Eiden’s walk back to Greenhollow took almost the whole night.
His arm didn’t hurt anymore. At dawn in the swamp, he’d rubbed on Selia’s ointment, watched the swelling go down, then tossed the little vial into the water. Still, while he walked, he kept checking his forearm like the pain might jump back out at him.
It didn’t.
Greenhollow was quiet when he got there. The inn was dark except for one lantern over the door. The square was empty.
Eiden let himself in, went upstairs, and slept for six hours with zero dreams.
Which was bad, honestly. If your brain is going to erase your entire past, the least it can do is give you something at night.
In the morning, he went to Selia’s.
She opened the door before he could knock.
She stepped aside like she’d been expecting him. “You got them.”
“Yes.” Eiden confirmed, and handed over the pouch like it was evidence in a crime he definitely committed.
Selia took it to her worktable and opened it.
“These are good.” she said. “All of them. Nice work.”
“Yeah.” Eiden said. “I’m not doing that again.”
Selia smiled and started grabbing supplies from her shelves: small clay jars, a bottle of dark liquid, a bundle of dried stuff Eiden couldn’t even name.
“Sit.” she said. “This’ll take a few minutes.”
Eiden sat.
She crushed the Night Mushrooms in a stone mortar. Blue light leaked out when the caps broke, floated up for a second, then faded.
She used a thin bone tool to pull a dark red extract from the Devil’s Tongue and dripped it into a base liquid warming over a small flame.
The Malvina Flowers went in last. Petals only. She stripped them off and dropped them in, slow and steady.
The liquid changed. Murky brown became clearer, faint violet.
Selia stared at it for a moment, then poured it into a small cup and slid it toward him.
“Drink it while it’s warm.”
The color was fine.
The smell was not.
Eiden chugged it anyway.
The taste was worse than the smell. Way worse. He set the cup down and sat perfectly still.
“Well?” Selia asked.
A few seconds passed.
“Nothing.” Eiden said.
Selia nodded like that was normal. She took the cup, rinsed it, and set it aside. “Sometimes it takes time. Sometimes it doesn’t work at all. I told you not to get your hopes up.”
“You did…” Eiden said.
“Come back if anything changes.” Selia said.
Outside, he found Marvus waiting.
The old man stood near the path to the square, leaning on a walking stick he definitely didn’t have before. His face said he’d been thinking about something for a while and didn’t like it.
“Did you like Greenhollow?” Marvus asked.
“It’s fine.” Eiden said.
Marvus nodded. They started walking toward the square.
“The council wants to see you.” Marvus said.
Eiden glanced at him.
“They’ve been asking since yesterday.” Marvus continued. “You cleared the cave. You brought me back.” He paused. “They want to thank you. Officially.”
“Fine,” Eiden said. “I wanted to talk to them anyway.”
Marvus gave him a look, like he’d learned to be afraid of the word fine. “What do you want to say?”
“A few things.”
“…What kind of things?”
“Useful things.”
Marvus stopped walking. “Nothing bad, right?”
“Yes.”
Marvus blinked. “Wait. When you say ‘yes,’ do you mean ‘No, I’m not going to say anything bad,’ or ‘Yes, I am going to say something bad’?”
“Yes.”
Marvus shut his eyes for a second like he was praying for patience. Then he kept walking.
The council met in a low-ceiling room behind the village hall. There was a long table and six chairs. Five chairs were filled.
The men sitting there were exactly what Eiden expected: old, well-fed, and extremely confident about being old and well-fed.
They looked up when he walked in. The man in the middle, with a huge white beard, started to smile.
Eiden didn’t let him start.
“Before you start,” Eiden said. He looked at all five of them. “I’m going to say this once, and you can hate me after.”
He rested his hands on the back of a chair. “The cave was a problem you could see. What’s coming next won’t be.”
He let the words sit for a moment, then continued, voice even. “I can’t give you names. I can’t give you numbers. I don’t know how far it reaches, or how fast it moves, or how wide it spreads once it starts.”
