The twelve apprentices formed a semicircle around Master Vexar, waiting to hear his words.
"First," the old man began, striking the ground with the tip of his staff, "you must understand that magic is not a free gift."
"It is a fundamental force of the world, governed by invisible laws that can only be touched as one ascends in rank. And not everyone is born with the right to walk that path."
He extended his left hand. A sphere of faint light formed in his palm, slowly changing color as he spoke.
"Innate talent determines how far you can go without external assistance. It manifests as the color of the soul when evaluated with a resonance crystal like the one in my staff."
The sphere vanished.
"No color—incapable of perceiving or channeling magic. This is the result of being a pure mortal."
The sphere flared again, turning brown and then white.
"Brown, the lowest level of talent. They can touch magic with great effort, but they will never be more than marginal practitioners unless they receive significant external help."
"White, the most common talent on the continent. Most mages possess this soul color. Better than brown, but not by much."
The sphere shifted to red, then to blue.
"Red," Vexar said, looking at Drowen with a smile. "A rare talent. Capable of standing out with intense training."
"Blue." Now Vexar looked at Thiriel, his eyes gleaming with barely concealed excitement. "An even rarer talent. They can form a stable core and progress much faster."
Drowen frowned and glanced at Thiriel. He understood that Master Vexar would favor Thiriel more in the future because of his superior talent—and that was very bad news for him.
The sphere disappeared, but Vexar continued speaking.
"There are even higher talents still. I have never seen them personally, but they exist and are usually found within the great sects, clans, and academies of the continent."
"I know them as the Green, Violet, Silver, Gold, and the most terrifying of all—Black."
All the new apprentices were shocked to learn just how vast differences existed between mages. They had believed themselves talented simply for passing the old mage's test, but now they realized how small they truly were.
Kael, curiosity getting the better of him, asked.
"Master, why do you say black is terrifying?"
"Black…" Vexar whispered. "It is said that only the Emperor of Ancient Magic possessed it. A being capable of reaching a rank of magic indistinguishable from a divinity."
"No living person has ever been confirmed to possess this talent. Black talent is more legend than reality, born in the age of the Emperor."
Thiriel felt a chill creep up the back of his neck. He remembered the black flash he had seen in the crystal during his evaluation. No one else had noticed it.
Or perhaps… Vexar had.
The old man continued.
"Magical ranks are not merely greater power. They are qualitative changes in the very way you exist. Each rank is divided into five stars."
He raised five fingers.
"A lower-rank mage with five stars will never defeat a higher-rank mage with even a single star. The gap is absolute."
Vexar swept his gaze over the new apprentices.
"Rank D, also known as Mage Apprentice. Perceiving magic and forming a magical core are the requirements to begin walking the path of magic."
"Rank C, known as Initiate Mage. It is characterized by a stable core, more skilled spellcasting, and larger magic reserves. I myself am Rank C, one star."
He paused, then continued with barely contained excitement.
"Rank B, known as Earthly Mage. Its defining feature is an extended lifespan of up to two hundred years. At this stage, one begins to touch the foundations of magic and guide the natural magic of the world."
All the apprentices were thrilled, imagining reaching that rank and living for two hundred years.
"Beyond that," Vexar continued, "I only know that Ranks A and S exist, as well as the rumored rank achieved by the Emperor himself—the so-called God Rank."
The new apprentices nodded in silence.
Suddenly, Thiriel noticed that Eiran showed a fleeting flash of hostility toward Vexar for a brief fraction of a second—before it quickly turned into indifference.
Vexar snapped his fingers.
"Now, let us have a demonstration from the senior apprentices of what you may one day achieve."
The four older apprentices stepped forward one by one.
The first raised his hand. A sphere of fire the size of an apple floated above his palm and shot toward a tree, destroying it and reducing it to ash in seconds.
The second created a rippling shield of water that stopped a stone hurled by the third.
The third manipulated roots from the ground, forming a spear of vegetation that he drove deep into the earth.
The fourth—the only woman—created a cutting wind that split a tree ten meters away.
The new apprentices held their breath. Drowen's eyes gleamed with greed. Caethiriel, standing to the side, watched with childlike wonder.
Thiriel observed with cold detachment, calmly calculating whether he could fight them with combat experience alone, without magic.
All of them were likely Rank D. Fighting the four at once with his current martial abilities would be difficult—but that would change, and quickly. The only real unknown was the difference between the apprentices and Vexar himself.
Vexar nodded in satisfaction and then distributed the manuals—leather-bound books containing the knowledge required to learn magic.
"These contain the basic methods for forming a magical core, along with techniques for sensing magic."
"They explain how to feel and absorb magic from the environment, refine it, and make it your own. How to form the core and advance in stars within Rank D."
"Growth requires three things: time, resources, and understanding. Without all three, you will not advance."
He paused and looked at one of the senior apprentices.
"Loren, take the girl Caethiriel to the garden. Teach her how to care for the magical plants. The herbs are delicate and valuable."
The apprentice nodded and gently led Caethiriel away. The girl looked back once, and Thiriel gave her a reassuring nod.
Vexar turned to the rest.
"The senior apprentices will guide you if you have any questions about the manuals. Make good use of them. Time is the scarcest resource of all."
With that, the old man turned on his heel and disappeared into the tower, leaving the apprentices alone by the lake.
Thiriel opened his manual. The first pages spoke of breathing techniques for focus, visualization of magical pathways, and gradual absorption of magic.
But his mind was not there.
It was on the missing apprentices.
On the soulless servants.
And on the look Vexar had given him that morning, when no one else was watching.
It was not the gaze of a master toward a disciple.
It was the gaze of someone who had chosen his prey.
Thiriel closed the book with a sharp snap.
He knew he had to move quickly.
Very quickly.
Because if he did not…
He would be the next one to "venture into the world"…
And he would never return.