Cael counted the coins one last time before dawn.
The glass jar was half full, holding worn copper coins, a few silver ones, and a single gold coin he had earned after spending two full days running errands under the rain.
It wasn't a fortune, but it was the exact price to buy a chance.
He packed the coins into a small pouch and slipped it inside his worn coat. Then he got up from the orphanage's narrow bed.
He had spent years polishing boots in Central Square, breathing in dust and carriage smoke, bowing his head to strangers who never knew his name.
Sometimes, when business was slow, he worked as a runner, crossing the city from end to end delivering packages he didn't always dare ask about.
All of it led to this moment.
He shut off the alarm as soon as it rang and got dressed as fast as he could.
In the kitchen, he grabbed a barely ripe apple and took a hurried bite.
"Boy, don't choke. Where are you rushing off to?" Sister Esther said from the table.
"Sorry, Sister," Cael replied, finishing his swallow. "I need to be at the Witchcraft Guild in fifteen minutes."
The woman looked at him with a thin smile.
"Ah, today's the day… Take some water, and a little food for the road. Wouldn't want you fainting before they give you the registration seal."
"Thank you, Sister. Have a wonderful day."
***
He left the orphanage almost at a run, his heart pounding in his chest.
The city was beginning to wake up. Streetlamps were still lit, and the first carriages rolled over the cobblestone streets with a heavy rumble.
Turning onto the main avenue, he passed two guards chatting beside a cracked statue.
"They say another group of angels was spotted near the southern district last night," one murmured.
"Bah… as long as they stay away from the center, they can do whatever they want," the other replied.
Cael didn't slow his pace.
But his fingers clenched tightly around the pouch hidden beneath his coat.
He grit his teeth.
He kept walking as if he hadn't heard anything, while a bitter feeling rose in his chest.
Twelve years weren't enough to erase certain memories.
As he walked along the stone streets, he wondered what kind of Familiar he would get.
'A wolf, maybe. Or a bear. Or something better. Perhaps… a dragon.'
The Witchcraft Guild rose at the end of the avenue like a cathedral of black stone and stained-glass windows. Slender towers vanished into the morning fog, and glowing symbols drifted slowly around the main entrance.
A line of young applicants stretched across the front.
Cael swallowed.
Some wore expensive coats. Others were accompanied by escorts or proud family members. He had only his pouch of coins and his name written on a folded piece of paper.
A group of youths took their place behind him in line.
Soft laughter. Expensive perfume. Clean boots.
Cael didn't turn around, but he heard them.
"Are you seriously going to try?" an arrogant voice said, far too close.
Cael slowly turned.
The boy who had spoken had perfectly styled hair and a dark blue coat with gold buttons. Two friends stood beside him, watching Cael like an unpleasant curiosity.
The boy's gaze swept over Cael from head to toe.
His worn coat.
His broken shoes.
The small pouch clutched to his chest.
He smiled.
"Let me guess… the Central Squire boot polisher?"
His friends chuckled under their breath.
"I heard the registration costs more than what you make in years," he continued. "Even if you manage to pay it, I doubt you'll have anything left to eat afterward."
He shrugged.
"Maybe you should head back to the plaza. Someone probably needs their shoes shined."
The words stung.
But Cael tried to act like nothing had happened.
He tightened his grip on the pouch.
For a moment, he thought about replying.
About shouting.
About hitting him.
But he didn't.
He held the boy's gaze in silence, teeth clenched.
The rich boy clicked his tongue.
"Tsk… look at him. He doesn't even know how to talk like a person."
He turned away, bored.
Cael let out his breath slowly.
He wasn't going to waste this day.
Not on them.
Not on anyone.
***
When he finally reached the counter, a man with a silver beard and tired eyes looked at him over a pair of round spectacles.
"Name."
"Cael Fulgar."
The man wrote something down in a thick ledger.
"Age?"
"Seventeen."
He gave him a quick, assessing glance from head to toe: the worn coat, the patched shoes, the rough hands.
"First time applying for the Trials?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hm. Most don't try again after failing… if they come back at all," he muttered.
Cael swallowed.
"Do you know what they involve?"
"That they can be lethal," Cael replied without lowering his gaze.
The receptionist raised an eyebrow slightly.
"At least you're not coming in blind. We don't train heroes here. Only survivors."
He extended his hand.
"The registration fee."
Cael poured the coins onto the counter.
The sound was faint.
The man counted them quickly, one by one.
The silence stretched on too long.
Cael held his breath.
Finally, the man nodded.
"Exact amount. You're in."
He stamped a document made of black paper and handed it to him.
"Report here tomorrow at noon. The Trials last three days. If you survive, you'll earn a Familiar and the title of Warlock."
Cael took the document with trembling hands.
"A piece of advice, kid…"
Cael looked up.
"Don't trust the first thing that speaks to you with a gentle voice."
As he left the Guild, he looked up at the gray sky.
For a moment, he thought he saw a silhouette moving among the clouds.
He blinked.
There was nothing there.
He pressed the document against his chest.
'Three days…' he thought.
He didn't know if he would become a warlock.
He didn't know if he would survive.
But he knew one thing:
If he passed the Trials, all the years of work and training he had endured for the past twelve years would finally begin to bear fruit.