The Trials of the Arcane

Dawn broke over Eltoria, and the training began. Today it had seemed much colder than it had yesterday, as if the very air listened and recoiled at the magic now being invoked. Lady Seraphine, Garin, Elara, and the rest of her warriors stood in the stone courtyard of a tower built from the surrounding spires, etched with runes that seared themselves into his memory. High Magister Lysandra was there, flanked by two younger mages, their robes glowing faintly in the silvered light of enchanted lanterns.

The power we hold isn't a wand in the hands," Lysandra said firmly. "It's something that needs care, respect, and balance. In order to master it, you need to learn to hear the power flowing around you. But don't say that I didn't warn you: magic will shove challenges before you. It'll play your weak spots and feed on them if you're not watchful."

Seraphine stepped forward, her jaws set. "We're ready.".

The magisters exchanged a glance, skepticism flickering across their faces. Lysandra gestured to a circle etched into the ground, its grooves filled with molten silver that pulsed faintly. "This is the Circle of Acknowledgment," she said. "Step inside. If the circle deems you worthy, you'll be allowed to learn the first principles of magic. If not… She hesitated. "It will cast you out, and your soul may bear the mark of its rejection forever.

Seraphine swallowed hard but stepped into the circle without hesitating. Her boots clicked on the cold stone as she stood at the center of it, her arms by her sides.

The circle flared to life. A web of silver light shot upward, encasing her in a column of shimmering energy. At first, the warmth was pleasant, like sunlight on her skin. But within moments, the heat intensified, burning into her thoughts, prying at her memories.

Visions filled her mind. She was a child again, standing in the war chamber of her father and gazing at the maps littered with markers of battles lost and won. His voice boomed as he spoke of duty, of sacrifice. You will lead one day, Seraphine. And when you do, there will be no room for failure.

The scene shifted. She was on a battlefield, her sword red with the blood of enemies. But the faces of her fallen comrades haunted her—friends who trusted her for leadership, who died at her orders. Their deaths are on your hands, a voice whispered, low and venomous. You failed them. Just as you will fail now.

"No," Seraphine snarled, her fists clenched. "I won't fail.".

The light around her dimmed then became a soft glow that hardened into an unblemished absence. She swayed but stayed standing.

Lysandra's eyebrows went upward in surprise. "You have passed," she said gruffly, with a tone of reluctant respect. "Few come out of the Circle with only a few scratches.".

One by one, Seraphine's warriors entered the circle. Some faltered under its judgment, then gave in to their fears; but others, like Garin and Elara, stood firm. By the end of the morning, only five of the twelve original warriors survived.

"The Circle chooses not just the strongest but also the most resolute," Lysandra said. "Those who cannot face their inner darkness only grow it if they are given the power of magic.".

Garin grumbled to himself, gazing over at the failed warriors. "Good fighters. This magic doesn't seem very fair."

"Magic is rarely fair," Lysandra said. "But it is always honest."

The training was brutal. Every session began with basics-drawing energy from the ambient world surrounding them. Lysandra showed how to do it, raising her arms to draw a whirlwind orb of light out of the ambient magic in the air. "Feel the flow around you," she told them. "Magic is not taken; it's borrowed. And like all debts, it must eventually be repaid.".

Seraphine had fought against it at first. Eltoria's air shimmered alive with power, but the attempt to stretch to touch it felt somehow wrong, as though trying to finger water. She bit down, closed her eyes, and focused. Slanty waves of it started to filter through-she could feel the flow on the surface of her skin, cool and tingly. She yanked on it, and a tiny spark of light flickered across her palm before dying back.

"Good," Lysandra said, nodding. "But you must control it. Magic isn't fire-it doesn't obey without reason. Think of it as a partner, not a servant."

By the end of the first week, Seraphine could summon a steady orb of light, whereas Elara, true innate healer that she was, had begun weaving protective wards. Garin, as ever the pragmatist, had mastered kinetic magic and threw small stones with deadly precision.

But the training was not without risk. One night, in a defensive barriers lesson, young Thane tried too hard. The magic he called up turned potentially volatile and burst into a raw energy explosion that threw him clear across the courtyard. He lived, but his arm was seriously burned, and the others were left unsettled.

"Magic is not a game," Lysandra warned them. "It does not forgive carelessness.".

Weeks were passing, and Seraphine could feel something within her-a change that began to envelop not just the senses but even herself. It raised her senses, tipping them to an acuity of perception she would have never imagined possible. Colors developed an improved vibrancy, sounds a sharper edge. But with it came a disquieting companion:.

She would almost feel a presence, though she was in her quarters alone. The feeling was almost like a cold wind whispering against the back of her neck. On one of those nights, as she lay on her cot, she heard a faint whisper - a voice too soft to make out, but laced with malice.

She sat upright, her sword cocked in her hand, but she was alone. Only the dancing light of the magical lantern cast shadows on the walls.

"You feel him, don't you?"

Seraphine turned to see Lysandra standing in the doorway, her face severe.

"The Shadow King," Lysandra continued. "He knows what we're doing. The more you use your magic, the more he pays attention to you. It's both your strength and your curse.

Seraphine's fingers gripped the hilt of her sword tightly. "Let him watch," she said, a spark of defiance kindling within her. "I'll show him we're not afraid."

Lysandra's expression smoothed, and for an instant, something like admiration flared there. "Courage is a fine sword, Seraphine," Lysandra said. "But remember—that is no ordinary enemy. He will try to make your best qualities over your head. Be wary of pride. It has sent many before you to their doom.".

By the close of the second month, the Velandra warriors were no longer regular soldiers but were magic-wielding, with powers paralleling those of darkness. The process, however was expensive. They were exhausted, their minds drained out because of the rigorous training and threat of the Shadow King looming in every corner.

It was in the evening of one day as the group was gathered in the council chamber that Lysandra said, "We have done all that we can do here. The time has come to take the fight to the Shadow King himself. His influence spreads, but his power is still incomplete. If we strike now, we may have a chance to disrupt his plans."

Seraphine nodded her head unshaken by the resolve. "Where do we begin?"

Lysandra waved a hand through the air, and a map materialized in the light. It glowed with an otherworldly luminescence. "There's an ancient temple at the edge of the Blacklands, a place where the seals were first forged. If we can get that far, we might find the knowledge we need to strengthen the seals-or destroy him outright.".

The room fell silent as the burden of the task set in. Blacklands were a desolate region, shrouded in perpetual twilight, where Shadow King's influence held its strongest sway. A few people who ventured there ever returned.

"We'll go," Seraphine said in a steady voice. "If there's any chance to stop him, we have to take it.".

By simply glancing, she appeared to maintain her facade for a moment before responding with a nod of her head. "Then may the light guide you," she said. "The fate of all the kingdoms rest in your hands."

As they began their journey towards Eltoria, Seraphine couldn't stop herself from feeling that their journey is just the beginning, and the real test of strength could be right before them.