One of the men scoffed quietly, like the sound was a habit.
Eiden didn’t look at him. “All I know is this: the world is going to get worse. And the kind of worse that doesn’t care how small your village is.”
He leaned forward slightly. “Right now you don’t have enough power. You don’t have enough men.”
The room went dead quiet.
The bearded man stopped smiling. His mouth stayed slightly open, like his face forgot what it was doing.
“I’m not here to insult you,” Eiden said. “I’m here because I’ve seen what happens. Believe me, or don’t. By the time you can point at the fire, the house is already burning.”
He looked at them one by one. “If you want this place to survive, start preparing now. Train people, forge alliances, stockpile what you can’t grow through winter, or, if it comes to it, relocate to the larger cities.”
He paused. “If I’m wrong, you end up with a stronger village.”
He paused again. “If I’m right, you’ll be glad you didn’t wait to be convinced.”
He nodded once, final. “That’s all.”
Then he turned and walked out.
Behind him, the silence lasted one more second.
Then everyone started talking at the same time.
Marvus was outside. He hadn’t gone in.
Eiden suspected that was on purpose.
The old man stared at him for a long moment. “What did you mean by that speech?”
“The truth.”
“The truth,” Marvus repeated, like it tasted bitter. He started walking. After a few steps he said, “You know you can’t come back here after speaking with elders like that.”
“I know.”
“Where will you go?” Marvus asked. They reached the square. The fountain murmured. Morning light stretched across the cobblestones. “Do you have family?”
Eiden looked at him. “No. Probably not.”
Marvus nodded slowly, like he’d expected that answer. He looked at the sky for few seconds.
“There’s a place,” he said. “In Valdenmoor, the capital. How much do you know about the city?”
“Nothing,” Eiden said.
“That’s where the Royal Academy is. Very prestigious, picky.” Marvus paused. “Most people never even see inside.” He looked at Eiden. “But there’s another place. Not connected to the crown. The Academy pretends it doesn’t exist. It’s called The Open Gate.”
Eiden listened.
“It’s private. The founder pays for most of it himself: scholarships, a few paid instructors, decent facilities.” Marvus flipped the compass again. “They take people the Royal Academy wouldn’t even look at. Young, talented people.”
“What’s the catch?”
“It has a bad reputation.” Marvus said. “Not the kind that gets you invited to court… but the kind marks you...”
“They mark you? Like what?”
Marvus exhaled through his nose. “Like you aimed for the Royal Academy and missed. Like you’re the cheap version. Like you’re desperate.”
“That’s it?” Eiden asked.
“That’s enough,” Marvus said. “In Valdenmoor, the Royal Academy name opens doors. The Open Gate name closes them.”
He looked away for a moment. “People graduate from there and still can’t get proper work in the capital.”
“So what do they do?”
“They leave,” Marvus said simply. “They take contracts in other kingdoms. Border towns. Merchant caravans. Smaller courts that don’t care where you learned as long as you can keep them alive.”
“How do you know about it?”
“I’ve been sheriff of a border village for fifteen years,” Marvus said. “You hear things.”
Eiden stayed quiet.
“The entrance assessments happen once a year,” Marvus continued. “Scholarship candidates. If you don’t have money, and I’m guessing you don’t…”
“I have some Sparks,” Eiden said.
Marvus didn’t ask what Sparks were. “The scholarship assessment is in two days. If you leave today, you can reach Valdenmoor in time.”
Eiden thought about it, then looked at him. “What’s the assessment like?”
“I don’t know exactly. Magic. Some kind of evaluation.” Marvus shrugged. “I expect you’ll manage.”
“You think pretty highly of me.”
Marvus held out his hand. “Take the road east out of the village. Follow it to the junction at Millford. You’ll know it by the broken watermill. Then head north. The road goes straight into Valdenmoor. Two days if you keep moving.”
Eiden stared at the hand for a moment, then shook it.
