The journey north unfolded like a tapestry woven with dust, distance, and the steady rhythm of caravan life. Weeks bled into one another. Verdant fields gave way to rolling hills, then to the dramatic, snow-dusted peaks marking the border between Poland and the sprawling Milanese Empire. The air grew crisper, carrying the scent of pine and mountain streams. Polis, with its tension and trials, faded into memory, replaced by the anticipation thrumming within Evan.
The caravan master's shout echoed down the line one bright morning: "Milan! The Imperial City on the horizon!"
Evan scrambled to the front of the wagon, Zander a silent, watchful presence beside him. His breath caught.
Spread across a vast, fertile plain, cradled by distant, purple-hued mountains, lay Milan. Its scale dwarfed Polis. Impossibly high walls, crafted from gleaming white stone that seemed to capture the sunlight, encircled the metropolis. Towers, slender and graceful or imposing and fortified, pierced the sky like the fingers of giants. Grand avenues, visible even from this distance, radiated outwards from a central, colossal structure that dominated the skyline – a complex of soaring spires, arched bridges, and vast domes shimmering with faint protective wards. The Milan Institute of Magic and Martial Arts. Its sheer presence radiated power, history, and the promise of untold knowledge.
The caravan lumbered through the colossal main gate – the "Dragon's Maw" – guarded by soldiers in resplendent silver and blue armor, their bearing rigidly disciplined. The city within was a sensory explosion. Streets teemed with people of all nations and races: robed mages deep in discussion, armored warriors bearing exotic weapons, merchants hawking magical components and enchanted artifacts, scholars laden with scrolls, and nobles in luxurious palanquins. The architecture was a breathtaking blend of soaring elegance and imposing fortification. Magical lights glowed softly even in daylight, fountains danced with illusory water creatures, and the very air hummed with a low thrum of concentrated magical energy. It was vibrant, overwhelming, and utterly magnificent.
Following directions obtained at the gate, Evan and Zander navigated the bustling streets towards the Institute district. The Institute itself wasn't merely a building; it was a walled city-within-a-city. Its gates, flanked by statues of legendary founders – one holding a staff wreathed in lightning, the other a sword blazing with fire – stood open, guarded by Institute guards whose uniforms bore the emblem of a balanced scale superimposed over a book and crossed sword/staff.
Evan presented Cassio's writ to the gate captain. The man examined the seal with practiced eyes, his expression shifting from neutrality to respectful surprise. "The Purple Star's mark," he murmured. "Proceed to the Administration Spire. Present this at the Grand Registrar's office." He handed the writ back and waved them through.
Stepping onto the Institute grounds was like entering another world. Lush gardens, meticulously manicured, surrounded pathways of polished marble. Students in robes of various colors denoting their disciplines hurried between imposing lecture halls, libraries that seemed to stretch endlessly upwards, and specialized practice arenas where the sounds of clashing steel, crackling spells, and resonant musical notes drifted on the air. The atmosphere was one of intense focus, ambition, and palpable power.
The Administration Spire was a needle of white stone piercing the sky. Inside, the air was cool and quiet, a stark contrast to the city's bustle. Polished marble floors reflected the light from enchanted crystals set high in the vaulted ceiling. Robed administrators moved with quiet efficiency. Evan approached a grand desk manned by a severe-looking woman with silver spectacles perched on her nose.
"Grand Registrar's office?" Evan inquired politely.
The woman glanced up, her eyes sharp. "Purpose?"
"Admission. I hold a recommendation from Commander Cassio of Polis." Evan presented the writ.
The woman took it, her eyebrows rising slightly as she recognized the seal. She examined it carefully. "Cassio's Talon's Grasp. Rarely invoked." She stamped the parchment with an official seal bearing the Institute's crest. "Proceed to the third floor. Testing Chamber Gamma. Vice-Headmaster Oliviera will conduct your assessment." Her tone held a hint of... something. Pity? Warning? Evan couldn't tell.
Oliviera. The name sent a chill down Evan's spine. The memory of the humiliating dismissal in Polis was still raw. He exchanged a glance with Zander, whose expression remained impassive but whose eyes held a flicker of cold intensity. Evan squared his shoulders. He had Cassio's writ now. Oliviera couldn't dismiss him so easily.
