The portal's cold light painted Emrys's cramped apartment in ghostly blue, casting double shadows that stretched and contracted with each pulse. Three days until the tournament. Three days to transform from human mockery to... something else. The countdown display hovered in the center of the portal, merciless in its precision.
71:13:22.
Emrys hadn't slept since activating the medallion. His desk had become a war room—journal splayed open, pages flagged with color-coded markers, walls papered with hastily scrawled diagrams torn from his notes. The word "ANOMALOUS" had been circled so many times the paper had nearly torn through.
His stomach growled, a sharp biological protest that he silenced with stale coffee and half a protein bar salvaged from the mini-fridge's barren interior. Necessity had taught him to function through hunger, to treat his body as just another system requiring minimal maintenance.
"Anomalous doesn't mean magical," he reminded himself, voice raw from hours of failed incantations. "It just means... not normal."
His reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror confirmed the assessment. Dark circles carved hollows beneath bloodshot eyes, his face a topographical map of exhaustion. Three days of stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked like what he was—a human driven to the edge by an obsession everyone told him was impossible.
The stolen prototype sat on his desk, runes shifting lazily across its metallic surface like liquid thoughts. He'd spent hours trying to activate it properly, certain it held answers beyond the tantalizing glimpses it occasionally offered. Sometimes the runes would pulse in response to his voice or touch, but never with any discernible pattern.
"Just tell me what you are," he muttered, returning to his desk and glaring at the device as though it were deliberately withholding information.
On his wrist, the silver band—transformed from Varek's medallion—occasionally tightened, as if taking his pulse. A competitor's mark, impossible to remove until the tournament concluded. Beside it, an older scar traced a perfect circle around his wrist, the origin of which was as mysterious as his past before waking in that hospital three years ago.
The knowledge that he was probably walking into an elaborate trap engineered by Varek hung over him, a cloud of inevitability. Yet what choice did he have? Return to stealing glances at forbidden knowledge until he was inevitably caught? Or take this chance, however poisoned, to learn something real?
Wind rattled the apartment's thin windows, carrying the distant sound of elven music from the privileged northern dormitories. Their preparation for the tournament would involve expert tutors, specialized equipment, and generations of accumulated knowledge. His consisted of stolen research papers and desperate determination.
"If you were designed to measure magical potential," he said to the prototype, "then you must have some way of displaying those measurements."
The device remained stubbornly inert.
Frustration boiled over. He snatched up the prototype, fingers curling around its edges with enough force to turn his knuckles white. "Show me something! Anything!"
For a brief instant, the runes flared brighter, pulsing in a complex pattern that reminded him of heartbeats. Then nothing.
Emrys hurled the device across the room. It bounced off the threadbare couch and clattered to the floor, landing beside his discarded backpack. The prototype lay there, runes still shifting, maddening in its indifference to his rage.
Day one of preparation passed in a blur of failed attempts. Emrys tried every activation method he'd documented—incantations in six different magical languages, hand gestures ranging from simple to complex, meditation techniques salvaged from restricted elvish texts. Nothing worked.
By midnight, he'd fallen into restless sleep at his desk, cheek pressed against open pages of his journal. Dreams of glowing runes and mocking laughter chased him through subconscious labyrinths.
The prototype sat where he'd left it, watching with its shifting symbols, waiting for something he couldn't provide.
Day two began with the harsh buzzing of his alarm. 5:00 AM, same as always. The rhythm of academic survival didn't pause for magical tournaments.
Emrys dragged himself to his morning classes, body on autopilot while his mind continued wrestling with the problem of the prototype. In Advanced Theoretical Physics, he mechanically solved equations that the professor had assured them were "challenging even for magically-enhanced cognition." The irony wasn't lost on him—excelling in sciences precisely because they operated on rules that didn't discriminate based on magical capacity.
"Mr. Seraphal," Professor Lindham called as class ended. "A moment, please."
Emrys approached the desk with practiced neutrality, prepared for the usual queries about his scholarship status or gentle warnings about his declining participation grade.
