Back in the clearing outside the forest, the atmosphere was filled with contrasting emotions. Jubilation filled the air for those who had successfully completed the first hurdle and were bound for the next phase, while a heavy gloom settled over those who had failed and now faced the prospect of returning home to try their luck again next year. The Magi Selection Exams could only be taken thrice by a mage in his lifetime. For those who had exhausted their chances, a far deeper disappointment awaited.
The Magi Order issued licenses for mages based on their ranks. Failing to obtain a magus license meant failing to be a relevant mage to the kingdom. For some, this was a death sentence. Others resigned themselves to their fate and became "kitchen mages," a derogatory term for those who used their magic for mundane tasks. But for others who could not accept their fate, they became part of an underground syndicate of unlicensed magic users, practicing magic for unscrupulous deeds without the blessing of the Magi Order. The poachers I encountered back in Eldgerglow cave were among those whose paths had led astray.
Around me, the successful candidates basked in their triumph. Faces beamed with elation, their eyes sparkling with the thrill of success. Laughter rang out as friends and family embraced; their joy uncontainable. Some punched the air in victory, their exuberance lifting the spirits of those around them. Animated conversations proliferated, each recounting their experiences within the forest. There was a sense of camaraderie among the successful, a bond forged through shared trials and the sweet taste of momentary triumph before we take a deep breath and plunged once more for the second stage of the exams.
Menelaus' chosen disciples—Bran, Ishtar, the twins, and I—had all passed the first hurdle. The knowledge of our collective success filled us with a profound sense of accomplishment. Haruno's face was lit up with a triumphant grin, her earlier troubles back in the forest now a mere shadow of the past.
Amidst our joyful recounting, one face remained impassive—Bran. He stood slightly apart, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of disdain and indifference. His eyes flicked between us; a subtle scorn was painted on his face.
Bran's voice cut through our chatter, cool and measured. "The first hurdle was hardly worthy of celebration," he said, a faint sneer curling his lips. "It was relatively easy. Celebrating now seems premature, given that we still have two more hurdles to complete, each more difficult than the last."
His words cast a momentary shadow over our group, and while he's an asshole for being such a party pooper we cannot deny the truth behind his stark reminder of the challenges that still lay ahead.
Despite Bran's gruff mood, the happiness we felt at having passed the first hurdle was undeniable. It was not just the triumph for ourselves but the validation of Menelaus' faith in us and our own abilities.
"We had proven ourselves, if only in the first step, still that was a reason to celebrate." Ishtar interjected. "Tsk, shut up slave boy. Having completed the first task doesn't make you anything more than what you truly are." Bran sneered. Ishtar, ever the cool headed of the two, just brushed of what Bran said and invited him to celebrate with us later on as Haruno planned for a quick dinner before going back to the guild houses which Brand refused with a belittling look at Ishtar.
The other side of the clearing was a picture of dejection. Those who had failed to complete the first hurdle wore looks of defeat and despair. Shoulders slumped, and heads hung low, as if the weight of their disappointment was too much to bear. Some stared at the ground, their eyes glazed with tears that threatened to spill over. The occasional sniffle or stifled sob punctuated the otherwise subdued atmosphere of those who have silently accepted the results.
Ron and his friends are among them, his earlier bravado now replaced by a sullen, brooding silence. His eyes were vacant, staring into the distance as if replaying the events that led to his resounding failure. The mocking laughter in the forest that once defined him was gone, replaced by a grim resignation.
Guild members comforted their disheartened comrades, offering words of encouragement and solace. Despite their own disappointment, they tried to lift the spirits of their friends, reminding them that there would be other chances and other opportunities to prove themselves. However, the words rang hollow for those who had already exhausted their three attempts.
The sun dipped low, casting a warm, golden glow over the clearing. Radagast, with his usual laid-back persona and happy demeanor, gathered all who had passed the first hurdle once more. His charismatic presence drew everyone in eager to hear what he had to say.
