Shan stood in the oasis beneath the shadow of a towering almond tree, the air thick with tension and anticipation. The ground beneath him was marked with a magic circle, its chalky lines forming an intricate design of inner rings and branching triangles, each one representing one of the seven forms of magic: Breath, Blood, Water, Earth, Flame, Iron, and Curse.
Breath magic was said to be like the cool wind that danced between one's fingers, but how the hell would he know?
The only time Shan had felt anything resembling that was when he tried to swat a fly away. So, no, he hadn't unlocked his Breath seal.
As Shan shifted nervously in the center of the circle meant for dueling mage initiates, he could not help but feel a sinking dread. It wasn't that he was afraid of the duel itself; rather, he was determined to pass the mage trials and prove himself. The initiation of his mage name was months away, but the trials began on that day.
Did he really have to go through this though?
If he wanted to become a proper mage, he had no choice.
Shan wiggled his toes to relieve the stress of standing for so long, muttering curses under his breath. The duel was set to begin at noon, and he had been there since ten. Why? Because he thought coming early would make him look cool or more confident. Well, it hadn't. All he earned instead was a shirt half-soaked in sweat and a face that felt like it had been scorched under the sun.
He tried meditation and followed everything he had learned from the mage books his father kept hidden in his drawer. He was sure he looked impressive doing it! He pulled up the sleeve of his mage robe, white and thick, and glanced at the small magic seal etched into his skin just under his wrist. Seven triangles at the edges of a small circle displayed the seven forms of magic, and beneath his skin, he could almost feel them yearning to spark to life.
Shan Vera had thick green hair, neatly pinned up, vibrant green eyes and fair skin that looked more feminine than masculine. His lips glowed with vitality. He was good-looking, rich, and classy, but none of that mattered because— despite his lineage— he had no magic.
Sensing his focus slipping, he looked down at the magic circle etched into his skin and willed just one of the sigils to ignite, to call forth the supreme magic his ancestors always spoke of in the ancient texts. But nothing happened. They remained stark dead.
"Huh?" He looked up as a group approached the oasis, his heart sinking as he recognized the snotty laugh of Beramet, the embodiment of privilege and arrogance.
"Oho!" he called, smirking as he swaggered towards him, flanked by his goons. "The royal shit actually shows up early to the fight. Ooooh! I'm shaking." His laughter grated against Shan's nerves, and the desire to retaliate surged within him. But he sought to keep a level head and look cool.
Being the son of the clan prince might have granted him immunity to many forms of assault, but this prat was an exception. He belonged to the Derai clan, the strongest contender for clan prince, and he had already sparked two forms of magic: Breath and Iron.
"Ah, Beramet," Shan replied, forcing enthusiasm into his voice, "I see you've brought your entourage with you."
The sight of his fellow initiates gathering around the oasis only intensified Shan's anxiety. They were here to watch him get trounced, but little did they know that he had a surprise in store for them.
Beramet stepped into the circle, his confidence radiating like heat from a fire. "You unholy shit! Today, I will vanquish your filth from this world!" He looked pleased with himself.
Shan could not help but smirk. "You sound like those old scribes that smell like shit." His tone for some reason was more venomous than that of his opponent.
"SILENCE!" boomed a voice that silenced the gathering. Master Teo'mar strode towards them, his dazzling robes and thick yellow turban drawing every eye. His long, grey beard flowed down to his chest as he held his mage staff, a pristine golden rod cut from a legendary magical tree.
"Such vulgar displays of vile words will not be tolerated, especially not by the prestigious blood of such great clans, and most certainly not in my class." His gaze flicked toward Shan, and Shan could tell wanted to scowl but resisted the urge to. Master Teo'mar was one of the great elder mages of Sorcerene and his teacher, being taught by him was something of a great privilege.
"If both parties are ready," he continued, his voice steady, "I will begin the sacred mage's duel!"
Shan thought he would address both of them, but the old master just kept staring at him. The weight of every gaze felt like an iron chain around Shan's neck. He wanted to shout that he had a new form of magic waiting to be unleashed, but he decided to wait until the last moment not wanting to ruin his grand show.
Master Teo'mar began the ceremonial rites for the duel. "Since you have both stepped into the circle, there can only be one winner!"