“Tell Lily I’m sorry,” Eiden said.
Marvus raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”
“She’ll know.” Eiden said.
Marvus shook his head slowly. He was almost smiling. “Let’s get you ready.” he said.
Eiden left Greenhollow through the eastern gate.
The road stretched ahead, cutting through fields and climbing gently toward the first line of trees on the horizon. The air was cool and clean.
He checked the sky. Clear. Perfect walking weather.
He adjusted his hood, turned his back on Greenhollow, and started walking.
The road north out of Millford was good: flat, well-maintained, and used enough that the dirt was packed hard. His boots didn’t sink. He made solid time.
At the gate, Marvus had given him a canvas pack. Inside: bread, dried meat, a stoppered flask of water, and a small cloth purse that clinked.
When Eiden looked inside the purse, he found a hundred Crown coins.
“For getting me down from the web.” Marvus had said.
Eiden ate while he walked. The bread was good. The dried meat was somehow even better.
By the second evening, he could see Valdenmoor.
He stopped at the treeline where the road curved and the land dipped, opening a clear view north.
The city sat in a shallow basin, and it was… huge.
He knew it was the capital. He just hadn’t really understood what that meant until now.
The walls were stone: old stone, dark at the base and lighter higher up where repairs had been made over the years. Inside the walls, the city rose in layers: smaller buildings, then taller ones, then towers.
And above everything, on high ground near the northern edge, was the Royal Academy.
Even from here, it was impossible to miss. Wide. Perfectly symmetrical. Built to make everything else look small.
As the sun went down, lights started turning on across the city. Warm orange dots multiplied until the whole basin flickered like it was alive.
Eiden stood there for a while, holding his half-eaten bread.
Then he climbed the nearest big tree, found a branch wide enough to sleep on without dying, tied himself to it with his belt (just in case), and fell asleep staring at the lights.
In the morning, he climbed down, dusted off his robe, and walked into Valdenmoor.
The east gate was open and busy. People poured in and out: farmers with carts, merchants with loaded mules, travelers in groups and alone. The guards watched the flow like they’d seen every kind of thing and were ready for more.
Eiden walked through.
The street inside was wide enough for three carts side by side. Right now it had about six carts, all stuck, because their drivers were negotiating like their lives depended on it.
Foot traffic didn’t care. People moved between carts like water, weaving through without slowing down.
Eiden stood just inside the gate for a second and took it all in.
Then he stepped into the crowd and let it carry him forward.
New Quest: [The Open Gate]
You've made it to Valdenmoor. Now find The Open Gate Academy and register for the scholarship assessment before tomorrow morning.
Objective: Find The Open Gate. 0/1
Objective: Register for the assessment. 0/1
Objective: Pass the test.
Reward: [Mana Sense] (Basic)
He read the quest, then looked up at the Royal Academy on the hill to the north.
From inside the city, it looked even bigger. The road up to it was paved in pale stone and lined with what might’ve been statues.
He found a woman selling bread near a fountain and bought a small loaf for two Crown.
“The Open Gate,” he said. “Do you know it?”
She gave him the look of someone who had been asked that a thousand times. “Here for the assessment?”
“Yes.”
She pointed away from the Academy hill, toward the lower part of the city. “Down Copperman’s Row. Past the dyer’s yard. You’ll smell it. Then left at the broken lamp post. It’s in the alley behind the chandler’s. Blue door.”
“Thanks,” Eiden said.
“You welcome young man.” she said, already turning back to her bread.
He smelled the dyer’s yard long before he reached it.
He turned left at the broken lamp post and ended up in a narrow alley between the back of a chandler’s shop and a blank stone wall.
It was dim. Quiet compared to the street. There were two barrels, some discarded rope, and at the far end…
A blue door.
The paint was old and chipped at the corners.
Eiden walked up to it and stared for a second.
Then he pushed it open.
The room beyond was huge, way bigger than the building outside should allow.
The ceiling was high, held up by heavy beams, and every inch of space looked busy.
