The night had deepened.
Two figures sat beside a campfire, its flames casting trembling shadows across the ground.
One of them moved with a quiet, almost effortless grace, and her slender silhouette made it easy to tell that she was a young woman.
She sat in silence, watching the young man across from her.
Even in the darkness, her eyes were visible—dark crimson, almost the color of dried blood.
Feeling her gaze on him, the young man turned his head.
In contrast to her scarlet eyes, his were a cold shade of blue.
Even the lazy curls of smoke rising from the fire could not hide the unmistakable interest in her stare.
“Are you worried about tomorrow’s trial?” the girl asked thoughtfully.
The young man answered only with a silent nod before returning his gaze to the flames.
She wanted to encourage him, to tell him there was nothing to fear, but she understood that empty words would not help him now.
“If it turns out you have no talent, what will really change?” she asked, smoothing the folds of her dress.
The young man met her gaze for a brief moment before looking back into the fire.
Letting out a heavy sigh, he spoke in a quiet voice, barely louder than a whisper.
“If I have no gift for magic, I’ll become useless to my family.
Most likely, they’ll renounce me, brand me worthless, and send me to the Academy to study swordsmanship.” He fell silent, watching as the fire slowly devoured the wood.
“And that’s all?” The girl tilted her head slightly.
“Are you only afraid of being rejected by your family?
Or are you more afraid of losing your place in the struggle for the throne?” The young man lifted his eyes and gave a short, joyless smirk.
“In this world, magical talent rules everything.
If you possess a gift, you become a desirable piece in other people’s games.
Some will want to use you.
Others will want to destroy you.
But if you have no gift…” He paused.
“Then you are even less free.” He tossed a dry branch into the fire and continued.
“Any mage can take whatever they desire from you: your home, the woman you love, your child…
even your life.” He looked directly into the girl’s eyes.
“But none of that is what I fear most,” the young man said quietly.
“What I fear is losing the little freedom I still have.” For a moment, only the crackling of the fire answered him.
“Without talent, I am no more than a servant…
or a slave.
Until my master decides to sacrifice me, I will not even be able to oppose him.” A thoughtful glint flickered through her crimson eyes.
The girl seemed to weigh his words, but a moment later, she merely let out a quiet snort, her expression turning serious.
She fell into thought.
There was truth in what he said.
A human without talent—a mortal, as mages contemptuously called such people—was rarely worth more than a servant.
But relying blindly on talent was no less dangerous.
Those who place all their faith in the power of their gift will, sooner or later, become its prisoners.
“Remember this,” the girl said, never taking her eyes off him.
“Anyone who serves only their talent will never become its master.” The young man silently nodded and returned his gaze to the flames.
In the next instant, the fire vanished.
As if it had never existed.
The girl stared for a while longer at the place where the young man had been sitting, then lifted her head toward the night sky.
“So, the time has come…” she murmured softly.
For the first time, the faintest trace of sadness entered her voice.
“Well then, Aluric…
either this will break you, or it will make you stronger.
And all that remains for me is to watch and wait.” She lowered her gaze to the place where the fire had burned only moments before.
There was no fear or doubt left in her eyes now.
Only cold tranquility.
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