Stone towers stretched skyward, laced with silver veins of enchantment. Floating runes hovered above the archway, shifting and rearranging like a silent chant. Dozens of carriages arrived in procession, each bearing a hopeful candidate.
Caelum stepped down from his transport and was immediately struck by how out of place he looked.
Nobles wore tunics embroidered with gold thread. Others clutched staff-bound tomes or gleaming swords. One boy casually floated above the ground, water orbiting him in shimmering loops. Caelum adjusted his old leather boots and tried not to look like he wanted to disappear.
"This way!" a voice barked.
A man in deep blue robes waved them forward. "All candidates to the Trial Field! You have one hour to prove you belong."
Caelum turned to his father.
Garron nodded, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Trust your instincts. Don't hesitate."
Caelum hesitated anyway. Then he turned and walked alone through the gate.
---
The Trial Field was massive an arena carved into the cliffside. Runes lined the walls, pulsing with faint power. Instructors sat high above on viewing platforms, murmuring among themselves. At the center stood an enchanted stone platform surrounded by a barrier of light.
A voice rang out, magically projected over the field.
"Welcome, candidates. The trial is simple: survive. Step into the arena. Face the summoned construct. Show us you have what it takes."
A murmur swept through the crowd.
The first student, a boy with flame affinity, stepped up. A magical circle flared, and from it rose a stone hound with glowing eyes. The boy shouted a word, and fire burst from his hands, slamming into the beast. Cheers erupted as the creature cracked and fell apart.
Student after student took their turn. Some won. Some lost and were dragged out by floating medics. The air grew thicker with tension.
Then—
"Caelum Varrow."
He froze.
A few chuckles sounded nearby. "The farmer boy?"
Caelum stepped forward on shaky legs, entering the barrier. A circle etched itself into the floor.
He braced.
---
The beast that rose was different.
Larger. Four-legged, but with wings made of swirling dust and talons like hooked steel. A Stormfang Wyrm a Tier II construct. The instructors above leaned forward in surprise.
Caelum didn't notice. His blood roared in his ears. The creature lunged.
He leapt aside instinctively, narrowly avoiding the swipe of a claw. Dust exploded around him. He scrambled to his feet, heart hammering.
No spells. No sword.
The beast attacked again.
Caelum raised his hands to shield himself and the air responded.
With a thunderous **whump**, a gust of wind erupted from his chest, blasting the Wyrm backward. The crowd gasped. Runes on the arena flared.
Caelum stumbled. What just happened?
The Wyrm snarled and charged again.
Caelum grabbed a training sword lying forgotten near the wall. He'd barely held one before. He swung wildly and missed.
The Wyrm struck.
But in that moment of fear his body moved on its own.
He twisted, brought the blade around and the wind followed.
The swing curved with pressure, a scything arc of compressed air that sliced into the Wyrm's chest. The construct let out a mechanical shriek and shattered into hundreds of glowing shards.
Silence fell.
Then cheering. Murmurs. Shocked voices.
"Did you see that?"
"He fused wind with swordplay without a focus or chant."
"An instinctive caster? With hybrid talent?"
Caelum stood panting, sword still raised, eyes wide with disbelief.
Above, an instructor scribbled a note on his parchment. Another leaned toward him.
"We need to monitor this one closely," the elder said. "He may be something… dangerous."
---
Caelum left the arena dazed, unaware that he had just made himself the most talked about student at Arcvale.
And somewhere, in the shadows beneath the academy, a pair of unseen eyes stirred watching the boy who had bent the wind.