Elias and Kiran’s brief reunion came to an abrupt end when the air above the arena crackled with energy. A streak of radiant light shot into the sky, exploding into a dazzling burst of silver and blue sparks. The noise died instantly as all heads turned toward its source.


    Standing at the heart of the arena was a tall, commanding figure—a woman dressed in the sharp blues and silvers of the academy’s colors. Her presence alone silenced the whispers that had rippled through the crowd moments earlier.


    She didn’t need to raise her voice to capture their full attention. “Welcome,” she began, her tone steady, authoritative. “I am Proctor Lenara, and I will oversee this portion of your entrance examination.”


    Her eyes scanned the group of students before her, sharp and discerning. It felt, to many, as though she could see straight through them, peeling back their confidence, nerves, or bravado.


    With a sweep of her arm, she directed their attention to the far side of the arena. At first, there was nothing remarkable to see, just an elevated platform. But then, in a flash of light, a simple wooden dummy materialized, standing upright in the center of the platform. Its plain, unassuming appearance seemed almost out of place in the grandeur of the arena.


    “This,” Lenara said, her voice carrying effortlessly through the hushed arena, “is your next trial. The task is simple: destroy this dummy.”


    The murmurs returned, growing louder as students exchanged glances. Destroying a dummy? It seemed almost too easy, and yet no one was foolish enough to think there wasn’t a catch.


    Elias shifted his weight uneasily, his gaze lingering on the unassuming wooden figure. He had seen this before, countless times, from his perch atop the arena walls. Hopefuls just like him had faced this exact trial—some with confidence, others trembling with nerves. The results were rarely what anyone expected.


    He could still recall the flashes of magic, the bursts of raw energy that had lit up the practice arena. Some students had conjured grand, spectacular displays, only for their efforts to fizzle out or miss the mark entirely. Others had unleashed unrelenting force, obliterating not just the dummy but part of the arena itself, earning them nothing but disapproving glances from the judges.


    And then there were those who had barely made an impact, their magic faltering under the pressure of so many watchful eyes. He had watched as one by one, they were sent away, their dreams crushed beneath the weight of their failure.


    Now, standing in the arena himself, Elias couldn’t shake the memory of their faces—the mixture of hope and despair, the moment their confidence crumbled. The dummy might have been made of wood, but it seemed to grow heavier with every passing second, as though it carried the weight of all those failed attempts.


    Beside him, Kiran gave a low whistle, breaking Elias’s thoughts. “Doesn’t look so tough, does it?” he muttered, though his tone carried an edge of nervous energy.


    Elias didn’t respond. His fingers brushed against his wand, the faint heat of its flames grounding him. He’d seen how easy it was to fail, how quickly a small miscalculation could unravel everything. But he’d also learned something from watching all those hopefuls before him: this trial wasn’t about power alone.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The murmurs around him grew louder still, but Elias’s focus remained on the dummy, his thoughts swirling as the tension in the arena thickened. Would he be the one to break the pattern—or repeat it?


    “Silence,” Lenara called, her tone sharp and cutting through the chatter like a blade. Instantly, the arena fell quiet.


    She strode forward, her measured steps resonating against the stone beneath her feet. “This is not merely a test of raw power,” she continued, her gaze sweeping across the students. “It is a test of ingenuity, control, and creativity. The manner in which you destroy this dummy will speak volumes about your potential. Consider your approach carefully.”


    Lenara allowed a moment for her words to settle, the weight of her statement pressing down on the crowd.


    “Each of you will have your turn. One at a time, and in full view of your peers. Make no mistake—this is as much a test of composure as it is of skill. Destroy the dummy, yes. But remember, the academy watches how you do it. What you choose to show us now will echo throughout your time here.”


    Her eyes lingered on a few students in the crowd, her expression unreadable. “Pay attention to those who come before you. Observe their methods, their strengths, and their weaknesses. Learn what you can. And when your time comes, show us who you are.”


    She stepped back to the center of the arena, her hands clasped behind her back. “Now then,” she said, her voice tinged with faint amusement, “who among you will be the first to step forward?”


    For a long, tense moment, no one moved. The students shuffled nervously, eyes darting to one another, waiting for someone to volunteer.


    “Shall I choose, then?” Lenara’s voice was light, but her tone carried an unmistakable edge that made it clear she would not wait forever.


    Elias felt his chest tighten as he looked at the dummy in the distance. It was just a piece of wood, but standing there under the weight of Lenara’s gaze and the silent expectation of the crowd, it felt like more. His hand brushed against his wand, the faint warmth of its flames radiating through the material.


    Beside him, Kiran shifted, his sand-colored wand held loosely at his side. He raised an eyebrow at Elias. “You thinking about it?”


    Elias didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the platform, and he wasn’t sure if it was nervous energy or sheer determination building in his chest.


    Another moment passed, the tension in the air thick enough to cut.


    “Very well,” Lenara said, her tone turning faintly amused as she scanned the crowd. “If no one will step forward…”


    Her hand extended, a subtle pulse of magic rippling from her fingertips. Several students stiffened, unsure who she would choose.


    And then, in an instant, a boy vanished from their ranks. Gasps rippled through the crowd as heads turned to the center of the arena, where he now stood.


    The boy blinked, clearly startled to find himself there. He glanced down at his attire, confused. A moment ago, he had been dressed in his everyday travel clothes—a patched tunic and worn trousers. But now, he was clad in ceremonial robes of blue and silver, the shimmering fabric catching the light with every movement.


    “Candidate,” Proctor Lenara’s voice cut through the murmurs, steady and firm, “produce your wand.”


    The boy hesitated, his hands twitching at his sides. The weight of the crowd’s attention pressed heavily on him, their silence expectant and unrelenting. For a moment, it seemed as though he might falter.


    Then, with a shaky breath, he reached into his well. The faint hum of magic resonated through the arena as he extended his arm, his fingers curling into an arcane gesture. Slowly, a wand began to form—thin, jagged, and raw, as though it had been hastily forged.


    Whispers returned to the crowd, curious and uncertain. The wand pulsed faintly in his grip, its form flickering as though it were struggling to hold its shape.


    Lenara’s expression remained impassive as she gestured toward the wooden dummy. “Proceed,” she commanded.