Rain cascaded down upon the tiled roofs of the Academy of Five Elements, as if the heavens themselves wept for the humiliation of Ethan Kilos.
Standing at the center of the training arena, soaked to the bone, the eighteen-year-old clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Around him, a hundred students watched from the covered stands, their mocking laughter and whispers echoing like a cruel chorus.
"Pathetic," sneered Marcus Veyron, a fourth-year student with sharp angular features and flames dancing lazily around his fingertips. "Three years at the Academy, and you're still stuck at the First Circle. My little sister advanced faster than you, and she's only twelve."
Laughter erupted from the crowd. Ethan kept his eyes fixed on the muddy ground, rain mixing with something that might have been tears, though he'd never admit it.
"Maybe he should just give up magic and become a servant," another voice called out. "At least then he'd be useful for something!"
More laughter. Always more laughter.
Ethan's element was Water—ironic, given how he felt like he was drowning every single day at this cursed Academy. He had arrived three years ago with hope burning in his chest, dreams of becoming a powerful mage like the heroes in the old stories his mother used to tell him. His mother, Elena, a simple healer in the coastal village of Marivelle, had saved every copper coin for years to afford the Academy's entrance fee.
"You have the gift, Ethan," she had told him, her ocean-blue eyes filled with warmth and certainty. "I can feel it in you. The water calls to your soul."
But the water had been silent for three years.
While his classmates progressed from the First Circle to the Second, then the Third and beyond, Ethan remained stuck. No matter how many hours he spent meditating, no matter how precisely he followed the breathing techniques, no matter how desperately he tried to channel magical energy through his meridians—nothing worked. His magical reserves were pitifully small, barely enough to conjure a splash of water or create a thin shield of ice.
A failure. A disgrace. A trash mage who didn't deserve his place at the Academy.
"Ethan Kilos."
The arena fell silent. All heads turned toward the entrance where Master Aldric Stormwind stood, his silver hair plastered to his scarred face by the rain. The Director of the Academy was a towering figure, a Superhuman of the Eighth Circle, and when he spoke, even the storm seemed to quiet in respect.
Ethan's heart sank. A summons from the Director was never good news.
"Come with me," Master Aldric commanded, his voice like distant thunder.
Ethan trudged through the mud, acutely aware of every eye following him. As he passed Marcus, the fire mage smirked and whispered just loud enough for him to hear, "Finally getting expelled, trash?"
The Director's office was located in the tallest tower of the Academy, a circular room lined with ancient books and scrolls, illuminated by magical orbs that floated near the ceiling. Rain hammered against the large windows that overlooked the sprawling Academy grounds and the dark forest beyond.
Master Aldric stood with his back to Ethan, hands clasped behind him, gazing out at the storm. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the jagged scar that ran down the left side of his face—a memento from some legendary battle that students whispered about in hushed tones.
"Three years," the Director said quietly, not turning around. "Three years, Ethan Kilos, and you remain at the First Circle."
"I know, Master," Ethan replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've tried everything. I train harder than anyone. I—"
"Effort without results is simply wasted motion," Master Aldric interrupted, his tone not unkind but matter-of-fact. "The Academy has limited resources. Every spot here is precious, contested by hundreds of applicants each year. We cannot afford to waste them on students who show no progress."
The words hit Ethan like a physical blow. This was it. The moment he'd been dreading for months.
"However," the Director continued, finally turning to face him, "I am not a man without compassion. You will be given one final chance."
Hope flickered in Ethan's chest, weak and fragile.
Master Aldric walked to his desk and retrieved a leather pouch and a rolled parchment. "The Mistwood Forest, three miles north of the Academy. There grows a rare herb called Silverleaf, recognizable by its silver-white foliage and blue veins. The Academy's supplies are running low, and Silverleaf is a crucial ingredient in healing potions."
He placed the pouch and parchment on the desk. "You have three days to venture into the forest, collect thirty stems of Silverleaf, and return. If you succeed, you will be granted one more semester to show improvement. If you fail..." He left the sentence unfinished, but the implication was clear.
