The morning was cool, and the sun barely peeked through the clouds as Cael lazily got out of bed. He rubbed his eyes and glanced around his small, cluttered room. Stacks of magic books crowded a corner table, next to an old, rusty sword he had picked up at a second-hand market. Nothing in his room suggested that he was about to face the biggest challenge of his life: the admission exam for the Arvendale Academy of Magic and Swords.
"Why did I even agree to this?" Cael muttered as he pulled on a wrinkled shirt and his worn-out boots.
The answer came to him almost immediately: because his mother insisted. She said a boy as bright as him couldn't waste his potential living in the anonymity of a remote village. But for Cael, who preferred quiet afternoons reading or napping under a tree, the idea of attending a school full of competitive people and constant demands sounded like a nightmare.
***
The academy's testing grounds were crowded with young aspirants. Boys and girls from all over the region had gathered there, eager, restless, and determined. Some flaunted gleaming armor; others wore magical robes adorned with runes. In contrast, Cael seemed out of place in his simplicity. He watched the crowd with disinterest, leaning against a tree while the other candidates warmed up or exchanged strategies.
"Not going to practice?" asked a girl with short hair and a confident expression. She wielded a fine, well-maintained sword.
Cael raised an eyebrow and replied with a yawn:
"No point in wasting energy before the test."
The girl laughed, thinking he was joking.
"Good luck, lazybones. You'll need it." She walked away, still smiling.
***
The exam was divided into three stages: theoretical knowledge, magical combat, and physical combat. The first phase took place in a large tent, where aspirants had to answer questions about magical theory, battle tactics, and history. For many, it was a complex challenge. For Cael, however, it was a walk in the park. He answered quickly, though his sloppy handwriting suggested he wasn't the least bit concerned.
While most were still bent over their answers, he handed in his test and left the tent. Some stared at him in disbelief; others whispered that he had probably given up. But Cael simply returned to his previous spot under the tree, crossing his arms to nap as he waited for the next stage.
***
The second phase, magical combat, was held in an arena. Each candidate was tasked with facing an opponent designated by the academy: a magical creature conjured by the instructors. When it was Cael's turn, he walked to the center of the arena with lazy steps, as if he were taking a casual stroll, and faced the creature that appeared before him: a massive elemental wolf engulfed in blue flames.
"Begin!" announced the evaluator.
The wolf charged with impressive speed, its flames roaring. Cael, however, remained still, watching it calmly. Just as the wolf was about to strike, he murmured a few words, barely audible, and a translucent magical barrier appeared before him, repelling the attack.
The crowd murmured in surprise, but Cael looked bored. With a casual wave of his hand, he cast a simple yet precise spell. A gust of wind struck the wolf, extinguishing its flames and dissipating its magical form.
He turned to the evaluators.
"Is that it? Can I go now?" he asked nonchalantly.
***
The final stage, physical combat, was the one Cael dreaded most—not because it was difficult, but because it felt exhausting. He was never a fan of physical exertion, and the idea of sword fighting seemed tiresome. Even so, when called, he entered the arena with the old rusty sword he had brought from home.
His opponent was a robust boy, clearly trained, wielding a broad sword. As soon as the signal was given, the boy charged with full force, trying to intimidate Cael. But Cael dodged effortlessly, moving with surprising precision. He didn't attack; he simply avoided the strikes, seeming more interested in observing his opponent's rhythm.
"Are you going to fight or not?" the boy shouted, frustrated.
Cael sighed and, in a quick and unexpected move, disarmed the boy with an agile and precise strike. His opponent's sword flew through the air and landed far away.
"There. Done." Cael placed his sword on the ground and turned to the evaluators again. "I think I've made my point."
The silence in the arena was followed by hesitant applause, which soon grew louder. Meanwhile, Cael yawned, eager for the day to end.
***
At the end of the exams, the evaluators discussed the candidates' performances. The headmaster, a serious and imposing man, commented:
"That boy, Cael… Undeniably talented. But his lack of motivation could be a problem."
One of the instructors, a woman with bright eyes and a mysterious smile, replied:
"Or it could be exactly what we need. Someone who sees beyond strength and ambition."