Instead, the professor leaned forward, voice lowered. "I heard rumors you've entered the Crucible." The words carried no judgment, just quiet concern. Lindham was one of the few half-elven faculty, familiar with existing between worlds. "Is it true?"
"Yes," Emrys replied simply. No point denying what would soon be public knowledge.
Lindham's expression tightened. "I've seen seven tournaments during my tenure here. Each one claimed lives, Mr. Seraphal. Magical lives, with all the protection their abilities provided."
"I'm aware of the risks."
"Are you?" The professor's eyes, just slightly too gold to pass for human, studied him with uncomfortable intensity. "The Crucible isn't just challenging—it's designed to push magical capacity beyond normal limits. Without such capacity..."
The silence completed the sentence more effectively than words could have.
"I appreciate your concern," Emrys said, adjusting his bag. The weight of the journal inside felt suddenly heavier. "But my decision is made."
As he turned to leave, Lindham called after him. "At minimum, learn Protection. The most basic shield. It won't save you from everything, but it might buy you seconds when they matter most."
Emrys nodded, filing the suggestion away with grim determination. Another spell to fail at mastering before the portal claimed him.
That evening, Emrys sat cross-legged on the floor of his apartment, the prototype before him, journal open to pages detailing basic Protection spells. The portal countdown read 43:27:19.
"One more attempt," he told himself, voice rough from hours of futile incantations. "Then food and sleep."
He placed his hands on either side of the device, not touching it but framing it between his palms. Eyes closed, he focused on the feeling he'd experienced when the prototype had momentarily activated—that pulse of recognition, of connection.
"I don't need you to like me," he told it. "I don't need you to approve of me. I just need you to work."
The air seemed to thicken around him, pressure building in his ears like descending too quickly in water. Outside, the constant background hum of campus magic—the ambient energy produced by thousands of mages going about their daily business—suddenly felt more noticeable, more tangible.
"Show me what you are," he commanded, no longer asking but demanding. "Show me what I am."
Something shifted in the atmosphere—a subtle change, like approaching storm clouds altering the quality of light. The prototype's runes began spinning faster, not in chaos but in organized patterns that reminded him of astronomical models, orbits within orbits.
He maintained his focus, refusing to break concentration even as sweat beaded on his forehead from the strain. The device lifted slightly from the floor, hovering an inch above the worn carpet, suspended between his hands.
"Show me," Emrys repeated, the words barely audible through clenched teeth.
The prototype exploded with light, a brilliant starburst that should have blinded him but somehow didn't. Instead, the light seemed to pass through his closed eyelids, projecting directly into his mind—diagrams, symbols, and text overlaying his perception.
[PROTOTYPE: MAGE METRICS v3.4]
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
[STATUS: DIAGNOSTIC MODE]
[TARGET ACQUIRED: PROXIMITY SCAN INITIATED]
A tingling sensation spread through his body, like static electricity dancing across his skin, penetrating deeper with each moment.
[SUBJECT: EMRYS SERAPHAL]
[STATUS: ACTIVE]
[CLASSIFICATION: HUMAN(?) - VERIFICATION REQUIRED]
[PHYSICAL CONDITION: SUBOPTIMAL - 63% EFFICIENCY]
[DETECTED ISSUES: SLEEP DEPRIVATION, MALNUTRITION, ELEVATED STRESS HORMONES]
[MAGICAL ASSESSMENT INITIATING...]
[WARNING: ANOMALOUS READINGS DETECTED]
[MANA CIRCUITS: PRESENT BUT DORMANT - 94% INTEGRITY]
[MANA CAPACITY: CALCULATING...]
[EXTERNAL INTERFERENCE DETECTED - RECALIBRATING...]