Worktables lined the walls, covered in equipment and clutter. In the middle, a clear area held maybe twenty people, all doing different things.
Two argued over a diagram pinned to a board.
Three watched something small on a table that seemed to be misbehaving.
One person was asleep in a chair, boots propped up on a stack of papers, looking like they’d died doing what they loved.
At the far end, a wide staircase led up to a second level where more people moved along a railed walkway.
The walls were covered in papers: maps, diagrams, notes, sketches. Someone had written a long chalk message on one wall and crossed half of it out.
The air smelled like smoke and old paper… and something faintly sharp that, for some reason, made Eiden think of electricity.
This is it, he thought.
And weirdly, it didn’t disappoint him. The chaos felt alive. Everyone here looked like they were working on something they actually cared about.
Near the door, he spotted a wooden board with papers pinned to it.
At the top, in big handwritten letters:
ASSESSMENT REGISTRATION — SCHOLARSHIP CANDIDATES.
Below it was a list of names. At the bottom, a pen on a string and an empty line.
Eiden picked up the pen.
He wrote: Eiden Flareheart.
Quest Updated: [The Open Gate]
Objective: Find The Open Gate. ✓
Objective: Register for the assessment. ✓
Objective: Pass the test.
Reward: [Mana Sense] (Basic)
Assessment begins at tomorrow. Be ready.
A notice was pinned near the top of the board. He leaned in to read it.
Assessment structure: Written examination — theoretical foundations of arcane practice, mana mechanics, elemental classification. Duration: one hour. Followed by practical evaluation. Full details provided on the day.
He stared at it.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. I know what mana is.” Then he paused. “I do not know what elemental classification means.”
He looked up at the ceiling.
“What is elemental classification?”
[Elemental classification refers to the systematic categorization of magical energies according to their base properties and origin. Primary elements — Fire, Water, Earth, Air — are considered foundational arcane constructs, each governed by distinct metaphysical laws. Secondary and tertiary classifi—]
“Okay, okay…” he said.
A few seconds passed.
“What’s an attunement index?”
[The attunement index is a numerical representation of a caster's elemental sensitivity, calculated by measuring the resonance frequen—]
“Yeah,” Eiden said. “Yeah, okay. Got it.”
He looked around. Nobody was paying attention to him.
He looked back up at the ceiling.
“If I fail the written exam,” he asked, “is that disqualifying, or do I still get to do the practical part? Because I want to manage my expectations here.”
No answer.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“I feel like that’s an important logistical question.”
Nothing.
Eiden let out a slow breath through his nose. Then he started walking along the edge of the room, hands in his robe pockets, scanning the tables.
Near the back corner, he found what he was looking for.
A boy—about his age, maybe younger—was slumped face-down on his table, arms folded under his head. His pen had rolled onto the floor.
In front of him, neatly stacked, were papers that looked like they’d been prepared well in advance.
At the top, in big letters:
Exam preparation questions
The boy's shoulders rose and fell slowly. He was deeply asleep.
Eiden picked up the papers.
He also picked up the pen from the floor, walked to the corner, sat down against the wall, and started reading.
The first question on the sheet was: Define attunement index and explain its practical significance for a combat mage.
Eiden looked at it.
"What's an attunement index?"
[…]
“I’ll listen this time,” Eiden said. “Promise.”
[The attunement index measures how naturally compatible a caster is with a given element. Think of it as a frequency — your mana has a natural resonance, and each element has its own. The closer they match, the higher your index for that element. High index means: less mana per spell, faster casting, better control. Low index means the opposite. A Fire mage with a high Fire attunement index will always outperform an equally trained mage with a low one, because the energy flows more naturally. Most mages have one dominant element and reduced sensitivity to others — your class as an AoE Mage suggests your Fire attunement index is likely very high, with Water and Earth considerably lower.]
“That makes sense!” Eiden said.
He wrote attunement = how well your mana matches the element. High = easier/cheaper/faster. Low = pain. in the corner of the paper.
