The gymnasium fell silent as Thaddeus Voss stepped forward, his confident stride echoing off the polished floors. Sixteen years old and built like an athlete, he commanded attention even before raising his hand. A sphere of brilliant flame bloomed above his palm, growing larger with each second until it rivaled the overhead lights.
"Fire affinity, tier four potential," announced Professor Delacroix, making a note on his tablet. "Well done, Thaddeus. I'm sure you'll get into something good."
Applause rippled through the assembled students. Thaddeus grinned and took his bow, the fireball dissipating with a dramatic flourish before he rejoined his classmates on the bleachers.
Corvian Knight pressed himself deeper into the corner of the back row, his pale hands gripping the metal bench. His heart hammered against his ribs, a rhythm he'd grown accustomed to during his frequent hospital visits. The doctors always said the same thing: "Unusual cardiac activity, but not life-threatening." Just another mystery in his collection of unexplained ailments.
"Next up," Professor Delacroix's voice cut through the murmur of conversation, "Seraphina Blackthorne."
A petite girl with raven-black hair and piercing green eyes glided to the center of the testing circle. She extended her palm gracefully, and water began to materialize from the air itself, not summoned from the building's pipes, but drawn from pure moisture. The liquid formed intricate patterns in precise geometric shapes before dissolving back to vapor.
"Water affinity, tier five potential," Professor Delacroix announced, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Exceptional control. The Aurora Foundation academies will compete for your enrollment."
More applause. Corvian watched Seraphina return to her seat with the same ethereal grace she'd demonstrated during her test. Everything about her screamed nobility—from her perfect posture to the expensive cut of her uniform.
"Darius Ember!"
The boy who stepped forward next was a study in controlled power. His earth affinity manifested as stone rising from the gymnasium floor, reshaping itself into a detailed sculpture of an eagle before crumbling back to dust at his command.
"Excellent precision. Tier four potential."
One by one, Corvian watched his classmates display the gifts that would determine their futures. Precise elemental control translated directly to social status, academy placement, and career prospects. The strongest would enter military or combat academies. Those with healing abilities were fast-tracked to medical schools. Even utility affinities guaranteed specialized training and stable employment.
Each success was another weight pressing down on Corvian's chest.
He'd known this day would come since elementary school, when children first began manifesting their gifts. While his classmates learned to control flames or move pebbles with their minds, Corvian had been in and out of hospitals, fighting mysterious fevers that baffled doctors. By middle school, the gap had become a chasm. They trained in specialized classes while he struggled just to attend regularly.
The few friends he'd managed to make had drifted away, not out of cruelty but simple incompatibility. How do you maintain a friendship with someone who lives in a completely different world?
"Corvian Knight."
The words hit him like ice water. Professor Delacroix was looking directly at him, tablet in hand, expression neutral but expectant. The entire gymnasium had turned to face the back row where he sat.
Corvian's legs felt like lead as he stood. Each step down the bleachers seemed to echo unnaturally loud. Whispers followed in his wake, not malicious, exactly, but curious. Everyone knew about Corvian Knight, the boy who'd never shown even a flicker of elemental response.
He reached the center of the circle and turned to face his classmates. Sixty pairs of eyes watched him with a mixture of pity and anticipation. Some genuinely hoped he'd surprise them. Others were waiting for confirmation of what they already believed.
"Take your time," Professor Delacroix said quietly. "Try to relax. Sometimes late bloomers just need the right environment."
Corvian nodded and raised his hand, mimicking the pose he'd watched dozens of times before. He reached inside himself, searching for that spark of power every human was supposed to possess. Fire, like Thaddeus. Water, like Seraphina. Earth, air, light, shadow—he'd take any of them.
Nothing.
He closed his eyes and tried harder, straining until sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool gymnasium air. In his mind, he pictured flames dancing above his palm, wind swirling around his body, anything that would prove he belonged in this world.
Still nothing.
The silence stretched until it became uncomfortable. Someone coughed. A shoe squeaked against the polished floor.
"It's alright," Professor Delacroix said, his voice gentle but resigned. "Not everyone manifests at the same—"
"I can do this," Corvian interrupted, his voice hoarse. He kept his eyes closed, reaching deeper, pushing harder against whatever barrier seemed to exist between him and the magic everyone else wielded so effortlessly.
His chest began to ache, not the familiar flutter of his heart condition, but something deeper. A cold that seemed to spread outward from his core. For a moment, just a moment, he thought he felt something respond.
Then the sensation vanished, leaving him hollow.
Corvian opened his eyes to find Professor Delacroix watching him with genuine sympathy. His classmates' faces showed everything from awkward discomfort to barely concealed relief that they weren't in his position.
"Magicless," someone whispered from the bleachers. The word carried clearly in the silent gymnasium.
"That's enough," Professor Delacroix said sharply, but the damage was done. The whispers multiplied, spreading through the assembled students like wildfire.
"Never seen anyone completely blank before..."
"What's he going to do for work?"
"My dad says they have special programs for people like that..."
Corvian walked back to his seat on unsteady legs, each whispered comment hitting him like a physical blow. He slumped onto the bench and stared at his hands, ordinary hands that would never earn him academy placement or career prospects.
