Eryndor stood by the worn wooden door of the house, his hair neatly combed and was now wearing a perfect outfit, it was the Argentum academy uniform, his shoes neatly polished, his spotless blue trousers, his white sleeve and a blue tie neatly laced around his neck which was concealed by his blue knee length jacket but the tie was still revealed through the parted collas of his jacket.
The morning mist still lingering to the ancient trees that surrounded their secluded home. His travel pack, surprisingly light despite carrying all his worldly possessions, feeling heavy with the weight of expectation. Grandpa Arinthal his eyes crinkling at the corners, adjusted the collar of Eryn knee-length jacket.
"Remember what I told you, my boy," his grandfather rumbled, his voice low and steady. "You are not defined by the magic you lack, but by the strength you possess. Your mind is sharp, your heart is true, and your will, well, it's as stubborn as a goat." He chuckled, a warm, reassuring sound. "Don't let them tell you otherwise."
Eryndor nodded, gulping down the lump in his throat. "I won't, Grandfather. I'll… I'll try my best."
His uncle Silas came running to see the young boy, he wasn't putting on clothes, few seconds ago he was cutting down a wood till he remembered that the young man was supposed to leave today and he came rushing down here, his triceps was hard and hefty with sweats dripping down from his face cascading down his neck, "can't believe in no time we won't be seeing you, " Silas said with a calm voice a hint of dismal and happiness, he has watched the boy grew up in the neighborhood and he was a close friend of his father.
"I'll be back in a few days, just to say my final goodbye so this isn't a goodbye yet uncle Silas, " his voice calm and soothing with a wide smile in his lip.
With a final, bracing hug from his grandfather and a curt nod from Silas, Eryndor turned and set off, the familiar path slowly giving way to the wider, busy road that led to the city. Every step felt like a step into an unknown future, away from the comforting routines of his simple life.
He arrived late the following afternoon, dust-caked and weary, at the edge of the Augustum Capital. The city itself was a sprawling wonder, but his eyes were drawn, as if by an invisible cord, to the Academy. It truly was a monumental structure, it was very tall with its large structure. Before the main gates, standing like silent sentinels, were two colossal pillars of polished black obsidian, each one easily three times the height of the tallest oak in his village. They seemed to hum with a brutal energetic force.
He joined a nervous throng of other aspiring mages, all waiting, all eyeing the imposing pillars with a mixture of awe and apprehension. There were snooty nobles in fine silks, quiet scholars clutching scrolls, and even a few other commoners, their faces etched with a similar blend of hope and fear just like him.
The big obsidian tall pillars creaked and screeched open giving way to students to walk in and mumbles lingered in the air with stoping and clacking footsteps passing through the gate with anticipation.
They made their way to the assembly ground, eryndor eyes wandered around his eyes absorb the how big the structures of the building are. The setting sun cast long, dramatic shadows across the grounds. Finally, a booming voice, amplified by magic, cut through the nervous murmurs.
"Candidates for the Imperial Magic Academy!"
A figure emerged from the main archway and their heads were raised to look at the person speaking to them from above, a stern-faced Proctor in the Academy's distinctive crimson robes. He held a staff that faintly glowed with an internal light.
"You have arrived. For now, you are to present your identification papers to the registrars at the side tents. You will not be entering the Academy grounds tonight. You will be assigned to temporary lodgings in the Outer Quarters. You are to rest, compose yourselves, and await further instruction."
A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd. Eryndor felt a bit of disappointment. He had hoped to get inside, to finally understand what awaited him.
The Proctor continued, his voice echoing with authority. "Let me make the rules and regulations of this institution crystal clear, even before you step foot inside. This is not a common school. This is the Argentum Magic Academy. Discipline, dedication, and respect for arcane power are paramount."
He raised his staff, and a shimmering, ethereal projection of rules materialized in the air above his head, slowly scrolling down. Eryndor strained to read them, catching key phrases:
1. "Absolute adherence to all faculty directives. Disobedience will result in immediate expulsion."
2. "No unsanctioned magical experimentation. All magical practice must be supervised." Elara almost snorted. Unsanctioned magical experimentation was the least of his worries.
3. "Respect for the Academy's artifacts and wards. Tampering will result in severe penalties."
4. "Curfew is strictly enforced. Violators will face disciplinary action."
5. "Physical altercations are forbidden. Resolution of disputes through sanctioned duels only, if permitted."
The list seemed endless, a dizzying array of strictures for a world he barely understood.
"Now, regarding your entry," the Proctor's voice sharpened, drawing everyone's attention. "You have all been summoned here to assess your potential. Your true journey begins with the Three Trials of Admission."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"The First Trial will test your Theoretical Aptitude. You will demonstrate your understanding of fundamental magical principles, history, and the arcane sciences. This is a test of intellect and study. Those who lack the foundational knowledge required for serious magical study will be culled here."
Eryndor felt a flicker of grim satisfaction. He might not have magic, but he had spent weeks reading everything about magic that was written in books and scrolls. He wasn't entirely unprepared for this.
"The Second Trial will assess your Aura Recognition. You will prove your sensitivity to the subtle flows of magical energy. This is a test of perception and innate connection to the magical currents that permeate our world. Mere book knowledge will not suffice."
A shiver ran down Eryndor spine. This was the one that felt difficult for him, "And finally," the Proctor's voice deepened, "the Third Trial will gauge your Intent Projection. This is a measure of your mental fortitude and your ability to impose your will upon raw magical constructs. It demands focus, unwavering belief, and the internal strength to bend magic, even if you cannot yet wield it."
This was the one that truly terrified Eryndor, yet also intrigued him. How could he, someone without an ounce of magic, project his will onto something inherently magical?
"These trials are designed to weed out the weak-willed, the unprepared, and those simply unsuited for the arduous path of magic," the Proctor declared, his gaze sweeping over the silent crowd. "They are challenging. They are rigorous. And they are mandatory. Those who fail any one of them will be sent home."
The implications hung heavy in the air. The rules were clear, the expectations daunting. But as he turned to follow the stream of candidates towards the temporary barracks, a spark of unbridled passion ignited within him. He was here, against all odds. And he wouldn't give up, not after coming this far.