The cheers had faded. The faces, the murmurs, the excited whispers gone. The Trial Grounds had emptied like the tide pulling away from shore, leaving behind only silence and echoes of what had just happened.
I stood still on the central platform, feeling the burn of magic still coursing through me like a living flame. The Trial of Worth was behind me, but what lay ahead was something far more dangerous, far more demanding.
This… was only the beginning.
As I watched the golden sun climb across the otherworldly sky of Zareth, I noticed how even the light here felt different. It shimmered through the clouds like molten glass, bouncing off the runes and floating towers like it was alive. The sky above the empire looked like something from a dream fragments of color, floating islands, lightning storms in the distance. A world where magic breathed from the stone itself.
And now… I was a part of it.
Footsteps approached. Steady. Unhurried.
I didn't need to look to know it was him.
Arkon.
The Archmage stood tall beside me, his long black cloak brushing against the obsidian floor, silver eyes shining like twin stars beneath his hood. He didn't speak at first. He simply observed me like a man studying a puzzle that had started solving itself.
"You survived," he said at last. "Three trials. Three victories. Many come with ambition. Few leave without scars."
I was covered in bruises and my limbs ached, but I stood upright and held his gaze. "Scars fade. Failure doesn't."
He gave a short nod almost a mark of approval.
Without a word, he turned and walked to the edge of the platform. A circular disk of light shimmered into existence beside him another floating platform. He stepped on it.
"Come. There's more to learn."
I followed without hesitation.
🔹 The Heart of Zareth
As we lifted into the sky, I saw Zareth from a new angle rising higher than I ever had before. The magic towers below us pulsed with raw energy, their crystal tips humming in harmonic frequencies I could feel in my bones. Students walked between glowing bridges, practicing incantations and sparring with weapons carved from starlight. Enchanted beasts soared in the skies griffins, phoenix-like birds, mechanical dragons tamed by the empire's elite.
The city was a miracle of arcane design, a place where physics bent to the will of the gifted.
But I didn't have time to marvel.
The platform carried us to a vast tower in the heart of Zareth a spire of black stone veined with glowing gold, encased in protective glyphs and spiraling bands of ancient script. It was the Archmage's personal domain.
His sanctum.
A place few ever entered and fewer left changed.
Inside, the tower opened into a massive circular chamber with a domed ceiling depicting the celestial map of this world Valtheon. Runes floated in the air like fireflies. Books lined the walls in floating rows, turning pages of their own accord. Magical devices ticked, pulsed, and glowed on shelves. Crystals sang softly from every corner.
It wasn't a library.
It was a living archive of power.
Arkon motioned me to the center of the room—a stone dais carved with runes, its surface etched in a spiral pattern.
"Stand in the center," he commanded.
I did. The moment I did, I felt a jolt of energy surge through my feet and into my spine.
"You've awakened something," he continued. "The spirit trial ignited a spark within you. Now, it must be fanned into fire. You've been touched by fate and by pain. Both are needed to shape a mage."
"I thought magic here was passed through bloodlines," I said.
Arkon smirked. "That's what they tell the masses. Magic does run through blood but that's not the only way. Pain opens doors. So does clarity. So does death."
He circled me slowly, his hands raised.
"Close your eyes. Focus inward. Tell me what you feel."
I obeyed.
At first nothing. Just my heartbeat, my breathing, the faint crackle of magic in the air.
But then… something stirred inside me.
A glowing ember, deep in my chest hot, pulsing, small but alive.
It wasn't just energy. It was mine.
"There," I said. "I feel it. In my chest. Like a core."
"Because it is," Arkon replied. "Your mana core. The foundation of all magical ability. Most mages are born with one. You… just awakened yours through pain and trial."
The glyphs beneath me lit up in sequence, each one triggering the next in a spiral of blue fire. The magic around me intensified.
"Now," Arkon said, voice suddenly fierce, "you must bind it to your will."
The room spun.
Heat flooded my body. I fell to my knees as the mana core flared to life inside me. My body rejected it at first blood boiling, bones vibrating, heart racing. I screamed as light burst from every pore of my skin.
"Don't fight it," Arkon's voice echoed around me. "Own it. Shape it. Claim it."
I gritted my teeth and focused on every memory of pain, of survival, of hunger, of crawling through the filth of the slave pits. I focused on the image of my face in the mirror after the cleansing orb changed, scarred, reborn.
This was my power. No one else's.
Suddenly it clicked.
The energy surged into my limbs and then stabilized. The pain stopped. My body trembled but not from weakness. From magic. Raw and real.
When I opened my eyes, the room was glowing.
And so was I.
Arkon smiled faintly.
"You are no longer just a soul reborn. You are a mage."
🔹 The First Spell
He extended his hand, and a small orb of fire appeared above his palm smooth, stable, flickering gold and red.
"Magic begins with intention," he explained. "But it requires three things: a spark of energy, a focus of will… and a command of language."
He muttered something a word that twisted the air itself and the fire changed shape. It became a sword. Then a flower. Then a raven with burning wings.
"All spells are built on ancient language. I will teach you the basics. But for now… learn to shape flame."
He flicked his fingers, and a second orb floated toward me.
"Feel it. Pull it. Let it become part of you."
I reached out.
The moment I touched it, the fire leapt into my hand and flared. It burned but not painfully. It danced across my fingers like it belonged there.
I concentrated, willing it to change.
It flickered. Warped. Then became a blade of pure flame.
Arkon raised an eyebrow. "Not bad. Instinctive shaping. Dangerous… but promising."
The blade collapsed into sparks.
"You have seven days," he said. "Master the Flame Command. If you fail, the Circle will question your right to remain in Zareth. If you succeed…"
He paused, gaze piercing.
"If you succeed, I will take you deeper. Into real magic. War magic. Forbidden spells. The kind that built this empire and the kind that will destroy it."
He turned, his cloak swirling behind him.
"Rest. Study. Bleed. You begin at sunrise."
🔹 Alone in the Tower
I remained standing for a long time after he left.
The chamber dimmed. The runes returned to slumber. I was alone except for the faint pulse of my mana core, still glowing quietly in my chest like a newborn star.
I walked to a mirror on the wall and looked at my reflection.
Not a slave.
Not a broken man.
But someone becoming something else.
Powerful.
Purposeful.
And dangerous.
"Seven days," I whispered to myself.
"Time to become more than a survivor."
Time to become a conqueror.