"Alright, let's move on," Professor Delacroix called out, consulting his tablet. "Lysander Cross!"
The testing continued, but Corvian barely registered the remaining demonstrations. His mind was stuck in that moment of reaching, of feeling something just beyond his grasp before it slipped away entirely.
When the final student completed their test, Professor Delacroix dismissed the class with announcements about academy applications and placement counseling. Students clustered in groups, excitedly discussing their results and comparing tier ratings.
Corvian shouldered his worn backpack and headed for the exit, hoping to slip away unnoticed.
"Hey, Corvian!"
He turned to find Seraphina approaching, her expression surprisingly kind. Up close, she was even more striking, with the sort of natural elegance that came from good breeding and better genetics.
"I wanted to say," she began, then paused as if choosing her words carefully. "Sometimes the most powerful gifts take time to emerge. My grandmother didn't manifest until she was twenty-three, and she became one of the most renowned healers in the kingdom."
It was meant to be comforting, but they both knew it was hollow. Late manifestation was rare enough to make headlines. Complete absence of affinity at sixteen? That was permanent.
"Thanks," Corvian managed, his voice tight. "I appreciate it."
Seraphina nodded and rejoined her circle of friends, who immediately began discussing her tier five rating and the prestigious academies that would court her.
Corvian pushed through the gymnasium doors into the afternoon sunlight. The walk home felt longer than usual, each step carrying him further from the world he'd tried so desperately to join.
His adoptive parents, Helen and Jasper Knight, were waiting in the kitchen when he arrived home. They'd taken him in as an infant sixteen years ago, according to the sparse records. Helen was mixing something at the stove while Jasper read the evening news on his tablet.
"How did it go?" Helen asked without turning around, but Corvian could hear the careful neutrality in her voice.
"About as expected," he replied, dropping his backpack by the door.
Jasper looked up from his tablet, his weathered face creasing with concern. "The results don't define you, son. There are plenty of successful people without elemental gifts. The civil service has excellent programs—"
"I know," Corvian cut him off, more sharply than he'd intended. "I'm sorry. I just... need some time to process."
He climbed the stairs to his room, ignoring their worried glances. The space was small but comfortable, a twin bed, a desk cluttered with textbooks, and shelves lined with novels. Normal things for a normal boy who would apparently live a very normal, unremarkable life.
Corvian collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. Through his window, he could see other houses in their modest neighborhood, each one probably containing families discussing academy placements and magical aptitudes.
He'd known this outcome was likely, probable even. But some small part of him had held onto hope that today would be different. That he'd finally discover what made him special enough for fate to keep him alive through all those childhood illnesses.
Instead, he'd learned that there was nothing special about him at all.
A knock on his door interrupted his brooding. "Corvian?" Helen's voice was gentle. "There's something for you. A letter."
He sat up, curious despite his mood. The Knights rarely received formal mail.
"Come in."
Helen entered carrying an envelope made of thick, cream-colored paper. His name was written across the front in elegant script: Corvian Knight. No address, no postmark, as if it had been hand-delivered.
"This was in our mailbox," Helen said, handing it over. "Came sometime today. Doesn't look like regular mail."
Corvian turned the envelope over and found a wax seal bearing an unfamiliar symbol, a stylized torch surrounded by laurel leaves. The wax was deep blue, almost black, and still felt slightly warm beneath his fingers.
He cracked the seal and withdrew a single sheet of matching paper. The letterhead read Aristeia Academy for Distinguished Students in the same elegant script, followed by an address in the capital city.
Dear Mr. Knight,
It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been selected for admission to Aristeia Academy's upcoming term. Your unique circumstances and exceptional potential have brought you to our attention.
Enclosed you will find all necessary enrollment materials and transportation arrangements. Classes begin in two weeks. We look forward to welcoming you to our community of extraordinary individuals.
Respectfully,
The Admissions CommitteeAristeia Academy
Corvian read the letter three times, certain he was misunderstanding something. Aristeia Academy was legendary, a school that produced world leaders, master mages, and heroes of international renown. Their acceptance rate was rumored to be less than one percent.
"What does it say?" Helen asked, her voice tight with concern.
"It's from Aristeia Academy," Corvian said slowly. "They're... they're offering me admission."
Helen's eyes widened. "That's wonderful! But how? I mean..." She caught herself, but they both knew what she'd been about to say.
How does someone with no magical ability get accepted to the most prestigious academy in the world?
Corvian examined the letter again, looking for some sign that it was an elaborate prank or a case of mistaken identity. But the paper was genuine, the seal authentic, and his name was spelled correctly in that perfect script.
"Unique circumstances," he murmured, reading that particular phrase again. "What could that possibly mean?"
Outside his window, the sun was setting, painting his room in shades of gold and amber. In a few hours, his classmates would be calling their friends and families, celebrating their tier ratings and comparing academy offers. Meanwhile, he was staring at an impossible invitation to a school that shouldn't want him.
For the first time since the morning's humiliation, Corvian felt something other than despair.
He felt curious.