had been over fifteen minutes since Ari had taken the stage, and still, nothing had happened. She stood facing her examiner, both of them with their eyes closed, enveloped in silence.

As Reif's concern for his daughter reached the point where he was contemplating intervening, a murmur rippled through the crowd. The examiner's eyes snapped open. He looked at Ari, her face as pale as porcelain, and stepped back. The wooden stage creaked with the shift in weight, the sound echoing across the hushed plaza as he turned to face the spectators, clasping his hands behind him.

Everyone knew what it meant when an examiner gave space while the examined remained in focus: a demonstration was imminent. The crowd held its collective breath, as if frozen in time, waiting for the result. The result of the assessment administered by the second, albeit unofficially, most powerful person in the Empire.

Ari's hands moved. She stretched her arms to their full extent in front of her, one hand over the other, fists clenched as if gripping an invisible handle. Her eyelids parted slightly, revealing just a sliver of her intense gaze. She swayed, every muscle in her body trembling as if she were fighting against an unseen force. Just as she seemed on the verge of collapse, she took a staggered step to the side, regaining her balance. As she stabilized herself, a thin haze of vapor encircled her arms. The mist thickened, spiraling upwards and downwards from her closed fists, turning into a column of dense, white steam.

The fog dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving in its place a carved wooden staff in her grasp—the same as the one she had held before in the fog world.

Ari blinked, her eyes, wide with astonishment, shifted from the staff to the crowd. The crowd stared back, and she felt her limbs turn to stone. She struggled to even move her neck. With immense effort, bit by bit, she rotated her rigid head towards the examiner.

"Good job," he said, nodding his approval. "Now use it."

"What?" She looked at him, her face etched with confusion.

"You should have a grasp on your Power now. Channel it into the staff," he said, his cordial smile never leaving his face.

It was true—she sensed it. The elusive Power she had only known in her dreams now pulsed within her. She funneled her newly discovered energy into the staff, and the blue gem at its apex ignited with a luminous glow. The flow between her and the staff continued, bringing to her mind a picture of an emptying bottle. That's how she felt, cold spreading across her body.

The first change Ari noticed was the air. In day-to-day life, she had grown accustomed to the foul stench of the streets, only realizing its extent when strong spring winds would carry it away. But now, the crisp air had replaced the pungent smell of the docks. People swayed around, inhaling deeply—their faces betraying their surprise. Then she saw how her vision changed. The plaza was now awash with color, each hue more vibrant than she remembered. Even the tired yellow of her dress dazzled like the sun. Next, the fatigue lifted from her body. Her heartbeat slowed, and a sense of calm descended upon her. People in the crowd turned to their peers, whispering amongst themselves, sharing their experiences. Off to the side, a young boy who had been crying since his assessment revealed his lack of talent raised his head to look at the sky. Tears no longer flowed down his cheeks, replaced by a clouded yet serene expression.

Exhaustion struck Ari like a thunderclap. One moment she had been brimming with energy; next, her limbs felt like lead. The staff in her hands evaporated like a puff of smoke, vanishing as though it had never been. With no remaining strength, and without the support of the stuff, she sank to her knees. Her weary eyes met the examiner's, searching for a hint of what was to come. The performance was over, and now it was time for the judgment. Her mind whirled with anticipation as she looked into his solemn face.

"Ariella Lorage," the examiner's voice rang out, silencing the plaza once more. "It is my honor to declare that you have passed the assessment."

Ari remained rooted to the spot, her knees pressed to the stage, lacking the energy or will to stand. Every eye in the plaza followed her examiner's movements as he reached into his coat's inner pocket. With bated breath, she waited.

From the folds of his attire, he produced a shimmering golden envelope, extending it towards her. As she took it, time seemed to elongate, stretching the moment out. A part of her mind sensed that something was amiss and tried to sound the alarm, but whether it was because of exhaustion or the speed of events, she could not tell what was wrong. Still kneeling, she accepted the envelope, holding it above her head.

The plaza erupted.

Whistles, shouts, and cheers filled the air, echoing off the buildings that lined the square. Windows brimmed with onlookers wanting to see what the ruckus was about. After looking at the stage, they opened their casements and joined the others in making noise. And they had a good reason—it had been a decade since the last time a golden envelope had graced the Docks.

"Wh—What is this?! What trickery is this?!" Reif shouted in frustration, but amid the din, not even his wife could hear his furious outburst. He clutched his head in his hands, his thoughts a whirlwind of disbelief. This could not be real; it could not be happening. A bad dream. A horror. His youngest and only daughter was cursed.

