A nobleman stepped inside.
He was the one who had stopped the incident last night. He was Tall. Poised. Not garishly dressed like the heirs of merchant clans or the pretentious nobles of the minor provinces. His robes were black, lined with red. A crest was emblazoned across his shoulder.
It was a coiled obsidian serpent wreathed in flame, a symbol he had taken the liberty to learn about from one of the older kids on break.
House Synthor.
A warrior Household, strongly aligned to the House of Dawn, directly serving their interests and having a stake in the Imperial Legion, the Second Banner.
He carried no weapon, but Michael felt the weight of presence as though the man had drawn a blade anyway. His eyes were too sharp, too clear, and settled on the broken crystal, then on Michael.
Then he smiled.
"i see, it was just a rather strong reaction," he said.
The examiner fumbled into a bow. "Lord Synthor, forgive the disruption. The child-he must've… must've already awakened, somehow. Its either that or perhaps the crystal was unstable..."
"No." The noble cut him off gently. "The fault lies not in the crystal."
He stepped closer. Michael sank into the ground, he hat never felt as much fear in his life as he did in that moment.
"Your name, boy?"
"Michael," he said, forcing himself to meet the man's gaze.
"Just Michael?"
"Yes."
The noble hummed. "Curious."
Then he turned to the examiner. "The crystal is spent. Record his Affinity as strongly aligned with the flame, unclassified Concentration. Not a Deviant"
The examiner blinked. "My lord, but, he... he could be..."
"I said," the man said, voice still pleasant, betraying a hint of venom, "record it. There is no need to make a spectacle." His eyes seemingly raising the temperature and nearly melting the examiner through.
The examiner paled and obeyed.
Michael stood frozen, unsure what had just happened. Why had the man intervened? What did he see? Why did it feel like that gaze had stripped him bare?
The noble turned to leave.
But before he stepped out, he paused, just for a breath and said without looking back:
"Walk with care, Michael. Some flames burn long before they're ever seen."
Then he was gone.
Michael found himself being ushered toward the back of the tent. Not out the front, that would raise too many questions but through a side flap guarded by a bored-looking soldier who barely glanced at him.
Michael stopped, feigning hesitation.
"Hey," he said softly, "uh… what happens next?"
The guard looked up, confused.
Michael gave a nervous smile. "Sorry, just… never been beyond the city walls. You're with the Legion, right?"
The man blinked, then puffed his chest slightly. "Imperial Legion, Fourth Banner. On temporary rotation."
Michael made his eyes go wide. "No way. That's the one stationed near the capital, right? Near the Academy?"
The soldier smirked, pleased. "Exactly. We handle most of the northern border security. That includes supply chains to the Academy, yeah."
"That's amazing," Michael breathed. "You must've seen the Flame Tower then. And the capital walls. And the…..what do they call it...the Promenade of Echoes?"
The guard laughed. "Kid, you're a damn history book. Yeah, I've seen all of that. Even got to stand guard outside the Hall of Echoes once during a royal procession once."
Michael let his jaw drop just enough. "That's… gods. That's incredible."
The guard looked down at him, clearly enjoying the attention. "If you're lucky, maybe you'll end up there too. Academy's full of freaks and prodigies. They might just have a place for a firestarter like you."
Michael's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Maybe."
As he was led away, his hand brushed his chest, a strange feeling, that that tiny stream hadn't gone away.
The midday heat clung to Michael's back like a second skin as he stepped out of the testing tent, the flap falling shut behind him with an anticlimactic whisper. The guard at his side said nothing, merely gestured for him to follow. And so he did with his feet moving, heart still pounding, mind a whirlwind.
What the hell just happened in there?
The image of the aptitude crystal shattering still seared into his memory, along with the way its light had licked up his arm like a living flame. And then the noble. That cold, hooded figure with the obsidian snake crest—the kind of man who didn't speak unless it was to alter someone's future.
Was this really who he was? A flame user? It didn't sit right. He felt fire was the furthest from him. or could it be from Roadagan's book and those stolen hours in the woods.
Could he have shaped his own fate? Was that even possible?
His mind circled the thought like a hawk over prey. Flame made sense, but also didn't.
He clenched his fist. No one had announced his results. No declaration of which path lay ahead. That silence was worse than any verdict.
The guard walking beside him glanced his way, as though reading the question on his face.
"Don't worry about the silence," the man said, voice rough but not unkind. "For folks like you—or deviants, when results aren't so clear the academy usually takes you."
Michael slowed a step. "Deviant? What does that mean?"
The guard grunted. "You'll learn in school."
That was the end of that.
He exhaled through his nose. Cryptic adults. Cryptic futures. He was getting tired of mysteries.
But then he saw them—Aamon and Hazel, sitting under the shade of a tree, waiting. Aamon saw him first and raised a hand in greeting, the usual grin plastered on his face. Hazel's smile was more reserved, thoughtful.
"There he is," Aamon said. "We were starting to think you burned the tent down."
Michael managed a laugh. "Was tempted."
Hazel raised an eyebrow. "So? What did you get?"
Michael hesitated. Then: "Flame."
There was a beat of silence. Aamon tilted his head, unimpressed. "That's it? Flame?"
Hazel's brow furrowed slightly. "Huh. I thought maybe you'd get something... stranger. Y'know, with all the books."
Michael scoffed and reached out, knocking both of them gently on the forehead. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm not some experiment in a jar."
Aamon rubbed his temple. "Just saying. You're always reading weird stuff. Figured it'd pay off with something exotic."
"Like you did?" Michael asked.
Aamon puffed out his chest. "Earth affinity. Solid. Reliable. Built for battle."
Hazel chuckled. "Until someone floats over your stone wall and sets you on fire."
Michael turned to her. "And you?"
Her face turned serious. "They didn't announce mine. I only caught a whisper when they thought I wasn't listening. Something about a deviant."
Michael and Aamon exchanged looks.
"Welcome to the club," Michael said under his breath.
Later, after packing up and saying brief goodbyes, Michael slipped away to the edge of the woods. The forest was quieter now, less foreboding than usual. It felt like an old friend.
He knelt in the same hollow cave where he'd first opened Roadagan's tome. The leather-bound book lay in his hands for a moment longer as he traced its worn edges and skimmed its content one last time. Then, slowly, he dug a hole beneath the roots, wrapped the tome in thick cloth, and buried it deep.
Night had fallen.
The group had assembled on the outskirts of the village. Dozens of children, bags slung over shoulders, faces lit with excitement or dulled by fear. Most of them had been selected—far more than anyone had expected from a backwater like this.
Billy was among those who hadn't made it.
Michael spotted him near the old well, staring into nothing, lips pressed into a bitter line. Michael wanted to say something. But what could he say? That Billy deserved it more? That life was unfair?
So he said nothing.
Whispers buzzed through the crowd. Magic wasn't rare—but this was unprecedented. Too many successful candidates from one village. It wasn't natural.
Michael's gaze shifted to the carriage parked at the edge of the road. It gleamed black and silver in the moonlight. Behind its shaded window, a pair of eyes met his.
The Strange noble.
Michael froze.
Just for a heartbeat. Then the man looked away.
Michael exhaled, only then realizing he'd been holding his breath.
They gathered their belongings and moved toward the waiting caravans. This was goodbye. For now.
They promised to return every holiday. Even if just for a day.