[MANA CAPACITY: UNKNOWN - MEASUREMENT ERROR]
[FOREIGN MAGICAL SIGNATURE DETECTED - ORIGIN UNKNOWN]
[MEMORY SCAN: SIGNIFICANT ANOMALIES]
[MEMORY INTEGRITY: 32% - EVIDENCE OF ARTIFICIAL TAMPERING]
[TEMPORAL GAPS DETECTED: SIGNIFICANT]
Emrys's eyes snapped open, his concentration nearly breaking at the impossible information flooding his mind. Mana circuits—in a human. Artificial memory tampering. The confirmation of every wild theory he'd entertained during sleepless nights hit him with physical force.
"This can't be right," he whispered, voice trembling as the prototype continued to hover between his hands, pulsing with internal light. "Humans don't have mana circuits."
[QUERY DETECTED: SPECIES CLASSIFICATION]
[RESPONSE: SUBJECT PRESENTS HUMAN PHYSIOLOGICAL CHARACTERISTICS]
[ANOMALY: DORMANT MAGICAL CIRCULATORY SYSTEM CONSISTENT WITH ELVEN BIOLOGY]
[HYPOTHESIS: SUBJECT MAY BE RESULT OF PROHIBITED HYBRID EXPERIMENTATION OR MAGICAL MODIFICATION]
"Hybrid experimentation?" Emrys repeated, the words bitter on his tongue. "That's—that's illegal in every jurisdiction."
The device pulsed once, as if acknowledging his statement, before continuing:
[ADDITIONAL SCAN RESULTS:]
[FOREIGN OBJECT DETECTED: RIGHT WRIST - CRUCIBLE MEDALLION BINDING]
[COMPATIBILITY ASSESSMENT: DANGEROUS - MEDALLION DESIGNED FOR ACTIVE MANA USERS]
[WARNING: TOURNAMENT PARTICIPATION WITHOUT ACTIVE MANA CIRCUITS PRESENTS SIGNIFICANT MORTALITY RISK]
Emrys laughed, the sound sharp-edged and brittle in the glowing darkness of his apartment. "Tell me something I don't know."
[QUERY DETECTED: INFORMATION REQUEST]
[RESPONSE: THIS DEVICE CONTAINS COMPREHENSIVE DATABASE OF MAGICAL THEORY, PRACTICE, AND APPLICATION]
[FUNCTION: PRIMARILY DESIGNED FOR ASSESSMENT AND CALIBRATION OF MAGICAL POTENTIAL IN ACADEMY APPLICANTS]
[EXPERIMENTAL FEATURES: MAGICAL FIELD VISUALIZATION, SPELL COMPONENT ANALYSIS, MANA CIRCUIT MAPPING]
A three-dimensional image materialized in the air above the prototype—a rotating model of a human form, Emrys's form, overlaid with glowing blue lines that traced paths through limbs, torso, and head. The lines were dim, barely visible, except for pulsing nodes at key junctions—wrists, sternum, temples.
Emrys stared, transfixed. Here was evidence of everything he'd suspected, everything he'd been denied. Not an absence of magical potential, but potential deliberately suppressed.
"Show me more detail on the circuits," he demanded, voice steadier now.
The image zoomed in, focusing on his right arm where the tournament medallion had merged with his skin. The blue lines there were tangled, compressed, as if something were pinching them closed.
"What's blocking the circuits?"
[QUERY PROCESSED: BLOCKAGE ANALYSIS]
[SCANNING...]
[RESULTS: MULTIPLE BLOCKAGE TYPES DETECTED]
[PRIMARY: EXTERNAL MAGICAL SUPPRESSION - ORIGIN UNKNOWN]
[SECONDARY: SELF-REGULATORY NEURAL INHIBITION - POSSIBLY CONDITIONED RESPONSE]
[TERTIARY: PHYSICAL TRAUMA TO KEY JUNCTION POINTS - EVIDENCE OF DELIBERATE DAMAGE]
The diagram highlighted his wrists, showing the scar tissue that encircled them—visible evidence of injuries he couldn't remember receiving.
Something cold and hard settled in Emrys's chest. Not just forgotten—deliberately erased. Not just magically stunted—deliberately crippled.
"How do I unblock them?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.
