The personality testing tent stood apart from the others. Its black canvas seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. No sounds emerged from within, despite the steady stream of applicants entering and exiting. Those who came out looked dazed and shaken, as if awakening from intense dreams.
"Next candidate!" called a voice from within the tent.
Lucian took a deep breath and stepped inside. The interior was much larger than it had appeared from outside, with impossible geometry that suggested magical expansion. Soft blue flames flickered in braziers around the walls, providing just enough light to see.
An elderly man in a black coat sat behind a simple wooden desk. His hair was silver-white, his skin weathered with age, but his eyes held the sharpness of someone far younger. Those eyes seemed to look through Lucian rather than at him.
"Welcome, young Skywalker," the man said, his voice carrying an odd resonance. "I am Vex Nightfall, and I will be administering your personality assessment."
"How do you know my name?" Lucian asked, then immediately regretted the question. Of course magical examinations would involve magic.
Vex chuckled, a dry sound like autumn leaves rustling. "I know many things, boy. More importantly, I'm about to learn what kind of person you truly are beneath that nervous exterior."
He gestured to a comfortable-looking chair positioned in the center of the tent. "Please, sit. The test will begin momentarily."
Lucian settled into the chair, which was surprisingly soft. The braziers around the tent began to burn brighter, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
"Close your eyes," Vex instructed. "Let your mind relax. Don't fight what you experience. Remember, this is only a test, but the choices you make within it will reveal your true character."
The last thing Lucian heard was Vex muttering an incantation in a language he didn't recognize. Then consciousness slipped away like water through his fingers.
When awareness returned, Lucian found himself standing in a small cottage. Sunlight streamed through simple windows. The furnishings were modest but well-maintained. Everything felt completely real, from the wooden floor beneath his feet to the smell of bread baking somewhere nearby.
But something was wrong. He looked down at his hands and gasped. They were smaller, a child's hands. His reflection in a mirror showed the face of an eight-year-old boy.
"What's happening?" he whispered, but his voice came out in a child's higher pitch.
Time seemed to accelerate around him. Days passed in minutes. He grew older, his reflection changing as months and years compressed into moments. He worked in mines, his small hands growing calloused from handling pick and shovel. The cottage remained his home, but it was empty. No parents, no family, just him struggling to survive.
By the time his reflection showed a young man of twenty-two, Lucian had experienced years of loneliness and hard labor. The magical vision felt utterly real. He could remember every day of work, every cold night alone, every meager meal he'd scrounged together.
Then, one day, he found the cat.
It was small and orange, mewing pitifully in an alley behind the mining office. Its ribs showed through thin fur, and its eyes held the same loneliness Lucian felt in his own heart.
"Come here, little one," he whispered, extending his hand.
The cat approached cautiously, then rubbed against his palm with desperate affection. Lucian's heart melted completely.
"You're coming home with me," he decided. "We'll take care of each other."
He named the cat Ember, and for the first time in this strange life, Lucian felt happiness. Ember would greet him when he returned from the mines. She would curl up next to him on cold nights. Her presence transformed the empty cottage into something approaching a home.
Two years passed in this compressed time. Lucian was twenty-four now, and though his life remained difficult, Ember's companionship made it bearable. He had even managed to save a small amount of money from his mining wages.
Then he encountered the children.
They were begging outside the market, a boy and girl who couldn't have been more than eight years old. Their clothes were little more than rags, their faces hollow with hunger. When Lucian saw them, his heart clenched with recognition. They looked exactly as desperate as he had felt during his early years alone.
"Please, sir," the girl whispered. "Just a piece of bread. We haven't eaten in two days."
Lucian looked at his small bag of groceries, then at the coins in his pocket. He had enough for his own needs and Ember's, with little left over. But these children were starving.
"Come with me," he said impulsively. "Let's get you both a proper meal."
He bought them food, then found himself unable to simply walk away. When he learned they had nowhere to sleep, he made another impulsive decision.
"You can stay with me," he offered. "Just for a while, until you find something better."
The children, who gave their names as Tom and Sara, accepted with tears of gratitude. Just for a while became permanent. Lucian found himself playing the role of father to two orphans while barely being an adult himself.
The years compressed again. Lucian worked harder than ever, taking extra shifts to support his improvised family. Tom and Sara grew from frightened children into capable young adults. By the time Lucian was thirty-four, they were eighteen and ready to make their own way in the world.
He had opened a small shop selling magical stones and crystals. The business wasn't lucrative, but it provided enough income to live comfortably. More importantly, it meant he could spend more time with his family.
"You've given us everything," Sara said one evening as they shared dinner. "We'll never be able to repay you."
"You don't need to repay anything," Lucian replied. "Taking care of each other is what family does."
Tom nodded enthusiastically. "We're going to work hard and contribute more to the household. You've carried us long enough."
Both young people had found employment in the town. They were good children who had grown into fine adults. Lucian felt proud of the life they had built together.
Then tragedy struck.
Lucian returned home one evening to find Ember lying motionless in her favorite spot by the window. The little orange cat who had been his first companion in this strange life was dead.
"What happened?" he asked Tom and Sara, his voice breaking with grief.
"We found her like this when we came home from work," Tom said sadly. "Someone must have hurt her while we were all away."
Sara nodded, tears in her eyes. "We're so sorry, Lucian. We know how much she meant to you."
Lucian cradled Ember's still form, remembering all the nights she had kept him company through the loneliest years of his life. The grief felt overwhelming and completely real.
He buried her in the small garden behind their cottage, marking the grave with a smooth stone. For the next week, he moved through his days in a haze of sorrow.
The routine continued. Work at the shop, dinner with Tom and Sara, evenings spent in companionable conversation. Gradually, the sharp edge of grief began to dull. Life moved forward, as it always did.
One night, a week after Ember's death, Lucian prepared for bed as usual. He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on his nightstand, a habit he had maintained for years.
As he raised the glass to his lips, a small bug scuttled across the floor near his feet. Startled, he accidentally spilled the water across the wooden boards.
"Clumsy," he muttered, mopping up the spill with a cloth.
He set the empty glass aside and settled into bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin. Sleep came quickly, aided by the physical exhaustion of another long day.
But an hour later, voices woke him.
Lucian lay perfectly still, keeping his breathing deep and regular. Through barely cracked eyelids, he could see Tom and Sara standing near his bed. They were speaking in hushed whispers, but in the silence of night, their words carried clearly.
"I still think this is wrong," Tom was saying. "He saved us. He gave us everything."
"And now he's old and weak," Sara replied coldly. "He won't live much longer anyway. This way, we get the money while we're still young enough to enjoy it."
"But—" Tom began.
"But nothing," Sara interrupted. "It was easy enough with his stupid cat. A bit of poison, and everyone thought it died naturally. He'll never suspect the water."