"The Mistwood is dangerous," Ethan said carefully. "Even for Third and Fourth Circle mages."
"Which is precisely why this is your final test," Master Aldric replied. "Strength is not only measured in magical circles, but in courage, determination, and resourcefulness. Prove to me that you possess these qualities, and I will believe you still have potential. Otherwise..." He gestured toward the door. "You may leave at first light tomorrow."
Ethan picked up the pouch—it contained basic supplies and a small knife—and the parchment, which showed a crude map of the Mistwood with areas where Silverleaf typically grew marked in red ink.
"Master Aldric," Ethan said, his voice steadier now. "May I ask you something?"
The Director raised an eyebrow. "Speak."
"Why are you giving me this chance? Everyone else has already given up on me. Why not just expel me now?"
For a long moment, Master Aldric studied him with those piercing grey eyes. Lightning flashed again, and in that brief illumination, Ethan thought he saw something in the Director's expression—regret? Sadness?
"Because," the Director finally said, "I once knew someone who was considered weak, insignificant, unworthy of his gifts. Everyone told him he would never amount to anything." He paused, his jaw tightening. "They were wrong. Sometimes, Ethan Kilos, the greatest potentials are buried deepest. Now go. Prepare for your journey."
Ethan bowed and turned to leave.
"And Ethan," Master Aldric called out as he reached the door. "The Mistwood Forest borders the ocean in the northern region. Stay away from the coastal cliffs. The tides there are treacherous, and many who venture too close never return."
"Yes, Master."
The rain had stopped by the time Ethan made his way to the dormitories. The cobblestone paths glistened under the light of magical lanterns, and the air smelled of wet earth and pine.
"Ethan!"
He turned to see Dorian Rochefort jogging toward him, his stocky frame and easy smile a welcome sight. Dorian was one of the few students who had never mocked Ethan, never treated him like trash. He was a Third Circle mage of the Earth element, steady and reliable as the stones he commanded.
"I heard about your meeting with the Director," Dorian said, falling into step beside him. "The whole Academy is buzzing about it."
"Of course they are," Ethan muttered. "Everyone loves a good failure story."
"You're not a failure," Dorian said firmly. "You're just... taking a different path than everyone else."
"A path that leads nowhere," Ethan replied bitterly. "I'm being sent to the Mistwood tomorrow. Collect Silverleaf or get expelled."
Dorian's expression grew serious. "The Mistwood? Ethan, that place is crawling with magical beasts. Even our class avoids going there without supervision."
"I don't have a choice."
They walked in silence for a moment before Dorian spoke again. "Then I'm coming with you."
Ethan stopped and turned to face his friend. "No, Dorian. This is my test, not yours. I can't drag you into danger because of my failures."
"You're not dragging me anywhere," Dorian said, crossing his arms. "I'm volunteering. Friends don't let friends get eaten by forest monsters alone. Besides, you'll need someone to watch your back. The Mistwood isn't just dangerous because of beasts—there are toxic plants, quicksand bogs, and if the stories are true, remnants of old magic that can twist your mind."
Ethan wanted to argue, but the truth was, having Dorian along would significantly increase his chances of survival. And despite his pride, survival mattered more.
"Fine," he said. "But if things go south, you run. Don't risk your future for me."
Dorian grinned. "Deal. Now let's go pack. We leave at dawn."
That night, Ethan lay in his narrow dormitory bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep eluded him, his mind churning with anxious thoughts. What if he failed? What if he returned to Marivelle a failure, unable to look his mother in the eyes, unable to justify the sacrifices she'd made?
His hand drifted to the small jade pendant hanging around his neck—a gift from Elena before he left home. It was a simple thing, carved with the symbol of a wave curling upon itself.
"The water finds its path, Ethan," she had told him as she fastened it around his neck. "It flows around obstacles, it carves through stone, it adapts and endures. Remember that."
He closed his eyes and tried to find sleep, but all he found were doubts.
Tomorrow, he would venture into the Mistwood Forest. Tomorrow, his fate would be decided.
And deep in his heart, a small voice whispered that tomorrow, everything would change.
End of Chapter 1