Ari lowered her hands, her grip tight on the assessment result. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet and looked at the back of the departing examiner. He had already signaled for his predecessor to take over and resume the evaluations, not sparing her a second glance. She turned to face the cheering crowd. Their applause thundered through her, vibrating every fiber of her being.

She carefully descended the stage, praying she would not stumble on the steps. As she entered the throng, a path parted before her—a personal aisle for her exit. Countless hands reached out to pat her head, shoulders, and back as the crowd's jubilation washed over her. These strangers celebrated her success as if it were their own. She was not sure how to feel about that, but she was too exhausted to contemplate it now. The sea of people closed behind her like a river returning to its course, propelling her forward. Disbelief mingled with the festive atmosphere. They saw her silver hair. They knew what it meant, but today it was just a strange quirk. What mattered was that they, the Dock's community, were sending one of their own to the top. The golden envelope signified an invitation to the Grand Academy of Tramiria. This was no mere weekend magic crash course but a prestigious six-year program that trained the most powerful individuals on the continent: The Great Mages.

When she reached the outskirts of the cheering crowd, she spotted her family waiting for her. Her eldest brother was absent, but she had expected that.

"We're going home. Now!" Her father's voice was a cold snap as he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the east exit. She cast a final glance back at the stage where people still chanted and laughed, the examiners attempting to calm the boisterous audience. Clutching the envelope tightly to her chest with the little strength she had left, she joined her family as they made their way out of the square.

Ari had no recollection of their journey back home. It all blurred together as if she had been whisked straight from the plaza to their kitchen. Dizzy and on the verge of fainting, she leaned against the walls for support while her father launched into a tirade, his rant beginning the moment they crossed their home's threshold.

"It's a scam! They're plotting something!" he raved. "They're conspiring against us, against Bandawi. This is the next step in their schemes, I'm sure of it." He pressed on and on, hardly pausing for breath.

Her mother and brother sat at the dinner table, their faces etched with resignation or perhaps just boredom. They seemed uninterested in Reif's ramblings, which only further agitated him.

"Oh… Yes!" Reif's eyes flashed with sudden inspiration. "The envelope! Have you opened it already? Show it to me!"

Reluctant to part with her precious treasure, Ari hesitated. However, her father's demanding posture made her surrender it. He tore it open with little care, nearly damaging the letter inside, and began reading.

"Ha! I knew it! Look!" His face twisted in triumph as he thrust the paper back at her. "Do you see it?"

She scanned the document, confused, seeing nothing out of place. It could be an important thing to her, but it contained only an ordinary invitation. There was no supplementary information, besides the fact the academy would contact her soon to provide all the details. She looked up at her father with raised brows.

"Your name is there! Are you blind?" Saliva flecked his lips as he yelled.

Indeed, there was her name, handwritten, but not by the letter's primary author. It was standard practice for the invitations to be prepared ahead of time, allowing the examiner to simply add the candidate's name once their talent was confirmed. She met her father's eyes again, still not understanding his agitation.

"You are exceptionally dumb, my child," Reif growled. "Did you see him write your name? No! He just handed the envelope to you. The name was pre-written. It's all coming together now—his sudden appearance, his decision to evaluate you. He knew the outcome in advance! He came with that letter prepared! The whole thing was nothing more than a charade. It's a setup!"

Reif's face reddened from all the shouting. Everyone gaped at him with stunned expressions while his conspiracy feelings were validated. It was so obvious from the very beginning. Such an important figure coming to assess his no-name daughter? No way that was a coincidence. The remaining question was what they were up to, but he would not play into their hands.

"Tomorrow, early in the morning, we're going to the academy to put an end to this farce. You'll be a normal Bandawi girl, not some monster dancing for the emperor's pleasure!" he declared.

Tears welled up in Ari's eyes, the weight of the day and her father's tirade becoming too much. Even after the ceremony, even after she had proved herself, it was not over. And on top of that, her father was acting like a lunatic. She snatched the envelope from his grasp and sprinted up the stairs. Reif yelled after her, taking a step to follow, but a hand held him back.

"Let her be. It's been a long day for all of us," his wife said, leaning into him.

"Fine," Reif conceded, still fuming. "But we'll deal with this tomorrow. This is ridiculous. Kormelia said Ari didn't have even an iota of the Power. How can this be?"

