The mana-sorting exam was elegant in its simplicity and catastrophically limited in its methodology.
A crystal orb, roughly the size of a human head, sat on a plinth of dark stone at the center of a circular chamber. Students placed their hands on it. The orb reacted — colors blooming from within, indicating elemental affinity; brightness indicating magnitude. The reaction was measured, ranked, recorded. Done.
Kael studied the orb for three full minutes before it was his turn, ignoring the impatient shuffling of the administrator behind him.
The orb was a resonance device. It detected elemental mana — specifically, mana that matched one of the seven established elemental frequencies. Fire, water, earth, wind, light, dark, lightning. Seven frequencies. Seven towers.
What happened, Kael wondered, to frequencies the orb wasn't calibrated to detect?
"Student Dravion. Please place your hands on the orb."
He placed his hands on the orb.
The orb did nothing.
Not dim — nothing. No flicker, no hesitation, no color at the edges. The crystal remained as inert as river stone, indifferent to his presence.
The administrator made a note. "Confirmed: no mana affinity. Rank F maintained. You'll be assigned to the—"
"Try it again," Kael said.
"The exam is—"
"I'm not questioning the result. I'm questioning the instrument." He kept his hands on the orb. "This crystal resonates with seven frequencies. I've been touching it for twelve seconds and I can already identify a flaw in the calibration. The upper-harmonic range — roughly in the range above lightning-frequency — isn't being measured. If you have students with affinities above that threshold, your orb wouldn't detect them. They'd read as empty."
The administrator stared at him. "That's not possible. The orb was designed by Grand Artificer—"
"Designed one hundred and thirty years ago," Kael said, reading the inscription on the plinth. "Before the frequency maps were fully charted. This is an antique instrument in a field that has advanced significantly since its creation. With respect."
He removed his hands. The orb sat dark and silent.
"I'm not arguing my rank," Kael said pleasantly. "Rank F is fine. I'm simply noting, for your records, that your measurement tool has a blind spot."
He walked out.
Behind him, after a beat, the administrator leaned forward and looked at the orb very carefully.
It sat entirely dark.
But the stone of the plinth — the stone that had been sitting beneath the orb for one hundred and thirty years, that no one had thought to look at — was, in the spot where Kael's shadow had fallen, showing the faintest pulse of impossible light.
The color of it had no name in any language spoken in Erenmoor.
The administrator stared at it. Blinked. Looked away. Assumed it was a trick of the light.
It was not a trick of the light.
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