—Theory of Elemental Magick, Vol. I
We arrive at the quad bright and early on Wednesday, the sky stretched wide and watchful overhead.
It’s evaluation day.
The central lawn bears the signs of those that have already taken place—a large circle outlined with pale stones, scorched in places, grass cut clean in others.
A staggered row of high-backed chairs has been arranged with exacting precision on the dais. In them, professors sit robed in the academy’s dark gray and silver, silent and sharp-eyed, their gazes turned toward the circle ahead. But one chair—far right—is occupied by a figure not like the rest. A man dressed in the black uniform of the Service, stark against the others. His coat bears a single sigil—a gold sun with a spearthrough it on his shoulder. He sits with disciplined stillness, watching everything, a clipboard in his hands—a list of all the first-year names on the sheet in front of him.
“Since when does the Service attend first-year trials?” Rozsen mutters beside me, eyes narrowed as she crosses her arms in front of her.
“Recruiting early this year, it seems,” Elliot adds, looking curiously at the man.
Rozsen huffs under her breath, but says nothing.
Ian leans in slightly from behind, voice low. “Last year, a guy from Black Squad got taken right after his affinity trial.”
“What?” Elliot twists around to look at him.
Ian shrugs, eyes still on the trial ring. “Some second-years told me about it. Trial ended, and before he even got feedback, two Service agents walked him off the field. Straight into an unmarked car parked by the western gate.”
“What did he do?” Amelia asks, voice cautious.
“No one knows. His name was Hayden. His dorm was cleared out by the end of the week.”
“I heard he tried to draw two elements at once,” Nate whispers.
“Bullshit,” Rozsen says too quickly. “That’s impossible anyway.”
Nate doesn’t answer. Just stares at the circle ahead of us.
My fingers twitch. My palms suddenly feel too warm against my sides.
I glance at the Service officer again. He’s still watching. Still not blinking.
Behind the dais, the spires of Whittaker stretch up toward the cloudless blue sky. In front, four stone platforms, waist-high and rectangular, stand in a clean arc, each holding a symbolic representation of the most common elements—simple, ancient, and unmistakable.
Water: a shallow stone basin filled to the top, its surface so smooth it reflects the blue sky above.
Fire: a low iron brazier holding a single candle-sized flame, burning blue at its core, utterly still despite the breeze.
Earth: a flat slab piled with smooth stones and shards of crystal, including amethyst and feldspar—local to Whittaker—laid in a spiral pattern.
Air: a tall, narrow vase of handblown glass, sealed at the base and open at the top, containing a column of softly spinning leaves and petals held in place by invisible currents.
There are other elements, of course, but their magick is rare and not often found among the general population. According to the Whittaker handbook, if a rare affinityisfound within the student body, the school arranges for a private evaluation.
Blue Squad just finished and Red Squad is up next. A chill breeze chooses this moment to roll in from the bay, rippling the Whittaker banners that hang from the poles flanking the dais.
A tall man with dark hair and shrewd blue eyes appears at the front. “Professor Riven Kael,” he says by way of introduction. “I’m running today’s evaluations.” His expression suggests he collects disappointment the way other men collect medals. “One at a time,” he calls. “We’ll begin with the standard affinity reaction. Control, not strength. Precision, not power.”
Waiting students shift nervously along the sidelines. Near the edge of the tree line, an older man stands half in shadow with his hands clasped behind his back. A ghost of authority in his long coat, he stands silent and still. I try not to stare at him, but I feel his dark eyes pass over me once, sharp and unyielding.
Amelia catches my stare and her eyes widen. “Is that Headmaster Thorne? He doesn’t normally watch the affinity trials… does he?” she whispers.
Rozsen nods. “That’s definitely him. He looks just like his photo in the handbook. Maybe he heard what a kick-ass squadwe have this year and came to watch.” A slight smile tips the corner of her lips as she nudges me.
We wait to be called up.
