It was deep into the night.
Two figures sat by the campfire, while the flames cast trembling shadows behind them. One silhouette was noticeably more delicate than the other—it was easy to tell a girl was sitting there, watching the young man across from her, while he, in turn, looked back at her.
It was dark, yet their eyes still stood out.
Hers were a deep crimson.
When the young man felt her gaze lingering on him, he turned slightly and met her eyes. Unlike hers, his were blue. Even the smoke rising from the fire couldn't hide the curiosity burning in the girl's stare.
"Are you worried about tomorrow's trial?" the girl asked thoughtfully.
The young man gave a silent nod before lowering his gaze back to the flames.
She wanted to encourage him, to tell him there was nothing worth worrying about, but somehow she knew such words would do absolutely nothing for him.
"And if it turns out you have no talent," she asked, smoothing the folds of her dress, "what exactly will change in your life?"
The boy pulled his eyes away from the fire, looked into hers for a brief moment, then returned his attention to the dancing flames.
After a quiet sigh, he spoke in a low voice.
"If I have no talent for magic, I'll be useless to my family. Most likely, they'll renounce me, brand me a hollow one, and send me off to the academy to learn swordsmanship instead."
His voice remained calm, almost detached, as he watched the fire devour the wood.
"And that's all?" the girl asked, studying him carefully. "You're afraid of being rejected by your family? Or is what truly frightens you losing your place in the struggle for the throne?"
He raised his head and looked at her again, then let out a faint, humorless chuckle.
"In this world, magic talent rules everything. If you don't have it, you can live as an ordinary person. Quietly. Peacefully. Without worrying that someone will covet your gift or try to use you for their own schemes."
He paused, jaw tightening.
"But if you have no talent, then you're never truly free. Any mage can take whatever catches their eye—your woman, your child, your home... even your life."
He looked directly into her crimson eyes.
"Neither of those is what I fear. I'm afraid of losing the tiny bit of freedom I still have. Without talent, I'm nothing more than a servant or a slave until my master decides I'm worth sacrificing. And I wouldn't even be able to resist."
For a moment, he caught a flicker of thoughtfulness in her eyes.
Then she gave a quiet snort, and whatever softness had been there disappeared. Her gaze sharpened.
The girl looked at him in silence, reflecting on his words.
Partially, he was right.
Without magical talent, a person—or as such people were often called, mortals—was little more than a servant to mages.
But relying on talent alone was an equally dangerous mistake.
The moment you place all your faith in talent, you stop being its master and become its slave.
"Remember this," the girl said, her voice suddenly firm. "A person who relies only on talent becomes no more than its servant, never its master."
Holding her gaze, the young man gave a slow nod and looked back into the fire.
And then, suddenly—
he was gone.
The girl continued staring at the empty place where he had been sitting.
Then she tilted her head back and looked up at the night sky.
"So... the time has come after all."
Sadness touched her voice now.
"Will this break you, or make you stronger, Aluric? For now, all I can do is watch... and wait."
She lowered her gaze back to the dying fire.
There was no fear in her eyes.
No emotion at all.