"Create a wand."


    The task is deceptively simple, a phrase so straightforward it borders on mundane. Yet it is a challenge of infinite complexity, a test that demands more than mere skill or knowledge. The way a wand is created shapes its capabilities—affecting everything from its magical output to its precision, control, and even its resilience. For generations, this deceptively simple directive has stood as Aetherion Academy’s entrance exam, a gateway to a world of boundless possibility for those daring enough to accept its challenge.


    Two months ago, Elias had received his acceptance letter to Aetherion Academy. It was written in flowing, elegant script, accompanied by the task that would mark the beginning of his journey. "Create a wand. Present your creation at the entrance ceremony."


    He had grinned at the simplicity of the task. A wand—what could be easier for someone like him, a thinker who thrived on the unconventional? But his grin had faded quickly as reality set in.


    Elias had only ever known one element of magic. For nearly all of his 15 years, his life revolved around fire. He loved flames, not just as a tool but as an art form. Every waking moment was spent experimenting with them, shaping them into intricate patterns, learning how to intensify their heat, or even manipulating their colors to match his moods. Fire was his world.


    While other kids his age played with water, earth, or air—and the prodigies among them toyed with the very fabric of space itself—Elias remained steadfast in his singular obsession. He didn’t just want to be good with fire. He wanted to be the best pyromancer who had ever lived.


    And that singular goal was now the problem.


    How was he supposed to create a wand when all he could do was manipulate flames? Sure, he was leaps and bounds better than most with fire, but fire was a terrible material to craft with. It consumed. It destroyed. It lacked permanence.


    Elias sat cross-legged on the floor of his workshop, staring at a scorched chunk of wood that had once been his latest attempt. He sighed, running a hand through his ash-dusted hair. “This is impossible,” he muttered, though deep down, he didn’t believe it. Impossible wasn’t a word he accepted easily.


    The embers in his heart burned brighter as he refused to give up.


    Elias thumbed through the notebook he had been keeping for the past few weeks. Its pages were packed with scrawled notes, diagrams, and half-formed theories. He had been meticulously documenting everything he could glean from watching other candidates’ examinations, hoping to spark some inspiration. But even with all this knowledge, no solution presented itself.


    With a frustrated groan, he tossed the notebook aside and let his body sprawl across the floor, arms and legs spread out like a defeated starfish. “This is hopeless,” he muttered, glaring at the ceiling. Orange flames flickered faintly from his body, matching the annoyed rhythm of his sighs.


    A faint whistle cut through the air, and before Elias could react, a kernel of popcorn landed in his open mouth. It popped into a fluffy piece of popcorn the moment it touched his lips, dissolving the complaint he was about to make.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    “Nice shot,” mumbled Elias, chewing absently.


    From the corner of the room, a soft laugh sounded. His friend sat cross-legged on a bench, lazily flicking kernels into the air. Each one arced toward Elias with precision, igniting and popping mid-flight as it passed through the small flames radiating from his annoyed form.


    “Honestly,” his friend said with a grin, “if you’re just going to lay there like a campfire, I might as well make use of it.”


    Elias groaned, brushing ash from his sleeve but making no move to sit up. “Do you ever not find my misery entertaining?”


    “Nope,” his friend replied, chucking another kernel. It popped perfectly into Elias’s mouth, earning a muffled grunt of acknowledgment. “You’re a walking popcorn machine right now. I’m living the dream.”


    Elias sighed, letting another kernel land and pop before munching on it. “Glad one of us is having fun.”


    Elias groaned, letting his head fall back against the floor. “I’m doomed. One week left, and I’ve got nothing. Nothing! I can’t even come up with a basic design, let alone figure out how to make it work. How am I supposed to present anything at the ceremony?”


    His friend leaned back on the bench, flicking another kernel in his direction. It popped just before it hit Elias’s nose, landing softly on his cheek. “Relax, you’ve still got time.”


    “Time?” Elias shot back, swatting the popcorn away. “Do you know what happens if I show up empty-handed? I’ll be the laughingstock of Aetherion before I even step through the gates!”


    His friend smirked, rolling another kernel between his fingers. “You’re already a laughingstock, Elias. Nothing new there.”


    “Ha-ha, very funny.” Elias sat up suddenly, glaring at him. “At least tell me how your wand is coming along. I bet you’ve got some ridiculously over-the-top creation already finished, don’t you?” He gestured broadly at the far corner of the room, where an array of fine sand was artfully arranged into elaborate, swirling shapes. “I mean, look at that! What is this? Some grand magical display you’re working on in secret? Are you going to conjure an entire wand out of sand just to show me up?”


    His friend smirked, lazily flicking another kernel into the air. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like sand art. Keeps you guessing, doesn’t it?”


    Elias narrowed his eyes. “Oh, come on. You’ve got to at least give me a hint.”


    “Nope. It’s a surprise,” his friend said with a grin.


    “A surprise?” Elias groaned again, collapsing back onto the floor. “Great. Of course. Everyone else has these brilliant ideas, and I’m stuck staring at an empty notebook like some kind of failure.”


    “You’re not a failure,” his friend said, his tone unusually sincere. “You’re just overthinking it. You always do.”


    Elias opened one eye, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”


    His friend leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re so focused on all the things you can’t do, you’re ignoring what you’re great at. You’re the best pyromancer I know. Why not lean into that?”


    Elias blinked. “What, you think I should just… forge my wand out of fire or something? That’s impossible.”


    “Is it, though?” His friend grinned mischievously, tossing another kernel that popped and landed squarely in Elias’s mouth. “I mean, if anyone could do it, it’s you. You’ve spent your whole life proving fire can do things no one thought it could.”


    Elias chewed slowly, his mind racing despite his skepticism. “You’re serious?”


    “Dead serious,” his friend replied, standing and stretching lazily. “What’s the worst that could happen? You fail spectacularly? At least it’ll be memorable.”


    Elias scowled. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”


    His friend laughed, heading for the door. “Hey, just think about it. You’ve got a week, right? No pressure.”


    As the door closed behind him, Elias sat up, staring at the small flicker of flame hovering above his hand. “A wand forged from fire,” he muttered. “That’s insane.”


    But even as he dismissed the idea, the embers of curiosity had already begun to burn.