Chapter 2 – The Academy Trials
The morning sun bathed Kaelen's courtyard in golden light. The rays glinted off the wooden practice swords that he and his father wielded with focused determination. The scent of freshly cut wood mingled with the valley's blooming flowers, a soft contrast to the cold weight of the blades.
Darian, tall and sturdy, watched every movement carefully. His eyes shone with quiet pride, though his gaze remained demanding:
> "Once more, Kaelen. Focus on your breathing, and on the rhythm of your movements."
Kaelen raised his sword, frowning as he tried to replicate his father's fluid motions. His swings were hesitant, clumsy even, but each attempt revealed his determination.
> "I… I'm trying, Father!" he exclaimed, frustrated.
Darian smiled faintly, resting a comforting hand on his son's shoulder:
> "I know. Speed will come with time. But what you already have—patience, thoughtfulness, courage—that's what makes a true warrior."
At the edge of the courtyard, Elira appeared, carrying a basket of fruit in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. She approached gently, brushing her hand across Kaelen's cheek:
> "Even without magic, you are already my son. And a brave heart like yours will take you far."
Kaelen felt warmth surge through him. His parents' encouragement and smiles formed an invisible current that strengthened his resolve. He straightened, gripping his sword firmly.
> "Thank you, Mother… thank you, Father. I will give my best."
---
The Royal Summons
The next day, a royal messenger arrived in the valley. The wind snapped the sealed parchment against his legs as he called out loudly:
> "By decree of King Alaric, all youths aged sixteen to twenty are summoned to the Knights' Academy for the admission trials. Attendance is mandatory."
Kaelen's heart leapt. Three days… it was soon, but he knew his parents would be with him.
Darian placed a firm hand on his shoulder:
> "Whatever happens, Kaelen, we are proud of you."
Elira smiled tenderly, eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and worry:
> "And even if you fall, we will be there to lift you. Courage and perseverance often matter more than magic."
Kaelen took a deep breath, feeling the warmth and assurance of his parents blend with his own determination. He closed his eyes, visualizing every lesson in the courtyard, every swing of the sword, every encouraging word.
> "I won't disappoint them…" he whispered.
---
The Journey to the Academy
The journey to the city was thick with emotion. The cobblestone streets thrummed with the steps of other candidates and the murmurs of spectators—some cheering, some speculating. Kaelen walked between his parents, their presence a shield of love and reassurance.
As the Academy's towers came into view, their stone walls imposing and majestic, the very air seemed charged with energy. Fleeting glimmers, almost imperceptible, danced around the buildings and statues of past heroes, as if the ancient magic itself were testing the newcomers.
At the grand registration hall, a scribe in royal blue robes stood behind a marble table, noting each candidate's details.
> "Name?" he asked.
> "Kaelen, swordsman," Kaelen replied.
The scribe recorded the information carefully, handing him a parchment:
> "Registration number 225. The trial begins in three days. Prepare yourselves."
Tension surged in Kaelen's chest. He glanced at his parents.
> "I'll give my best," he promised.
Darian nodded gravely:
> "And that will always be enough."
Elira squeezed his hands tightly:
> "We love you… no matter what."
Kaelen smiled, clutching their hands one last time before raising his eyes to the Academy's towering gates.
---
Entering the Arena
The day of the trials arrived. The massive arena sprawled before him, packed stands echoing cheers and chants. Flags fluttered in the wind. Candidates already attuned to their powers exchanged defiant glances.
Kaelen felt his heart pound. His hair, half red and half white, caught the sunlight, while his uniquely hued eyes reflected an inner duality. Even unaware of his latent power, a mysterious energy thrummed around him, an echo of the millennial prophecy.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some candidates stared, intrigued by his unusual appearance; others with subtle disdain. Kaelen shivered but gripped his sword tighter.
> "No matter what… I must move forward."
A faint, nearly imperceptible glow danced around him, as if an invisible thread were pulling him toward something greater, a destiny he had yet to understand.
With one last glance at his parents' proud, encouraging smiles, he stepped through the arena's massive gates. The ground reverberated beneath his feet, and an electric anticipation, charged with magic, enveloped him.
---
Meeting Lancel and the First Trial
As Kaelen advanced, a young man with silver hair approached, a mocking smile on his lips. His steel-blue eyes gleamed with competitive fire.
> "Well… look at this, a normal kid," he sneered. "Do you really think you can compete with us?"
Kaelen's pulse quickened, yet he held his gaze.
> "Magic or not… I'll do my best," he replied calmly.
The boy laughed, a sharp, arrogant sound.
> "You should know my name before trying to face me. I am Lancel Dargaris. Here, the weak have no place."
A spark of defiance rose in Kaelen, though he kept it contained, gripping his sword firmly.
A whistle rang through the arena. The crowd fell silent. A figure appeared on the central balcony—an instructor in dark robes with silver filigree, stern yet fair.
> "Young candidates!" his voice boomed like a hammer striking steel. "The first trial of the Knights' Academy begins now. You will be tested on precision, control, and striking without exposing yourselves. Each of you must hit the moving targets in this arena. No attacks on other candidates will be tolerated. Judgment and strategy are your weapons."
The instructor raised his hand, and a series of floating targets shimmered into existence—varied in size and distance, testing skill and perception.
Kaelen studied them intently. Some were large and easy; others small and distant. Every movement, every breath mattered. A subtle energy thrummed around him, an echo of his unknown destiny.
Lancel sneered at Kaelen, observing him fix the first target:
> "Better pray you get lucky… or that fate favors you, kid."
Kaelen shivered. This boy's confidence wasn't just arrogance—it radiated skill, immediately highlighting the gap between them.
He breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment, focusing on his rhythm and the feel of the blade. The training at home, the invisible strength of his parents' love, anchored him.
> "Magic or not… I have to move forward," he whispered.
A faint current ran through his fingers. Kaelen had no conscious control over his magic yet, but a tiny spark flickered along the blade's tip. A chill passed through the air, sensed only by him. Destiny was beginning to guide him, even in this first trial.
The instructor raised his hand again.
> "Prepare yourselves!"
Silence fell. The targets floated, immovable yet challenging, ready to test each candidate's skill.
Kaelen's heart raced, senses sharp. He lifted his sword, eyes fixed on the first target. Lancel adjusted his stance nearby, a confident grin playing across his lips.
For Kaelen, this trial was more than a test of skill—it was the beginning of his confrontation with the world, his limits, and perhaps destiny itself.