Valerian sat alone in his small room, the soft glow of a solitary candle flickering against the stone walls. Tomorrow marked the day of his first Mage's Trial, a test of knowledge and skill that would measure his progress as an apprentice. He had spent weeks preparing, but the knot in his stomach told him that he would never feel ready.
Elden had warned him that the Trials were tough, a true testament to an apprentice's potential. They were a rite of passage, marking the transition from novice to a fully-fledged mage. And for Valerian, they held an even greater significance. Success meant proving to himself and to the world that a miner's son had a place among the mages.
He spent the night reviewing his spells, reciting incantations, and practicing his magical signatures. The candlelight danced across the pages of the ancient spellbook, casting long, eerie shadows that flickered and twisted with each turn of the page.
As dawn broke, Valerian made his way to the Trial grounds, a grand amphitheater carved into the side of the mountain. It was an awe-inspiring sight, with its towering stone arches and the vast, open sky above. The air was thick with anticipation, and the whispers of the other apprentices echoed through the stone corridor.
"Valerian," Elden's voice cut through the whispers, "remember, confidence and control. Let your magic flow naturally."
Valerian nodded, appreciating the words of reassurance. But as he stepped into the amphitheater, he couldn't shake off the nervous energy. The audience was a sea of faces, their attention focused solely on him. The other mages, with their grand robes and lofty expressions, watched him, their eyes sharp and scrutinizing.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He looked down at his hands, rough and calloused from years of mining. They were the hands of a laborer, not a mage. But they were his hands, and they were capable of magic.
The first trial was a test of knowledge. Valerian recited spells and incantations, explained magical theories, and answered complex questions about magical creatures and artifacts. He stumbled a few times, but his rigorous studying paid off, and he passed the trial with flying colors.
Next was the practical trial, a display of magical skills and abilities. This was where Valerian truly shone. He cast spells with precision and control, summoned creatures with ease, and even flew around the amphitheater, much to the delight of the audience.
As he landed on the ground, he couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement. He had done it. He had proven himself. He was a mage.
Elden approached him, his face unreadable. "Well done, Valerian," he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You have proven yourself worthy of the title Mage."
The applause that followed was deafening, but Valerian hardly heard it. He was too consumed by his own joy, his own sense of achievement. He had taken a step towards his destiny, a step closer to becoming the Mage he was meant to be.
That night, as he lay in his bed, the events of the day replaying in his mind, Valerian felt a sense of contentment. He was a miner's son, yes, but he was also a Mage. And he was ready to embrace this new path, this new life.