"Power isn't always the blazing fire the others show off, nor is it the loud roar of the crowd."
***The trial ***
The grand hall of the academy was thrumming with restless energy, alive with the buzz of whispered bets and nervous laughter. Hundreds of students — first years, second years, and some older spectators — had gathered to witness the sacred Awakening Trial, the rite that would determine the fate of everyone in the academy.
Torchlight flickered across the vaulted ceilings, casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits. The ancient stone pillars, carved with symbols older than time, seemed to hum as the air thickened with magic.
Today, every student would step into the arena and reach for the source of their power. Most believed the trial was a mere formality — everyone awakened. Some with mighty gifts, others with subtle ones, but no one left empty-handed.
Everyone except me.
I stood with the other first years, my heart pounding like a war drum beneath my ribs. The weight of my sister's letters rested in my satchel — words of hope, warnings, and secrets that now seemed more important than ever.
Around me, my classmates shifted nervously.
Lyra flicked her fingers anxiously, biting her lip.
Nia's hands trembled as she tried to calm her breath.
Joren stood tall and steady, the calm in the storm, but even his confident gaze flickered with tension.
When the massive iron doors to the arena creaked open, a hush fell.
The chamber was colossal — a perfect circle, rimmed with ancient stones etched in glowing runes. Elemental energies pulsed in the air: flames flickered on one side, water rippled faintly in another, while gusts of wind stirred loose dust on the floor. The farthest edges disappeared into impenetrable shadows.
The Headmaster's voice boomed, cold and commanding:
"Step forward, each of you, and claim your birthright."
The first students entered, one after another.
Some summoned fire that curled like serpents.
Others bent water into shimmering shields.
A few called forth gusts of wind that whipped their hair and robes.
When it was Lyra's turn, she stepped hesitantly to the center. She raised her hands, fingers trembling as she tried to capture light. A small orb flickered dimly — barely visible — before fading.
A murmur rose from the crowd.
Next was Nia, who closed her eyes, concentrating on a small cut on her palm. A soft glow pulsed briefly, then vanished.
It was Joren's turn.
He moved with fluid certainty, arms rising as a violent gust swirled around him. Leaves and dust spiraled in his wake, a tempest contained within the arena. The crowd erupted in cheers.
Then it was my turn.
My legs felt heavy as I stepped into the circle.
The shadows at the edges of the chamber curled toward me, dark and deep — almost alive.
I reached out with my mind, summoning every flicker of power I'd ever sensed.
The air around my fingertips should have danced, should have bent.
But nothing.
Not a flicker. Not a whisper.
The shadows remained still.
A breathless silence fell over the crowd.
Then whispers, sharp and venomous.
"She can't awaken."
"Impossible. Everyone does."
Malrik — tall, cruel, with eyes like cold steel — stepped forward, his smirk a blade.
"Looks like the shadow girl is just a shadow of herself," he sneered loud enough for everyone to hear. "No power. No future. Just an E-Class freak."
Laughter rippled like poison.
Heat flared inside me, cold and furious.
I clenched my fists, and in that instant, the shadows near my feet stirred — a thin ripple, like smoke curling in a breeze.
But no one noticed.
No one, except Kael.
He stood across the hall, his blue flames flickering low, eyes narrowing.
I could feel his gaze, sharp and heavy.
The crowd's jeers washed over me, but beneath them, something fierce awakened — a quiet storm.
When the trial ended, the students exited the arena, buzzing with chatter about powers and rankings.
Malrik's taunts echoed in my mind, but I refused to show weakness.
Later, in the cold corridor, Malrik blocked my path.
"Think you're special?" he snarled.
Suddenly, a thick mist — black and thick as oil — curled from the cracks in the stone floor. It twisted around my legs, cold and heavy.
Malrik staggered back, eyes wide in shock.
"Don't test me," I whispered, voice low and steady.
He backed away quickly, shoving past me without a word.
No one else had seen the shadows move.
But Kael had.
From a distance, he watched, expression unreadable.
His silent protection was a shield — unseen but impenetrable.
That night, I sat alone in my room, clutching my sister's letter.
*"The shadows are ours, Elara. They wait. They protect. They will choose you, and only you."*
The words hummed in my mind as my fingers brushed the shadows creeping softly along my walls.
I wasn't powerless. Far from it.
I was the shadow itself — wild, hidden, dangerous.
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**The Ranking Stone**
The next morning, the academy gathered around the ancient Ranking Stone — a colossal slab of enchanted granite that shimmered with an inner light.
The Headmaster placed his hands on the stone, chanting in an old language that made the air vibrate.
One by one, names and ranks glowed across the stone's surface.
Lyra — D-Class, with a flicker of light magic.
Nia — D-Class, weak but healing potential.
Joren — B-Class, master of wind.
Malrik — B-Class, fire manipulator and academy bully.
Kael — S-Class, the prodigy, master of blue flames.
Then the stone hesitated.
A flicker of shadow rolled across the surface.
Elara — E-Class.
A hush fell over the crowd.
E-Class was the lowest possible rank — a class reserved for the powerless, the hopeless.
Whispers swirled like storm clouds.
But beneath the murmurs, something unspoken simmered in the air.
Power doesn't always announce itself with a blaze.
Sometimes, it waits — in darkness.
And some shadows burn brighter than fire.
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