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the assembled crowd. "This is a test but also the first mage's trial. The Trial of Strength: a true mage must be able to defend themselves when the time comes. This shows that we are true sons and daughters of magic!"
Shan furrowed his brows, exhaustion washing over him like a tide. Master Teo'mar frowned but pressed on, and Shan's heart raced at the thought of facing Beramet.
With a ceremonial bow, Shan pressed his palms together and bowed his head as the rules stated, "Shan of the house of Vera."
Beramet mimicked his movements, a dark grin etched on his face as he bowed his head also. It was a cultural gesture, a way to honor the duel.
"Hey Beramet you better watch yourself, I might just mop the floor with your face today." Shan hyped himself up, not that he could beat his opponent or anything.
"Not with those dead sigils?" Beramet snorted. "You'll need more than that today!"
"BEGIN!!" Master Teo'mar commanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
Before Shan could even gather his thoughts, Beramet lunged at him, and he barely had time to brace himself. "Exca'buer!" he shouted, pressing all his fingers together as if wielding an invisible sword.
Shan recognized the spell instantly, his heart pounding in his chest. A cold dread gripped him as he braced for impact, fully aware of the dangers surrounding Beramet's prowess. The air around them shimmered, and Shan could feel the tension snap like a taut string.
At first, nothing appeared, but then the air crackled with energy, and Shan realized this was just the beginning of a very horrendous torture. He had once heard tales of a king named Arthur, who wielded a blade so sharp it could cut through steel. Though it wasn't a Sorcerene legend.
A scream erupted from Shan's lips as he felt the excruciating pain rip through his body. It was as if a razor had sliced through his flesh, tearing into his organs. Shan stumbled back, clutching his side, his heart racing with fear and disbelief.
The spectators gasped, a chorus of shock that echoed in the oasis. Beramet grinned, clearly reveling in his opponent's suffering. Shan felt humiliated and angry, but beneath that anger lay a deep-seated desperation. He had to prove himself.
As Shan struggled to his feet, he could hear whispers in the crowd. "He's finished!" "Is he even a mage?" The words cut deeper than the spell that had struck him.
But there was no way he was going to let Beramet win this easily. He could not afford to fail— not here, not now. The magic seal on Shan's skin pulsed, as if urging him to tap into something greater.
With a determination he didn't know he possessed, he focused all his energy inward, willing the sigils to ignite. He could feel the warmth of magic stirring within him, a sensation he had never experienced before.
Suddenly, the air around him began to vibrate, and he could feel the faintest flicker of mana in the air. "You think you can defeat me?" Shan spat, anger fueling hus resolve.
Beramet's smirk faltered as he sensed the change around his opponent. "What are you—"
"Let's see if you can handle this!" Shan shouted, drawing on the burgeoning power within him and thrust his hands forward.
Beramet's eyes widened in shock as he started to stagger on the spot as if his body was being compressed by a tempest of raw energy. The crowd erupted into chaos, shouts of disbelief and excitement echoed around the oasis.
"Impossible!" he shouted, struggling to regain his footing.
But Shan wasn't quite finished. "I am Shan of the house of Vera! And I refuse to be just a name without power!" The words he felt he meant none of it, but if his ploy was going to work he needs to be a good actor.
He could feel the magic surge, vibrant and alive, as he released another pulse of energy into the air.
The oasis shimmered as his magic manifested in a dazzling display, and he knew he just had to keep going. This was his moment, his chance to prove that he was more than just the heir to a clan without magic.
And besides he had an audience, how was a magician supposed to perform his tricks without an audience.
In truth, it was all a ruse. Shan wasn't doing anything by myself. He did not have even a sliver of magic, he was simply playing a coy game with the fool. Shan despite being the heir to his family clan was born without magic, and overlooked by his father for his other genius siblings.
His entire existence depended on the name given to him from birth, hungry for power he did all he could but nothing worked. In the end he had to resort to tricks, it was the only thing he excelled in.
In every of the practice duels, Shan's class had done he had observed everyone and picked Beramet as his for one reason. The first was his overconfident nature and the second being his main attack pattern.
Exca'buer was called the heart sword and was a very hard skill to comprehend, one would have to envision a sharp blade in their heart that they would project into the body of their opponent. There was no way Shan could counter it without awakening his earth or metal sigil but he found a way to cheat at magic!