"Hello," Sara says to Azrael in a soft voice, slightly leaning toward him with a genuine smile that sharply contrasted with the tension of the place.
Azrael returns the greeting with great shyness, almost trembling. His fingers tangle in the fringes of his robe as he lowers his gaze for a moment, feeling the weight of everyone's attention on him. A cold sweat runs down the back of his neck.
"Uh… are you an alchemist too?" she asks, with a slightly displeased expression. She wrinkles her nose as her eyes scan his simple clothes and empty hands, as if searching for a flask or a symbol that was not there.
'I'm going to be a swordsman,' Azrael manages to say, his voice trembling slightly, barely escaping his throat. As he says it, he straightens his back a little, as if simply expressing his aspiration gave him fragile support.
"Oh… how curious," she comments, visibly uncomfortable. Her smile freezes, and her eyes look for an escape route through the crowd. She takes a step back. "Ah, I'm sorry, I have something to take care of. We'll talk later. Goodbye, Azrael."
With almost sudden speed, she turns around and disappears among the groups of applicants chatting nearby.
Azrael feels deeply sad because he knows he scared her away. A familiar knot forms in his stomach. He has no experience with girls; his classmates isolated him, and that brings back memories of his past life—long empty hallways and laughter that stopped every time he approached. He places a hand against the cold stone wall behind him and takes a deep breath.
"Hey, Azrael! What happened? Where's Sara?" James asks, appearing at his side with one eyebrow raised and an animated expression as he looks around.
"She left. She said she had something to do," Azrael murmurs, shrugging his shoulders in a gesture that unsuccessfully tries to look indifferent.
"Well, she seemed like a nice girl," James says with unbreakable optimism, patting him on the back hard enough to make Azrael stumble slightly. "I hope she becomes our friend. Well, Azrael, there's no other choice; it looks like we'll be sleeping here." He gestures broadly with his arm, pointing toward the dim side corridor where the penniless applicants were crowded together.
Azrael and James slept in a place infested with rats and countless cockroaches. The air was thick, smelling of dampness and stale dust. The faint glow of a distant oil lamp cast shifting shadows. Azrael wrapped himself in his thin cloak, hearing the constant scurrying of tiny feet and sharp squeaks in the darkness, and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to sleep.
The next day, waking with aching bodies and intense cold, the two prepared to eat a piece of hard bread and drink murky water before heading to the start of the practical exam, where their true abilities in each field would be revealed. The great central arena was already buzzing with activity, teachers watching from above and the metallic sound of weapons clashing echoing in the distance.
"Hey, James, that guy from yesterday—the mage with ancient magic—is fighting a swordsman," Azrael whispers, subtly nodding toward one of the most crowded duel circles.
"Hey, Azrael, that guy is kind of strange. He hasn't cast a single spell. Are you sure he's a mage?" James murmurs, watching the young man in a dark robe standing motionless, hands in his pockets, facing an opponent who swung his sword with ferocity.
Azrael and James, doubting whether he truly was a mage, suddenly saw a subtle glow at his feet, as if the runes on the ground had been activated. The earth began to tremble with a deep, dull vibration. They immediately understood that he had incredible control over the elements, for the swordsman vanished from his spot in the blink of an eye and reappeared slammed against a stone wall ten meters away, as if an invisible force had hurled him with brutal violence, bleeding uncontrollably. Horrified silence overtook the spectators. From that moment on, everyone feared him.
"James… that mage is a monster," Azrael says in fear, trembling just from looking at him, feeling a chill run down his spine. "Do you remember the name he told us that day?"
"I don't remember it, but it's better if he doesn't notice us, Azrael," James says, equally terrified, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, knowing he could have killed them easily yesterday. His usual calm expression turned pale.
As they reflected on this, replaying every second of their previous encounter, a battle began in the adjacent circle between another mage and a female mage. Pulled back to reality by the shouts of another fight, they see Sara—the girl from yesterday—standing in front of a very egocentric woman who boasted about her abilities while spinning a staff wrapped in bands of energy.
Sara looked extremely nervous, overwhelmed by the absurd number of people watching her. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and her breathing was visibly unstable. She seemed to be searching for something on the ground. At that moment, James shouted at the top of his lungs:
"SarAAAAAA! You can do it!"
At that moment, Sara sees James and Azrael among the crowd, and James's words encourage her. A flash of determination crosses her eyes as she grips the hilt of her sword more tightly. Azrael, despite his own fear, fills with courage upon seeing her vulnerability and says, trembling and sweating, in a voice that tries to sound strong but still carries the weight of what he had witnessed before:
"You can do it, Sara."