The accusation hung heavy in the air. Evan felt his face flush, a mix of anger and helplessness rising. "Sir, I am not wasting your time! I am a Lute Magus! My cultivation... it's different. It focuses on the heart, the spirit, the resonance..."
"Spirit? Resonance?" Oliviera cut him off, his voice dripping with derision. "Meaningless abstractions! Magic is quantifiable energy! Measurable power! Elemental forces harnessed through discipline and knowledge! You display none of the fundamentals! No detectable mana! No elemental affinity! And you obstruct a basic diagnostic scan!" He slammed his hand on the table, making the Resonance Orb jump. "This screening is concluded. Your fee is forfeit. Leave now, before I summon the guards for attempting to defraud the Institute!"
Sharon's expression had shifted from curiosity to concern. "Vice-Headmaster," she began cautiously, "Perhaps a different approach..."
"Silence, Sharon!" Oliviera snapped, his pride clearly wounded by the failed scan and Evan's perceived resistance. "The decision is made. This... charlatan... is dismissed. Send in the next candidate!"
Humiliation burned through Evan. He turned on his heel, pushing past the steward who was already ushering in the next wide-eyed hopeful, and strode out of the Orchid Pavilion into the bright, indifferent sunlight of Polis. The two precious silvers were gone. His path to the Institute seemed more blocked than ever. He leaned against a cool stone wall, closing his eyes, fighting down the despair. Quentin's teachings, Yale Leaf's training, Zander's strength – they felt distant, useless against the rigid structures of this world.
A hand touched his shoulder lightly. He flinched, opening his eyes.
It was Sharon. She had followed him out. Her expression was unreadable, but her sharp eyes held a glimmer of something other than dismissal.
"That was... unfortunate," she said quietly. "Vice-Headmaster Oliviera is very traditional. He values measurable power above all else. Your... unique situation... did not fit his parameters."
Evan looked at her, bitterness in his voice. "So, that's it? My path ends here? Because I don't glow like a lantern?"
Sharon's lips quirked in a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Not necessarily. Oliviera's assessment is preliminary, not final. The Institute values diverse talents." She paused, studying Evan intently. "There is another way. A more... direct route. But it carries significant risk."
Evan straightened up. "What way?"
"The Purple Star Dragonrider," Sharon stated. At Evan's blank look, she elaborated. "Commander Cassio. He leads the garrison here in Polis. He's a legend – a Purple-Rank Warrior bonded to a Royal Star Drake. More importantly, he possesses an ancient right granted by the Imperial Court: the 'Talon's Grasp' privilege. Once a year, he can personally recommend one exceptional candidate directly to the Institute's Headmaster, bypassing all standard admissions."
Evan's heart leaped. "How? How do I meet him? How do I earn this recommendation?"
Sharon's expression turned serious. "He doesn't grant audiences easily. And he only respects one thing: proven strength. Specifically, combat prowess." She gestured towards the city's northern district. "The Polis Proving Grounds. Public duels are held there daily. Victors gain reputation, coin, sometimes the attention of powerful patrons. Commander Cassio often observes the matches, seeking talent for his garrison... or for his singular recommendation."
She met Evan's gaze directly. "If you can win. Win consistently. Win against opponents Oliviera would deem 'quantifiable'. And if you can catch the Dragonrider's eye... the path to Milan might open. But the Proving Grounds are brutal. Fighters are hungry, desperate, skilled. You have no armor, no weapon, no visible magic..." Her eyes flickered towards the pouch at his waist where the mask resided. "...and only whatever hidden strength you possess. The risk is high. Failure could mean injury... or worse."
Evan stared north, towards the district Sharon indicated. The sounds of the city seemed to fade. The humiliation of Oliviera's dismissal curdled into a cold resolve. The safe paths were closed. Martino's coin was nearly gone. Zander was out there somewhere. The Sovereigns awaited recovery. The Institute was his destination. He needed to move forward. Risk? It was all he had left.
He turned back to Sharon, his dark eyes clear and steady. "Where are these Proving Grounds?"