Chapter 6: The Gathering at the Arcaneum
The Grand Hall of the Arcaneum Institute was alive with a charged energy—aspiring mages, warriors, and scholars from all corners of the land gathered under the towering arches, their faces alight with ambition, anxiety, or raw determination. The chamber, illuminated by floating crystals, was vast enough to hold hundreds, and yet the sheer number of recruits made it feel almost suffocating.
Some came clad in noble finery, their family crests embroidered into flowing robes. Others wore battle-worn armor, weapons strapped to their backs or waists. Some carried tomes filled with ancient knowledge, while others clenched their fists, magic sparking between their fingers. The room was a chaotic mixture of power, status, and raw potential.
Tensions flared even before the event began—some recruits engaged in displays of skill, summoning ethereal blades, controlling flames, or moving objects with sheer force of will. A few onlookers gasped as two rival swordsmen clashed, their weapons ringing through the hall, only for an instructor to dispel their quarrel with a single word.
And then—silence.
A presence unlike any other had entered the hall.
The very air thickened, pressing down on the gathered recruits with an invisible weight. Even the most arrogant among them turned instinctively toward the entrance, where a lone figure strode forward with the grace of a being beyond mortal limits.
Grandmaster Thalor Eldertide.
His dark robes carried the weight of centuries, each thread woven with enchantments older than many kingdoms. His sharp gaze swept across the hall, and for a brief, terrifying moment, it felt as if he saw through every single soul present. No words were spoken, yet an unshakable truth settled upon them—this was a man whose mere existence commanded respect.
He stopped at the center of the hall and finally spoke.
"You stand here today, believing yourselves worthy." His voice was calm, yet it carried through the vast chamber effortlessly. "Some of you come from noble bloodlines, carrying the pride of generations. Others clawed your way here from nothing, believing raw talent will be enough. You all share the same illusion."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, but none dared interrupt.
"You are not yet warriors. You are not yet scholars. You are not yet mages. You are nothing but raw stone, waiting to be shaped—or shattered."
He let the words settle, the weight of them pressing down on every recruit.
"This institution does not exist to nurture the weak. It exists to forge the strong. Those who cannot endure what lies ahead will leave broken—if they leave at all."
A chilling stillness followed. The meaning behind his words was clear.
"And so, your first trial begins now."
Gasps spread through the recruits, some exchanging nervous glances.
Grandmaster Eldertide raised a single hand. The floor beneath them shifted, arcane symbols glowing to life. The hall itself began to change—columns rearranged, doorways vanished, walls moved as if the entire structure were a living entity obeying his command. The recruits found themselves no longer in a gathering hall but in a vast arena.
"Your first task is simple," the Grandmaster declared. "Survive."
And with that, the trial had begun.