They ascended a sweeping staircase to the third floor. Testing Chamber Gamma was a large, circular room with tiered observation seats currently empty. The floor was marked with intricate protective runes. At the far end stood Oliviera, clad in his dark blue and silver robes, looking even more stern and disapproving than Evan remembered. Beside him stood Sharon, her expression unreadable but her sharp eyes taking in Evan and Zander with keen interest. A few other senior faculty members in various colored robes observed from the sidelines, their expressions curious.
Oliviera's gaze locked onto Evan the moment he entered. His lips thinned. "Evan Young," he stated, his voice dripping with icy disdain. "So, Cassio was... persuaded. Very well. The Talon's Grasp compels assessment, not automatic admission." He gestured dismissively towards the center of the room. "State your discipline and demonstrate your capability. Let us see if the Purple Star's judgment aligns with... reality."
Evan stepped forward, Zander remaining near the entrance, a silent, watchful sentinel. "Zither Magic, Vice-Headmaster."
"Indeed," Oliviera sneered. "And where is your famed instrument? Or did you lose another one?" The barb was deliberate.
Evan ignored the dig. He reached into the simple carrying case he'd acquired in Polis and withdrew the instrument within. It was a stark contrast to the Sovereigns. A basic, serviceable student-grade guqin, its wood plain, its lacquer unadorned, its strings standard quality. Functional, but devoid of the profound resonance and history of his lost treasures. He placed it carefully on a provided stand in the center of the runic circle.
A murmur ran through the observing faculty. A student-grade instrument for a Talon's Grasp candidate? Unprecedented.
"Proceed," Oliviera commanded, crossing his arms. "Let us hear the 'magic' that so impressed Commander Cassio."
Evan took a deep breath, centering himself. He closed his eyes, reaching for the deep wellspring of the Innocent Heart Core. The purity, the focus, the resonant connection to music itself – these were his true instruments. The guqin was merely a conduit. He recalled Quentin's teachings: The power lies not in the wood and strings, but in the heart that commands them.
His eight fingers settled lightly on the strings. He chose a piece – not the complex melodies he yearned to play, but one deeply ingrained in his soul, one that resonated with the core of his cultivation: 'Parting at Yang Guan'. A melody of farewell, of enduring bonds, of journeys undertaken.
He began. The first notes, played on the simple instrument, lacked the depth and richness of the Nine Heavens Jade Pendant Zither. They sounded thin, almost frail in the vast chamber. Oliviera's lips curled in a contemptuous smirk. Some of the observing faculty exchanged skeptical glances.
But Evan poured his heart into the music. He channeled the Innocent Heart Core's pure energy, not as raw force, but as focused resonance. He played not just the notes, but the emotion – the sorrow of parting, the strength of enduring connection, the quiet hope of reunion. He visualized the Emerald Canopy, Quentin's patient guidance, Yale Leaf's gruff pride, his parents' love, Zander's unwavering presence. He poured the essence of his journey, his losses, his determination, into the melody.
As the first repetition of the mournful theme concluded and he transitioned into the second, deeper layer of sorrow, something shifted. The simple guqin seemed to... awaken. The notes gained a surprising depth and clarity. A faint, visible aura – a shimmering blend of deep crimson and vibrant cyan – began to emanate from Evan, swirling around him and the instrument. The air in the chamber grew heavy with palpable emotion. The protective runes on the floor glowed softly in response to the concentrated mental/spiritual energy.
The observing faculty leaned forward, their skepticism replaced by intense interest. Sharon's eyes widened slightly, a spark of genuine fascination igniting within them. Oliviera's smirk vanished, replaced by a frown of profound confusion and dawning disbelief.
Evan, lost in the music, reached the third and most profound repetition of 'Parting at Yang Guan'. The sorrow deepened into a poignant ache, but beneath it flowed an unshakeable current of resilience, of bonds that distance and hardship could not sever. He thought of Zander, appearing through the rift. He thought of the unbreakable thread connecting them.
The sound emanating from the simple guqin was no longer thin. It was rich, resonant, and imbued with profound power. It wasn't just heard; it was felt. It vibrated in the chest, tugged at the heartstrings. The crimson-cyan aura intensified, pulsing in time with the music. Tears welled in the eyes of one of the more sensitive faculty members. Even Oliviera felt an unwelcome tightness in his throat, a visceral reaction he couldn't suppress.