A Troll

The bulky silhouette of Truggh filled the frame. Heads turned as she stomped in, her blue skin almost luminous against the backdrop of the Special Magic Force's headquarters.

Their kind, crafted by the God of Space, were a rare sight in the Citadel. Daron had never encountered a troll in person before. He remembered when the instructor at the course had briefly talked about them.

Trolls are human like beings with blue skin and prominent tusks that protrude from their lower jaws. Their bodies, covered in thick hair, are robust and powerful, designed for labor. Despite their intimidating appearance, they possess a simple-minded and often gentle nature. Living primarily in remote mountainous regions, Trolls have carved out a niche for themselves as miners. Their weak but useful ability to manipulate magnetism allows them to extract precious minerals with an efficiency that human workers can only dream of, Daron remembered.

As he watched Truggh make her way into the room, he couldn't help but admire the sheer physicality of her species. Trolls were a dying breed, with fewer and fewer making the trek to urban centers like the Citadel. Most prefered the solitude of their mountain homes, where they can live according to their ancient traditions without the interference of other races. Seeing Truggh here, a lone Troll among the diverse ranks of the Special Magic Force, made him wonder about her story. What had driven her to leave the mountains and join this human-dominated organization?

A bright smile stretched across her face, revealing two sturdy tusks that jutted upward from her lower jaw. Truggh was a head or two taller than Daron and wore what faintly looked like a suit, ripped and teared in all the wrong places and with fur peeking out of the seams. Had Scarlett not called her "she" before, Daron couldn't have known her gender, the only hint being the long, orange hair on the head.

"Truggh happy!" she boomed, her voice rich with genuine warmth. The troll's arms spread wide, reaching for Daron, who stood rooted to the spot, his light-green eyes wide with surprise.

"Uh—" was all Daron managed before Truggh enveloped him in an embrace that felt like being caught in a vice made of flesh and enthusiasm. His body tensed, trapped between the need to escape and the fear of offending. The stuffy smell of her, earthy and pungent, invaded his nostrils, prompting a subtle wrinkle of his nose.

"Nice to meet you too, Truggh," he mumbled into her shoulder, the words barely audible. He tapped her back twice, a signal of surrender to her affectionate display, all the while internally squirming at the contact.

Truggh's grip loosened. She stepped back, scrutinizing Daron with tiny brown eyes. "Pawn too now, yes? Good for Truggh, good for all!" she said.

"Indeed," Daron replied, eyebrows raised. He took a cautious breath, finding the air mercifully clear now.

"Truggh find other Pawn funny!" she chuckled, patting him heartily on the shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance again. There was an earnestness in her simplicity.

From across the chamber, Laurence clapped his hands once, commanding silence with ease. The room hushed, heads turning as the figure at its center began to speak.

"Welcome back everyone." His voice carried a melody of authority and playfulness, with the usual smile playing on his lips. "The sun yields to the moon," he nodded towards the glass dome above, where the last rays of daylight danced with the shadows, casting long, warm fingers across the Victorian walls. "But our work, much like the tireless stars, knows no respite."

Daron still felt a little dazed from Truggh's hearty embrace.

Laurence's gaze settled on Daron, who straightened under the scrutiny.

"Daron," he began, "your training with Scarlett commences at dawn."

Scarlett's eyebrows arched slightly, her forest-green eyes flickering with unspoken questions. Daron's heart stuttered, then raced.

Training? With Scarlett?

"Me?" His voice was but a thread in the thickening air. His mouth felt dry as parchment.

"Exactly you," Laurence said. "Welcome to the deep end."

A beat passed, but before Daron could anchor his swirling thoughts, Laurence pivoted away, continuing his announcement. "I'll be embarking on a mission myself starting tomorrow, the rest of you will have some down time for now… except dear Scarlett of course." he grinned. "Rest while you can."

In the periphery of Daron's vision, Elija moved. His departure was a silent affair; only the soft click of the door on the right betrayed him. He slipped away, wrapped in quietude without another word.

Before the echo of that click had fully faded, Truggh erupted with life. She bounced, tusks gleaming in the last rays of sunlight that dared pierce the glass dome above.

"Truggh say goodnight," she shrieked.

With a grin, she followed Elija's path. The door swung shut behind her, but her vibrant energy seemed to cling to the air.

Laurence leaned over the desk in the middle.

"Daron," his voice was smooth as velvet, "there's an old initiation rite here at the headquarters." He paused, allowing the words to sink into the thick air of curiosity.

"Finding your room will be your own responsibility. This isn't just about opening a door—it's about letting fate guide you to where you belong." Laurence's purple eyes held a spark of challenge.

Daron blinked. The idea was bizarre, a game it seemed. His fingers twitched at his side. A ritual? Here?

"Choose wisely," Laurence said, motioning to the three doors that led out of the T-shaped room. "Or don't. Sometimes the best choices are the ones we never knew we had. Oh and by the way, the room will look just like you want it to, so no worries."

The room will look just like I want it to? What did he mean by that?

The group watched as Daron's gaze swept across the doors. He pondered why such a custom held meaning, why the very act of finding his room could be considered an initiation. Were they testing his intuition?

Left, middle, or right?

It wasn't simply picking a direction; it was choosing a path. A slow smile crept onto Laurence's face, watching the gears turn in the young magician's head.

"Trust your gut, Daron," Scarlett said, her tone soft but edged with excitement.

"Or trust the Mana," Ali added with a wink, leaning against the wall, arms crossed in relaxed observation.

The doors stood silent, waiting for him.

Daron's gaze settled on the one familiar. The threshold he had crossed together with Laurence to enter this room now beckoned him back—his choice made not from a whisper of the arcane, but the comfort of certainty. He stepped towards the door they came through.

"At least I know what's behind this one," he said with a wry smile, hand grasping the handle.

The others watched as Daron twisted it, the soft click breaking the hush of anticipation. Scarlett took a step forward, her movements fluid grace, and then met his eyes with an intensity that belied her tranquil exterior.

"Tomorrow, I will show you around," she said, her voice a thread of silk spun from the night itself. "There's much to see. Good luck on your search."

"Looking forward to it," Daron replied, the words tumbling out awkward yet sincere.

Ali's laughter rippled through the tension and he raised his hand in a casual salute. "Sweet dreams, young man. May your bed be soft and your spirits high."

"Thanks, Ali."

Laurence leaned against the heavy oak table, his lips curled into a knowing smirk. His eyes glinted with amusement, the twilight from the dome above casting playful shadows across his features. He didn't speak, but his silence was a conversation of its own.

With a final nod to the other members, Daron opened the heavy wooden door and passed through the doorway.