Then he moved to the next question.
Describe the seven elemental tiers established by the Valdenmoor Standard.
"The seven tiers. Go."
[Latent — the caster has elemental sensitivity but cannot yet access it consciously. Most untrained people sit here. Reactive — the caster can produce elemental effects under emotional or physical stress, but not reliably. Attuned — conscious, controlled casting. This is where formal training begins. Resonant — the caster's mana naturally amplifies the chosen element without extra effort. Dominant — the element responds to the caster's intent before the spell is fully formed. Sovereign — theoretical for most; the caster and element are effectively indistinguishable during casting. Primordial — recorded only twice in history. Don't worry about it.]
Eiden paused at the last line.
"Don't worry about it?"
[Don't worry about it.]
He wrote the seven tiers down in a list. Then he stopped and looked at them.
"Where am I on this?"
[Based on observed casting behavior: somewhere between Reactive and Attuned. You produce fire reliably under pressure. Your control is improving but inconsistent. You are not yet Attuned by the formal definition, though you are close.]
Eiden stared at the paper.
"So I'm tier two-ish."
[Correct.]
"One should know themselves." he said flatly, and kept reading.
What is the relationship between mana capacity and spell complexity?
"Mana capacity and spell complexity — explain."
[Larger spells require more mana to initiate and sustain. But the relationship isn't linear — complexity also increases the cost. A spell that affects a larger area, or one that requires precision targeting, or one that combines multiple elemental effects, costs disproportionately more than a simple bolt. This is why AoE mages tend toward high mana pools — your specialization pulls from reserves faster than single-target mages. Your Big Fire Bolt, for example, costs ten mana not because of its size alone, but because combining two Fire Bolt currents into a stable unified spell adds structural complexity.]
"Okay," Eiden said. "So: bigger and more complex equals more expensive than it has any right to be."
He wrote it down.
Explain the concept of elemental weakness and its tactical application in combat.
He already knew this one. Sort of.
"Elemental weaknesses. Quick version."
[Fire beats Earth. Water beats Fire. Earth beats Water. Air beats Earth. Fire beats Air in enclosed spaces. Water beats Air in open fields. These are base interactions. Hybrid elements complicate the chart significantly. For the exam: know the six primary interactions.]
Eiden wrote them down.
What distinguishes elemental mana from raw mana, and why does this matter for spell construction?
"Elemental mana versus raw mana. Difference."
[Raw mana is the base energy all casters produce — unaligned, neutral, without elemental character. It exists in every living thing to some degree. Elemental mana is raw mana that has been filtered through a caster's attunement, taking on the character of their dominant element. Fire mages don't generate fire from nothing — they convert raw mana into Fire-aspected mana through their attunement, then shape it into spells. This is why attunement matters: the stronger the attunement, the more efficiently raw mana converts.]
Eiden looked at his hands.
"So when I feel the heat gathering in my palms—"
[That's the conversion happening. Raw mana becoming Fire mana as it passes through your attunement. You feel it as heat because Fire-aspected mana carries thermal properties even before it exits the body.]
"Huh. Loved the fact." he said.
He wrote it down properly this time.
He leaned his head back against the wall.
The room had gone quieter. A few people had left, probably to sleep somewhere. The ones who remained were still at their tables, still studying.
He closed his eyes, just for a moment, just to rest them.
The noise of the room faded.
He woke up on sand.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the bright blue sky.
"Nice day." he said to himself. "Really nice."
The air was warm. The blue above him was just too perfect.
He frowned.
"Wait…" he said. "Why am I lying on the ground?"
He sat up fast and looked around.
He wasn't in the Open Gate anymore.
He was in an arena. Massive, round, and way too bright. High stone walls curved up and up, with rows of seats disappearing into shadow. The floor was pale sand, like someone had dumped a whole beach in the middle of the city.
And it was packed.
Candidates were everywhere.
Eiden had expected, what, fifty people? Maybe less.