And so, without even realizing it, Cael was accepted and officially became a student of the Arvendale Academy of Magic and Swords. He, of course, wasn't particularly thrilled about it.
"This is going to be exhausting..." he thought as he headed home, already dreaming of a well-deserved nap.
________________________________________
The grand gate of the Arvendale Academy of Magic and Swords looked even more imposing in the light of dawn. Stone towers rose high into the sky, with flags fluttering in the wind, and hundreds of students moved through the corridors and courtyards amid the murmur of animated conversations.
Cael walked calmly amidst the crowd, as if the movement around him had nothing to do with him. He carried only a shabby bag with the basics—some notebooks, a wrinkled raincoat, and, of course, his old rusty sword. He yawned as he glanced at the large schedule board near the main entrance.
"First class: Practical Sword Training," he read. His lazy expression lit up slightly.
Despite his aversion to physical activities, Cael had an inexplicable fascination with swords. Perhaps it was their simplicity. No complex enchantments, runes, or incantations—just metal and skill. He liked the idea of something that could be mastered with technique and patience, without relying on flashy magic or extravagant explosions.
***
The training field was a vast space, with wooden dummies for practice, training swords piled in a corner, and students forming lines. The instructor was a tall, muscular man with a scar running across his face, named Master Rylor. He had a powerful voice that echoed like thunder.
"Welcome to Sword Training!" Rylor said, as he scanned the new students. "Here, we will learn the art of sword combat, but also the discipline necessary to master both body and mind."
Cael rolled his eyes. "Discipline," he thought. "We're off to a bad start."
The students were divided into pairs for the initial practice. Cael was paired with a boy named Taron, who seemed to be his complete opposite: lively, energetic, and clearly eager to show off his skills.
"Finally, someone to train with!" said Taron, spinning his wooden sword. "I hope you're ready."
Cael shrugged, holding his sword in a posture that seemed too relaxed to be serious.
"Let's see what happens," he replied calmly.
Taron attacked first, and Cael dodged with surprising ease. The pattern repeated several times: Taron advanced, and Cael simply avoided the strikes with minimal, precise movements.
"Aren't you going to attack?" Taron asked, panting after a few minutes.
"I don't see the need," Cael replied, lazily spinning the sword in his hand. "You're already tired."
Rylor, watching from a distance, frowned but didn't intervene.
Finally, Taron charged with a direct, forceful strike. Cael sidestepped and, with a quick and elegant move, tapped the wooden sword against Taron's arm, disarming him.
"I think we're done for today," Cael said with a slight smile, handing Taron's sword back to him.
***
During the break, some students tried to approach Cael. His skills had already drawn attention, and his calm demeanor seemed intriguing to many.
"Hey, how did you do that?" asked a girl with braided hair as other students gathered around.
"Do what?" Cael asked, genuinely confused.
"Avoid all the attacks without even breaking a sweat!" said another boy.
Cael shrugged. "I just moved as much as necessary. Nothing more."
The others laughed, amused by his simplicity. He ended up telling a few stories about his village, about how he had learned to wield a sword on his own, which made the group laugh even more. To his surprise, Cael realized it wasn't so bad talking to others.
Even so, as soon as the break ended, he sought out a quiet corner in the courtyard to be alone. He preferred solitude. He liked watching people from a distance, but without being a constant part of the commotion.
***
The second class of the day was "Magic and Strategy." A spacious room, with walls covered in maps and books. The teacher, an elderly mage with a long beard named Master Lyric, began the lesson with a question:
"What is the key to winning a battle?"
Many students raised their hands, shouting answers like "strength," "powerful magic," or "superior numbers." Cael, as usual, stayed quiet, scribbling something in his notebook.
"And you, Cael?" Lyric asked, noticing his lack of participation. "What do you think?"
Cael looked up and replied in his calm voice:
"It depends on the battle. Sometimes it's patience. Sometimes it's predicting what the other person will do before they act."
The room fell silent for a moment, and Lyric smiled. "A wise answer."
***
At the end of the day, while the other students chatted excitedly about the lessons, Cael found a tree in the courtyard and sat under its shade, watching the sky change colors. He closed his eyes, feeling, for a brief moment, at peace.
"Maybe this isn't so bad after all," he thought, before letting himself be carried away by the day's fatigue.