Chapter 1: The examination centre

It's time! I can finally head to Rehndon, but first, I must stop at the trolley station. The sun is high in the sky, casting a bright, oppressive light over the country station, yet there's no sign of any crowds. It's a pity—most people are missing out on the chance to explore the world, while others ride around for a mere ten coins, the price of a crate of apples. Farewell to my homeland; I am here in Rehndon.

I step off the trolley and approach a passerby.

"Excuse me, sir, do you know where the examination center is?"

"Yes, you can't miss it. It's right in the town center, next to the town hall."

"Thank you very much."

I had expected the regional capital to be grand, but as I walk through the streets, I notice dark alleys where beggars sit. The atmosphere feels tense, as though everyone is in a rush. Young armored men patrol the streets, their presence unsettling. Is this because war is looming on the horizon? Well, for now, I have my own concerns to focus on.

The examination center is located in a building that looks like an old inn, though there's a certain grandeur to it. This is where I'll discover more about the Aura.

"Hi, I'm here to take the exam."

The woman at the reception desk looks up from her papers. She gives a faint nod and responds with a polite but distant tone.

"Good morning. The test will be conducted in eight steps, each designed to evaluate your potential. The first test is behind that door."

I glance at the door she points to. It stands in the corner of the room, slightly ajar, and yet, for some reason, I feel like it was never there before. Did I miss it when I entered? Or had it somehow appeared as I spoke to her?

"Thank you, ma'am."

I step forward. The door creaks slightly as I push it open, and a wave of cold air hits me. It smells faintly of dust and old paper, a scent I've come to associate with places that have been long forgotten by time. Inside is a small, dimly lit room, with walls that seem to close in around me. The only source of light comes from a single, flickering lantern hanging from the ceiling, casting long shadows across the room.

In the center of the room sits an old wooden desk, polished smooth from years of use, though the surface is marked with deep grooves and scratches—signs of its long history. Atop the desk lie several records, each with a different cover, some plain and others adorned with intricate designs. One is written in a universal language I can vaguely recognize, while the others are in dialects I've never encountered before.

A voice breaks the stillness.

"Young man, please read the texts in the order and manner you choose."

I turn to find a figure standing in the doorway, half hidden in shadow. It's difficult to make out their features, but the voice is calm, almost mechanical in its detachment. There's no emotion in it, just a clear instruction.

"Roger that, sir." My voice sounds more confident than I feel, and I try to steady my hands as I reach for the first record.

The first record, written in the universal language, is straightforward enough, but my mind is already racing ahead to the other texts. Why was I given these? What does it mean to read them in "the manner of my choice"? Is there a hidden message, something more than what's written on the surface?

The words on the page blur as I focus, my mind working to decipher the unknown dialects. My eyes strain to make sense of the symbols, but they seem to twist and turn as I try to force meaning out of them. The room feels colder now, the air thickening around me as though something is drawing closer, watching me from the shadows.

This is not what I expected. I thought this test would be more straightforward—questions to answer, challenges to solve. But this… this feels like a puzzle with no solution. It's tiring. The weight of the unknown presses down on me, and I feel a creeping frustration build up in my chest.

I flip through the pages faster, desperate to reach the end, but no matter how quickly I read, it feels like the records are endless. The more I read, the more I realize that I'm not just deciphering languages, I'm trying to decode something much deeper.

Finally, after what feels like hours, I place the last record down on the desk. I'm exhausted, both mentally and physically. My eyes burn, my head throbs. This wasn't just an examination of knowledge. It was an exploration of something much more elusive—something intangible.

I stand there for a moment, staring at the records. There's no sign of the figure who spoke to me earlier, and the room is silent again, save for the faint hum of the lantern. The door remains shut.

I don't know if I've passed the first test. I don't even know if I've understood it. But I do know one thing: this is just the beginning.