[QUERY PROCESSED: CIRCUIT RESTORATION]
[ANALYSIS: COMPLETE RESTORATION REQUIRES SPECIALIZED MEDICAL INTERVENTION]
[HOWEVER: PARTIAL ACTIVATION POSSIBLE WITH CORRECT STIMULATION]
[WARNING: ATTEMPTING ACTIVATION WITHOUT PROPER GUIDANCE MAY RESULT IN PERMANENT DAMAGE]
"Show me," Emrys demanded, leaning forward until his nose nearly touched the hovering device. "Show me how to stimulate partial activation."
The display shifted again, zooming in on his hands. A new diagram appeared, showing precise finger positions alongside glowing points that corresponded to spots on his palms and wrists.
[BASIC ACTIVATION SEQUENCE DISPLAYED]
[THIS TECHNIQUE DESIGNED FOR JUVENILE MAGES WITH UNDEVELOPED CIRCUITS]
[MAY ALLOW MINIMAL MANA FLOW - SUFFICIENT ONLY FOR SIMPLEST SPELLS]
[LUMINATE SPELL RECOMMENDED AS INITIAL TEST - LOWEST MANA REQUIREMENT]
Emrys studied the diagram with burning intensity, committing every detail to memory. Then he positioned his hands exactly as shown—right palm up, left hand cupped over it, fingers precisely aligned with the glowing points on the display.
Nothing happened.
"What am I missing?" he asked, maintaining the position despite the strain it placed on his wrists.
[MENTAL COMPONENT REQUIRED]
[VISUALIZATION: IMAGINE ENERGY FLOWING FROM CORE TO EXTREMITIES]
[FOCUS POINT: CENTER OF RIGHT PALM]
[VERBAL COMPONENT: "LUMINATE" WITH RISING INTONATION ON FINAL SYLLABLE]
Emrys closed his eyes, picturing energy flowing from his chest, down his arms, pooling in his palms. It was a visualization he'd attempted hundreds of times before, but now he had precise circuit paths to imagine, specific junction points to focus on.
"Luminaté," he pronounced carefully, emphasizing the final syllable with a slight rise in pitch.
A tingling sensation spread through his arms, intensifying to pins and needles as it reached his hands. The feeling wasn't entirely pleasant—like circulation returning to a limb that had fallen asleep—but it was definitely something.
He opened his eyes.
A spark flickered in the center of his right palm. Barely visible, unstable, but undeniably there—a pinprick of light that existed because he had willed it into being.
"I did it," he whispered, afraid that speaking too loudly might break whatever tenuous connection he'd established. "I actually did it."
[MINIMAL MANA FLOW DETECTED]
[CIRCUIT ACTIVATION: 3.2% OF POTENTIAL CAPACITY]
[SPELL CLASSIFICATION: LUMINATE (BASIC) - SEVERELY UNDERPOWERED]
[RECOMMENDATION: DAILY PRACTICE TO STRENGTHEN ACTIVE PATHWAYS]
The tiny light flickered and died as his concentration faltered. Emrys stared at his empty palm, conflicting emotions warring within him—elation that he'd done something genuinely magical, frustration at how pathetically small it had been, and bone-deep weariness from the effort required.
He tried again immediately, resuming the position and focusing with renewed determination. "Luminaté!"
This time, the light appeared more quickly, slightly brighter, and lasted several seconds before fading.
For the next three hours, Emrys repeated the process until his hands cramped and sweat soaked through his shirt from the effort. Each attempt came a little easier, the light a little brighter, lasting a little longer. By the thirtieth try, he could maintain a glow the size of a small coin for nearly thirty seconds—barely enough to read by, but real magic nonetheless.
The prototype continued displaying his progress:
[CIRCUIT ACTIVATION: 4.7% - IMPROVEMENT NOTED]
[MANA EFFICIENCY: 13.2% - BELOW STANDARD BUT IMPROVING]
[ESTIMATED SUSTAINABILITY AT CURRENT LEVEL: 10-15 BASIC SPELLS BEFORE EXHAUSTION]
When his vision began to blur from exhaustion, Emrys finally collapsed onto his bed, the prototype clutched against his chest. Sleep claimed him instantly, his dreams filled with glowing circuits and flowing energy.