 *

Meanwhile, Ari threw herself onto the bed. Though it was only early afternoon, the day's events had sapped her of all energy. She hid the letter and envelope beneath her pillow, pulled a quilt over herself, and welcomed the solace of her room.

What her father had said weighed on her mind, acting as a counterbalance to her growing concerns. It would mean they had known about her talent from the beginning, that her deceit about her source's origin had not influenced the outcome. She desired the Power and the chance to wield it, but she had never entertained the thought of becoming a Great Mage. Such an idea was beyond her league, beyond her wildest dreams, and her boiling worries about being unmasked as an impostor agonized her to no avail. But if the assessment had been orchestrated in advance, could it be real? Did she truly have a chance? It would not be merely a dream come true; it would be an entirely new reality unfolding in front of her.

Lost in a spiral of thoughts, full of hopes blended with trepidations, a crucial reminder resurfaced back to her. There was one thing she needed to confirm, one thread upon which her entire future depended.

While still buried beneath the quilt, she closed her eyes with a calm, deep inhale, and concentrated. The newfound ability to sense the Power was strangely akin to the sensation of falling asleep—rolling deeper and deeper until there was but nothingness. Within seconds, fog billowed into the enveloping darkness. It worked—she tapped into the fog world while remaining awake.

Fully immersed in the ethereal realm, she no longer felt her physical body resting on the bed. The fatigue she had accumulated throughout the day dissipated, replaced by a keen sense of alertness and a surge of excitement.

Like every other time, she stood surrounded by swirling wisps of dense vapor. Then she propelled herself into the gray vastness, gliding through the fog. Almost immediately, she sensed the auras of several objects suspended in the nearby space. From time to time, she would even encounter moving objects, locked in eternal travel across the fog world. They were always inanimate except for Wolfie, the only entity with the gift of speech.

Soon she realized that this time differed from what she was used to. Hundreds of signals hammered at her every second. She attempted to discern them as she always had, but only vague, indistinct silhouettes popped into her mind. The objects were simply too distant. Her detection skills had clearly improved, but the lack of detail in the farthest items frustrated her.

As a familiar shape formed before her, she shoved those thoughts to the back of her head, and not long afterward, she arrived at her objective: the ball of corpses.

Without a moment's hesitation, she closed the remaining distance. As she came within an arm's reach, the nearest corpses stirred. Their entangled bodies left only scant space for movement, but their fists clenched and unclenched, limbs flailed, and their faces were stuck in eternal expressions of anguish, suffering, and abject terror. Like a chain reaction, one cadaver after another twitched to life. Soon, the entire surface of the ball pulsed with subtle movements. Yet, despite all the writhing limbs, no sound escaped into the fog world—a silent theater of the dead.

Ari reached out and sank her hands into the mass. The bodies were warm to the touch. She pushed forward, burying her head into the pile, and the upper half of her torso followed, slipping inside. With her arms outstretched, her fingers breached the wall on the other side and found nothing. It was not a ball crammed to the brim with bodies; it was a hollow sphere—empty inside.

The corpses squirmed and wriggled as if unwilling to touch her. It made it easier for Ari to worm her way through them. Soon, her face emerged on the inner side, and she used her arms as leverage to pull the rest of her body through. The gap she had created in the structure closed right after she hauled her legs inside.

At the heart of the sphere floated a small, radiant ball of white light, about the size of what Ari could cradle in both hands. As she sought to reach out to it, a gentle repelling force met her advance. At first, it felt like moving through water; as she drew closer, it became like trudging through mud. The closer she approached, the stronger the resistance. When she was almost touching the light, the invigorating chill turned into a numbing blizzard on her fingers. Reluctantly, she retracted her hand.

It was the source—her source—the embodiment of her Power. She gazed upon it, utterly mesmerized. The beckoning was strongest here, yet it no longer felt like a calling. Being so close, it had transformed into the sound of a mountain stream flowing in endless circles. Waves of sensations, oscillating between intensity and gentleness, reverberated through her mind. It was marvelous, an indescribable sense of wonder.

She was unsure how long she spent peering at the orb before finally tearing her eyes away. She had time to spare; there was no need to return yet, so she settled against the inner surface of the sphere. The soft repelling force pressured her against the wall of corpses. Writhing limbs caressed her body. The pleasant warmth of the cadavers combined with the chilling waves from her source and the addition of the massage. Perfection. Lulled into an odd state of contentment, Ari slowly drifted into the realm of dreams. It would be the best sleep of her life.

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