An excited, low rumble thrummed through the air behind the academy cafeteria. Unlike the usual post-lunch rush, third-year students clustered in a buzzing knot, jitters crackling between them. Today, Dean Thorne himself, notorious for his gruff demeanor, had called a special address on Specialization choices. This was a big deal.
Elian and his friends found themselves swept into the throng, the birthday surprise momentarily forgotten. Res absentmindedly tugged at a loose thread on her uniform, a telltale sign of her usual anxiety. Drake, on the other hand, bounced on the balls of his feet, his nervous energy radiating like a heat wave.
"What do you think it'll be about?" Hera murmured, her brow furrowed. "A lecture on dedication and responsibility? Or maybe a warning not to choose something impractical?"
Kyle smirked. "Knowing Dean Thorne, it'll be a fiery cocktail of both, served with a side of his signature sarcasm."
A sharp clang of the lunch bell sliced through the hubbub. Instantly, silence descended. Dean Thorne, a man built like a seasoned oak with a booming voice to match, emerged from the cafeteria doors. His presence commanded immediate attention.
"Third-years," he boomed, his voice echoing across the courtyard. "Glad you could all squeeze in this glorious afternoon for a little chat." A hint of dry humor flickered in his eyes, eliciting a smattering of nervous laughter.
"Now, cut to the chase," someone in the back mumbled, barely audible. A few heads swiveled in his direction, but the voice's owner remained anonymous. Dean Thorne, however, didn't miss it.
"Right to the point, then," he said, a gruff smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Specialization selection. It's upon you, and it's a weighty decision, not a game of pick-your-favorite-fancy-spell."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the sea of expectant faces. "This path you choose isn't just about flashy magic or flashy titles. It's about finding where your strengths lie, how you learn best, and what kind of magic flows most naturally through you."
A student piped up, "But what about prestige, Dean? Battle magic sounds way cooler than, well, being a healer."
A ripple of agreement went through some of the students. Dean Thorne raised a hand, silencing the murmurs.
"Prestige is fleeting," he said, his voice low and firm. "A skilled healer with a mastery of their craft saves countless lives. A battle mage with an inflated ego and sloppy technique ends up six feet under. Choose the path that calls to you, not the one that seems glamorous."
He continued to speak for a good fifteen minutes, outlining the different specializations, their strengths, and their challenges. He stressed the importance of seeking guidance from mentors and leveraging the academy's resources.
As Dean Thorne wrapped up his speech, the initial nervousness morphed into a different kind of tension – a focused intensity. Students dispersed in groups, deep in conversation. The air now crackled with a mix of excitement and the weight of the responsibility before them. Elian and his friends exchanged a look, a shared determination sparking in their eyes. It was time to carve their own magical destinies, choices made with wisdom and purpose.
Dean Thorne's booming voice faded, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence. The weight of the decision hung thick in the air, a tangible entity pressing down on the third-year students. Nervous coughs and fidgeting replaced the earlier excited chatter.
A young academy official, barely older than some of the students themselves, scurried forward carrying a stack of parchment forms. He handed them out with a practiced efficiency, his gaze flitting across the sea of anxious faces.
When he reached Elian, the official paused. A small, nervous smile played on his lips. "Rough night?" he asked, mistaking Elian's internal turmoil for a lack of sleep.
Elian forced a smile back. "Just...thinking," he mumbled, taking the form with a hand that felt slightly clammy.
The parchment was stark in its simplicity. A bold heading – "Specialization Selection" – dominated the top half, followed by a single, imposing blank line. Below that, a stark warning: "Choose Wisely."
Elian glanced around the courtyard, stealing glances at his friends as they contemplated their choices. Res, ever the pragmatist, was already scribbling down her decision with a furrow in her brow. "Beast Mastery," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.
Directly across from him, Drake practically snatched the form from the official's hand. "Rune Master!" he declared, his voice loud enough to draw a few fleeting looks.
Kyle, usually brimming with easygoing humor, chewed on the end of his pen, a crease of concentration etched on his forehead. "Transmutation or Enhancement," he murmured, tapping the parchment thoughtfully.
Hera, ever the composed one, approached the official with a serene smile. "Monk," she announced confidently as she received her form.
Finally, it was Marco's turn. He shuffled his feet nervously, his gaze darting between the official and the parchment. "Um, Potions," he mumbled, almost apologetically. A surprised laugh escaped from someone nearby, but it was quickly stifled by a glare from Dean Thorne.
Elian felt a pang of sympathy for Marco. He knew his friend wasn't particularly skilled in the magical arts, but potions had always held a certain fascination for him.
The official nodded curtly and moved on to Elian. He took a deep breath, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He looked at Drake's declaration across the way, then at Marco's quiet confidence in his own path.
Battle Mage. It was the path that had always called to him, the thrill of combat intertwined with the power of offensive magic. But whispers of its difficulty echoed in his mind, fueled by Dean Thorne's earlier speech.
With a hand that trembled slightly, Elian dipped his quill into the inkwell and wrote: "Battle Mage." A thrill of excitement shot through him, quickly followed by a flicker of apprehension. This was his choice, his path. He wouldn't let the doubt or the whispers deter him.
He folded the parchment with a sense of finality and handed it back to the waiting official. The die was cast. The journey to becoming a Battle Mage had begun, and with it, the challenges and triumphs that lay ahead.