"This year's batch was a competitive pool of young talents compared to recent years." Radagast started. "Congratulations to each and every one of you, HAHAHAHA." Radagast began, his voice resounding with genuine pride. "You've shown remarkable resilience and cunning in navigating the first hurdle. It's no small feat, and you should be proud of what you've accomplished. HAHAHA." I was starting to think if there was at one point in Radagast's life that he stopped shining.
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, their faces beaming radiantly as if to compete with that of their examiner. Though Radagast was genuinely elated with the result, behind that smile, a flicker of concern lingered. He knew his senior examiners might frown upon the higher-than-expected number of passers from the first hurdle. Which only meant they would have to toughen up the remaining two hurdles.
As the cheers subsided, Radagast's expression grew more serious, though his enthusiasm remained undiminished. "However," he continued, raising a hand to call for silence, "the challenges ahead will be even harder." The crowd listened intently, their initial elation tempered.
"You cannot afford to drop the ball now," Radagast warned, his voice taking on a firmer tone. "Stay focused, vigilant, and determined. Each of you has the potential to emerge victorious, but it will require every ounce of your strength, intelligence, and an unrelenting heart."
Radagast then clenched his fist and raised it high above him, his eyes blazing with conviction. "Offer your hearts to the test!" he urged passionately. "Give it everything you've got and more. No matter what challenges lie ahead, face them with courage. Do not settle!"
"Hurrah, Hurrah!" The crowd erupted once more, this time with a roar of determination. Radagast's speech had galvanized every one of us, our resolve hardened like a steel.
I woke up early the following morning, feeling refreshed after a good night's rest. The dawn's light filtered through the forest canopy, too soft to have dissolved the mist forming in the leaves of trees.
With a small bag of nuts in hand, I made my way back to the tree where my little squirrel friend lived. I had promised to return, wanting to thank it personally. Without its unexpected help, passing the first hurdle of the Magi Selection Exams would have been impossible.
I called softly to the squirrel, hoping to see it scamper down from its hole. "Hey there, I've got some treats for you!" I said, my voice gentle and inviting. But there was no response, only the rustling of leaves in the early morning breeze. I saw the hole in the tree disturbingly quite where the squirrel had disappeared the day before, and concern began to creep into my mind.
Determined to find my little friend, I climbed the tree, my hands and feet finding familiar holds in the rough bark. As I neared the hole, I called out again, "Come on out, little buddy." Still, there was silence.
Peering into the hole, I was met with a sight that turned my stomach. Inside, a snake lay coiled, its body grotesquely swollen. I didn't have to think harder to know what had happened here. The realization hit me like a ton of brick: the snake had devoured the squirrel. The tiny creature that had aided me, that I had come to cherish in such a short time, was gone.
Shock and sorrow washed over me. My mind raced with thoughts of revenge. I could feel the anger boiling within me, and in my grief, I devised a hundred ways to kill the snake. It would be so easy to crush it using my magic to end its life. Burn it, bury it alive, cut it into pieces. But to what extent? The outcome wouldn't change anyway.
As I looked at the snake hissing at me fearing its dear life, my anger began to wane. It was just being a snake, following its nature. It had no malice, no understanding of the bond I had formed with the squirrel. The squirrel's death is but a small part of the natural cycle of life and death in the forest, a cycle as old as time. And who am I to question that?
In the end, all I could do was cry. Tears streamed down my face, and I sobbed quietly in the tree, mourning the loss of my little friend. The nuts I had brought as a gift now felt like a cruel reminder of what had been taken.
I stayed there for a long time, my heart aching with the sadness of the moment. The sun climbed higher, and the forest around me seemed to continue its day indifferent to my pain. I eventually climbed down; my steps heavy with grief. The first hurdle had been conquered, but the cost was a lesson in the harsh realities of life. The squirrel's memory stayed with me, a reminder of how fleeting happiness can be.