This was easily five hundred. Maybe more.
Most of them were standing in loose clusters, talking over each other. The sound was loud and messy: nervous laughs, bragging, arguments, someone trying to calm someone else down. Boots scraped the sand. A few people tested tiny spells in their hands before quickly stopping when others stared.
Eiden realized he was still on the ground.
Heat climbed into his face. He pushed himself up fast, brushing sand off his robe like that would fix his dignity.
Nobody cared.
A couple people glanced at him for half a second, then went right back to their conversations.
Eiden swallowed and forced himself to look like he totally meant to do that.
That was when he noticed a man who stood out.
He was tense like a wound-up spring, shoulders high, eyes darting everywhere. He kept biting his nails so hard Eiden could see his fingers shaking. He mumbled to himself, something like, “What do I do, what do I do now…” over and over.
Eiden frowned.
It didn’t make sense. Plenty of people looked nervous, but this was different. Like the guy had seen something nobody else had.
Eiden opened his mouth to ask, then stopped.
Because suddenly, the arena’s huge gate split open with a stubborn groan of stone.
Three people walked in.
The one in front was tall and lean, wearing a dark navy robe with a silver badge on their chest. To their right was a broader-shouldered man with hair so pale it was almost white, scanning the crowd as he walked like he was measuring everyone. On the left, the third evaluator was shorter. Their robe was plain, but the markings at the wrists and collar made it clear the fabric wasn’t ordinary.
The crowd didn’t manage to go silent all at once, but the whispers quickly blended into a single low roar.
The lead evaluator stepped onto the sand and raised their voice.
“Attention.” the white haired man spoke.
The noise cut off.
“I’m Mira Voss,” she said, tapping the badge. “Evaluator for Fire and Water.”
The third person dipped their head slightly. “Serren Vale. Anything outside standard classification: unique elements, hybrids, multi-element proficiency, and… irregular exceptions.”
Mira swept an arm across the arena. “The exam happens here. The written portion, the practical portion, and all intermediate evaluations will take place inside this arena.”
Eiden leaned toward the guy next to him. “Uh… isn’t that backwards? Like… shouldn’t the written part be somewhere else, and the fighting and stuff be here…?”
The guy slowly turned his head. One eyebrow lifted.
“Wha—”
Someone in the crowd shouted, “How… how did we get teleported here? We were inside a second ago!”
Mira didn’t even blink. “Anyone who wrote their name on the registration board with that pen gets transferred here.”
Orin lifted a finger. “Hold your questions for later and listen. Time. The written exam is one hour total.”
Serren’s mouth twitched like they were almost smiling. “If you were expecting a quiet, calm environment… you’re in the wrong place.”
Mira continued. “During the exam, we will do everything we can to break your focus. Noise, light, misdirection, pressure. All of it. This measures concentration as much as knowledge.”
The crowd grumbled. A few people shifted uneasily.
Serren took two steps and drew a line in the sand. It lit up like a thin thread of light, then split and spread into a branching pattern.
“Now, separation. Fire and Water on this side,” Serren said, and one branch pointed toward the arena’s east. “Earth and Air on the opposite side.”
Mira raised a hand. On the sand in the east, two faint marks appeared, one red and one blue. On Orin’s side, brown-green and pale gray lines formed.
Serren stood between them. “If you don’t fit those labels, if you have a unique element, if you’re strong in more than one element, or if you have no idea where you belong, come to my section.”
Mira delivered the last warning with no softness at all. “Cheating. Signals. Outside help. Hidden notes. Anything like that. There is one result: you fail today, and you will never be allowed to take this assessment again.”
A beat of silence followed.
This time it wasn’t confusion.
It was fear.
Eiden looked down at his hands. The fire was still there, like it lived inside his veins, waiting for an order.
This is the only thing I know, he thought. Fire.
He lifted his foot off the sand and started walking toward the red mark.
Then he raised his head, locked eyes with Mira Voss, and joined the line.