The weight of the principal's words hung heavy in the air, a looming reminder of the stakes at hand. As I stepped forward, my heart raced like a wild stallion, each beat echoing in my ears like a drumroll of impending doom. The eyes of the crowd bore into me, their silent anticipation pressing down on me like an invisible force.
I approached the Arcanometer, my hands trembling with a mixture of fear and determination. With a deep breath, I tried to steady myself, to drown out the doubts clawing at the edges of my mind.
But then, as if sensing my unease, the holographic display flickered to life before me, words materializing in glowing letters: "Want to see your statistics?"
Without hesitation, I clicked on "yes," eager to glean any insight that might help me in this moment of uncertainty. The statistics appeared before me in a cascade of numbers, each one a reflection of my abilities, my strengths, and my weaknesses.
Endurance: 67
Strength: 47
Magic: 22
Beauty: 99
Charm: 90
Intelligence: 70
MP: 77
HP: 100
Type of magic: fire level 1
I sighed heavily as I studied the numbers, a sense of resignation settling over me like a heavy blanket. What good was it to possess such high levels of charm and beauty in a moment like this? How could they possibly aid me in proving my worth as a mage?
But then, as I continued to scrutinize my stats, a glimmer of hope flickered to life within me. Thirty attribute points gained from daily quests, and another thirty from surviving the rogue demon. Sixty points in total, just waiting to be utilized.
With a newfound sense of determination, I clicked on "yes" once more, eager to make use of every advantage at my disposal. My fingers hovered over the options, considering the best course of action.
I focused on my magic, the one area where I knew I needed the most improvement. With a tentative touch, I attempted to allocate my points towards increasing my magical abilities.
But to my dismay, it didn't work. The hologram displayed a message: "You do not have the level for it yet, but by using your sixty points, you can surpass the level of fire magic to level two."
A surge of frustration welled up within me, threatening to overwhelm my resolve. But then, a spark of determination ignited within me, driving me forward despite the odds stacked against me.
With a determined nod, I committed to advancing my fire magic to level two, despite the doubts gnawing at the edges of my mind. As I made my selection, a message appeared before me, congratulating me on my achievement.
"Congratulations on passing your fire magic to level two. Now you can create bigger and more powerful fireballs," the message declared, its words both a validation of my efforts and a reminder of the challenges yet to come. And as if in response to the message, I felt a subtle shift within me, my magic pulsing with newfound strength as it rose from 22 to 23.
But before I could dwell on the momentous occasion, the principal's stern voice cut through the air, a stark reminder of the urgency of the situation.
"Eileen, we don't have all the time in the world. Please, use your magic. There are people waiting," he urged, his tone tinged with impatience.
"Sorry," I murmured, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment as I refocused my attention on the task at hand. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and concentrated, willing the flames to obey my command.
Slowly, the flicker of flames began to dance in my palm, growing steadily larger with each passing moment. I poured every ounce of my concentration into shaping the fire, molding it into a formidable weapon against the daunting challenge before me.
And then, with a final surge of determination, I released the fireball, watching with bated breath as it hurtled towards the machine. The numbers on the display ticked by agonizingly slowly, each digit a testament to the effort and skill required to achieve success.
As the fireball made contact with the machine, a wave of relief washed over me, followed by a rush of elation as the numbers finally came to a halt.
"250,78."
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their jubilant cries echoing through the arena like a chorus of victory. I couldn't help but smile, the weight of the moment lifting from my shoulders as I basked in the glow of my accomplishment.
As the principal's words echoed through the hall, "Finally, someone doing something right, Eileen Caldwell, you'll be in the average group," a swell of pride rose within me.
I stood a little taller, my chest puffed out ever so slightly. The students around me, those who hadn't made it, cast glances that mingled surprise with a hint of respect. It was a small victory, but it was mine.
"Well, now it's Thalira Darkthorn's turn," the headmaster announced, his voice cutting through my moment of triumph.
A figure strode past me, her presence like a cold shadow chilling the air. Thalira Darkthorn, with her long, fiery red hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall of embers, pushed past without so much as a glance in my direction.
Her eyes, a piercing red, seemed to smolder with an inner flame, betraying her vampiric nature. Her uniform, stark in its simplicity, consisted of a crisply ironed white shirt and black trousers that hugged her form with an almost rebellious fit.
The corners of her mouth turned up in a smirk, revealing the subtle protrusion of fangs, a silent testament to her predatory lineage. She stood before the machine, her posture radiating confidence and defiance.
"Now watch what is real magic," she declared, her voice laced with arrogance. With a casual flick of her wrist, shadows coalesced around her, dark tendrils that moved with a life of their own.
They slithered towards the machine, a creeping darkness that seemed to devour the light around it. The machine whirred to life, its gears turning with a sound that filled the room with anticipation.
Thalira's magic was unlike anything I had seen before; it was raw, untamed, and utterly mesmerizing. The shadows reached the machine, and it shuddered under the force of her power.
The display flickered, numbers climbing at a pace that made my heart race. It was not just magic; it was a show of force, a display of sheer, unbridled power. And then, as if the universe itself had conspired to hold its breath, the numbers stopped.
1200.
The people fell silent, the magnitude of what had just occurred settling over us like a heavy cloak. I could feel the weight of every gaze upon Thalira, the awe and fear mingling in the air.
And as for me, I stood there, my earlier pride replaced by a newfound deception, it looked like my mission to become one of the strongest mage was getting worst form me.