Dawn broke through thin curtains, casting striped shadows across Emrys's face. Day three—the final day before the tournament. He woke with purpose, a plan crystallizing from yesterday's discoveries.
The prototype now responded to his touch readily, activating at his command to display the status of his slowly awakening mana circuits.
[CIRCUIT ACTIVATION: 5.1% - HOLDING STABLE]
[RECOVERY RATE: ACCEPTABLE]
[RECOMMENDATION: CONTINUE PRACTICE WITH BASIC SPELLS]
Emrys spent the morning alternating between Luminate practice and attempting the Protection spell Professor Lindham had recommended. His progress was painfully slow—the Protection spell required more complex energy manipulation, creating a barrier rather than a simple manifestation of light.
By noon, sweat-soaked and trembling from exertion, he'd managed to generate the faintest shimmer of a shield that lasted less than a second. The prototype's assessment was blunt:
[SPELL: PROTECTION (BASIC) - CRITICALLY UNDERPOWERED]
[PRACTICAL DEFENSIVE CAPABILITY: NEGLIGIBLE]
[ESTIMATED RESISTANCE: WOULD DEFLECT A FALLING LEAF]
"Better than nothing," Emrys muttered, forcing himself to eat despite his stomach's protest. Magical practice consumed physical energy at an alarming rate, another detail the stolen research papers hadn't mentioned.
In the afternoon, he ventured out into campus, the prototype concealed in a specially modified pocket of his jacket. He needed to understand what he'd be facing—needed to see real mages preparing for the tournament.
The practice arenas were busier than he'd ever seen them, filled with competitors displaying increasingly spectacular feats of magic. Elemental mages hurled constructs of fire and ice at targets that repaired themselves after each impact. Spatial manipulators folded reality into impossible configurations, stepping through doors that led where no doors should lead.
Emrys observed from the shadows of the viewing gallery, the prototype scanning each display and providing clinical analysis:
[SPELL: PYRO CASCADE - ADVANCED] [MANA CONSUMPTION: HIGH] [EFFECTIVENESS: 87% - WELL EXECUTED]
[SPELL: SPATIAL FOLD - EXPERT] [MANA CONSUMPTION: VERY HIGH] [EFFECTIVENESS: 92% - EXCELLENT CONTROL]
Each analysis drove home the same brutal truth—he was preparing to compete against mages who had trained their entire lives, whose natural abilities far exceeded what he might achieve in years of practice.
Yet something in him refused to yield to despair. The prototype had revealed a truth more important than his current limitations—he had been altered, his potential deliberately suppressed. Which meant somewhere, somehow, there existed magic meant for him.
As the sun began to set on his final day of preparation, Emrys returned to his apartment and stood before the pulsing portal. The countdown read 12:43:17.
He placed the prototype on his desk, activating it one more time. "Full assessment," he commanded. "What are my chances?"
[QUERY PROCESSED: TOURNAMENT SURVIVAL PROBABILITY]
[CALCULATING BASED ON CURRENT PARAMETERS...]
[RESULT: 8.7% PROBABILITY OF SURVIVING FIRST ROUND]
[RECOMMENDATION: WITHDRAW]
Emrys laughed, the sound sharp and defiant in the quiet room. "Not an option."
He spent the final hours practicing until his hands shook from exhaustion and his vision blurred. By midnight, he could maintain the Luminate spell for nearly two minutes and generate a Protection shield that might—might—deflect a minor magical attack for a fraction of a second.
It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. But it was more than he'd had three days ago, more than anyone believed a human could accomplish.
When exhaustion finally claimed him, he fell asleep with his journal clutched to his chest, filled with new notes, new diagrams, new hope. The prototype sat beside him, runes pulsing in time with his breathing, a silent witness to impossible progress.
Tomorrow, he would enter the Crucible—armed with a sliver of magic, a stolen prototype, and the obstinate refusal to accept the limitations others had placed upon him.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
