Rowan felt a rush of energy inside him. It was like a wave flowing through his body and into the crystal ball resting in his hand. The crystal felt cool at first, but slowly it began to glow a soft light.
It wasn't a super bright glow, but it was steady. The crystal seemed to react to what he felt inside. Rowan focused, pouring more of his energy into the crystal.
The light grew brighter, little by little. He was curious about how far this could go, so he kept his hand pressed down firmly.
On the platform, two men were watching him. One was friendly and gave a nod that felt encouraging. The other man stood tall and looked at Rowan with a serious face. It was hard to tell what he was thinking.
Just when Rowan thought the glow would keep getting stronger, his energy suddenly stopped. It felt strange, like a little emptiness inside him. The crystal settled into a steady glow, neither too dim nor too bright. This meant the test was done.
The serious man broke the quiet, "Name: Rowan Stephenson. Potential: Mid."
His voice was sharp and direct.
Before Rowan could respond, the friendly man stepped in. He had a big smile on his face. "That's good news! With some focus and hard work, you can achieve great things. Just keep at it, young man."
The warmth in his voice felt nice, but there was something in his eyes. It seemed like he hoped Rowan could have come out with better results.
Rowan thought to himself, "Hmm… it felt like it could have been higher."
The tall man reached into a small pouch and pulled out a medallion. It had "Volmork" written on it in bold letters.
Take this, he said, handing it to Rowan. There was no chance for more words. "You'll come back next week for the affinity test. Be ready."
Rowan wrapped both hands around the medallion. The metal was cold against his palms. He held it tightly, feeling a wave of relief and joy.
'Yes… I'm going to become a mage!' he cheered in his mind. But he didn't want his happiness to show. Instead, he took a deep breath and offered a slight bow.
"Thank you for your guidance, sirs. I'll take my leave now." His voice was calm and respectful.
The friendly man nodded, still smiling. The serious man returned only a simple nod with his blank face.
Rowan turned away from the platform. His heart raced with excitement and determination. He felt ready for whatever came next.
As he descended into the open expanse of the arena, clutching the medallion tightly in his hand, he allowed himself a small smile.
For the first time in years, hope flickered brightly within him, a fragile ember that he vowed to protect and nurture.
With his spirits lifted, Rowan left the arena, his steps light as he made his way toward his apartment, tucked away in a less luxurious area far from the academy district.
The journey was long, but he hardly noticed the distance; his thoughts were consumed by the events of the day and the possibilities the future held.
When he finally reached home, the familiar scent of his apartment welcomed him like an old friend. His eyes misted with unshed tears as he stepped inside, taking in the simplicity and warmth of the space.
His gaze settled almost immediately on a framed photograph that rested proudly on the shelf, a picture of the woman who had given him hope and instilled virtues in him during his darkest days.
Aunty Verci.
Though she was gone, her presence lingered in the room, etched into every memory and woven into every corner of the home they had once shared.
Just beside her photograph, the payphone hung neatly on the wall.
Rowan's gaze faltered. He hesitated, the weight of indecision pressing down on him.
The thought of calling his mother stirred a conflict within him, the urge to share his good news with her, overshadowed by the bitterness of her absence that day, and lack of faith in him.
"It doesn't matter," he muttered to himself, his voice low and pained. "She wasn't there."
His eyes drifted back to Aunty Verci's photograph, the glint of tears now shining openly in his gaze.
"But you would never miss it, would you?" he said softly, his voice cracking slightly.
"Even if you're a ghost now."
Slowly, he settled on the sofa, and immediately, slipped into a teary-coated sleep.
***
Hours later he woke up, groggily, he peeled away from the sofa.
Yawning, he darted a glance toward the wall clock. Though the time eluded him at first, the dim environment outside told him all he needed to know, night was fast approaching.
Slowly, the dizziness dropped off his face as he stood up to make himself something with his stomach panging with an intense hunger that demanded his attention.
The house was shrouded in dimness, the lack of proper lighting a familiar sight.
They couldn't afford the expenses of electricity, but after years of relying on traditional lanterns, navigating through the dimness had become second nature.
Rowan made his way to the tiny kitchen, which felt more like a narrow tunnel than a proper cooking space. He prepared a bowl of ramen and sat down to eat.
By now, the sun had nearly disappeared, leaving streaks of warm, golden light filtering faintly through the window.
Despite the modest surroundings, the interplay of dusk and shadows gave the small apartment a humble charm.
Within moments, Rowan wolfed down his meal, rubbing his belly with a satisfied smile.
Suddenly, his eyes wandered back to the clock on the wall. Just above it, he noticed something odd, a small crack in the plaster.
"Huh. That's strange. That hasn't always been there," he muttered to himself.
Propelled by intrigue, he rose from the cold floor and moved toward the wall to get a closer look. Leaning in, he traced his fingers over the crack, pressing lightly against its surface.
Just then, he felt a sharp, brief pain on his finger.
The unexpected prick of a pin against his finger made him jerk back. A small bead of blood welled at the tip.
"Where the hell did that come from?"He mused out loud.
He hadn't seen anything sharp, and besides, why would there be a pin embedded behind the wall?
Cautiously, he kept his finger away from the pin, careful not to aggravate the wound. Yet before he could investigate further, something strange began to happen.
A red mist rolled out of the crack, slithering into the room like a coiled serpent.
The pace of the event was too fast for Rowan to fully comprehend as the mist coiled and surged, drilling into his nostrils before he could even react.
His breath hitched as dizziness swept over him, drowning his senses. And slowly, his vision blurred, and his limbs grew heavy, as though the very world were slipping away from him.
Just as he fell, his consciousness dimming, a voice rang out in his head.