The Archmage's Second Act

Chapter 3: The Glass Shards

Chapter 3: The Glass Shards

The Grand Colosseum was a masterpiece of architectural arrogance. Tiered marble benches rose toward a domed ceiling etched with the constellations of the First Era, and at the center of the sand-covered arena stood a solitary obsidian pedestal. Atop it sat the Eye of Truth—a swirling, translucent orb the size of a wagon wheel.

"Move it, Mysthaven. You're blocking the view of someone who actually matters."

Eldrion didn't need to turn around to recognize the voice. It was oily, dripping with the kind of unearned confidence that only came from being born into a family with a private mountain of mana stones.

"Zephriel Arcanis," Eldrion said, finally glancing over his shoulder. "I see you’re still wearing enough gold to fund a small war. Isn't it a bit heavy for someone with such a fragile ego?"

Zephriel, a tall boy with golden hair slicked back to a blinding sheen, sneered. He was surrounded by a small clique of sycophants who laughed on cue. "Better a heavy ego than a dead-end lineage. I heard your father is selling the family silver just to keep the lights on. Why are you even here? To sweep the floors?"

"I’m here to watch you fail to live up to your last name," Eldrion replied with a thin smile. "It’s my favorite hobby."

"Big words for a guy who looks like he’s one sneeze away from a casket," Zephriel hissed, stepping closer. "Just wait until I’m on that pedestal. I’m going to set a record that’ll make your 'puddle' of mana evaporate."

"Silence!"

The voice boomed from the high balcony. Headmistress Celestria Runeveil stood there, her white robes shimmering with passive enchantments. Beside her sat a grim-faced man with a scar running through his eyebrow—Professor Alaric Wandfall.

"The testing begins now," Celestria announced. "Zephriel Arcanis, step forward."

Zephriel smirked at Eldrion, adjusted his silk tunic, and strode toward the center of the arena. The crowd of hundreds of applicants went hushed.

"Look at him," a girl nearby whispered. "The Arcanis heir. They say his mana core was already Grade 2 when he was twelve."

"He’s going to break the scale," her friend added, leaning forward in anticipation.

Zephriel reached the pedestal and placed his hands on the Eye of Truth. He closed his eyes, his face contorting in a look of intense concentration. Suddenly, the orb flared. A brilliant, sapphire light erupted from the center, pulsing like a second sun. The runes etched into the floor around the pedestal began to glow, one by one, filling the arena with a low, humming vibration.

"Level Six!" the proctor shouted, his voice trembling with excitement. "Capacity: High-Elite. Purity: Ninety-two percent! An S-Rank potential!"

The Colosseum erupted in cheers. Zephriel pulled his hands away, looking smugly toward the balcony. He caught Eldrion’s eye and mouthed, Top that.

"Next!" the proctor called out, checking his parchment. "Eldrion Mysthaven."

The cheers died down instantly, replaced by a wave of snickering.

"Mysthaven? Is that the kid who hasn't left his house in five years?"

"I heard he’s a squib. A complete mana-void."

"Place your bets! I give him three seconds before the orb goes dark out of pity."

Eldrion ignored them. He walked down the stone steps, his boots crunching on the sand. His heart was hammering, but not from fear. He was calculating.

Okay, Eldrion, he thought. The Eye of Truth measures the resonance between the soul and the mana veins. My veins are garbage, but my soul is... well, it’s problematic. If I let even a fraction of my soul’s true frequency leak out, this thing is going to think a god just walked into the room. I need to dampen it. Think of a wall. A thick, leaden wall.

He reached the pedestal. The obsidian was cold to the touch.

"Don't take all day, boy," Professor Wandfall called out from the balcony, his voice sharp. "We have three hundred more students to get through."

"Sorry, Professor," Eldrion said, looking up with a sheepish grin. "Just admiring the craftsmanship. It’s a very nice orb."

"Touch it or leave," Wandfall barked.

Eldrion took a deep breath. He placed his palms against the smooth surface.

Just a trickle, he told himself. Give it a Grade 3. Respectable, but unremarkable. Enough to get in, but not enough to get noticed by the Inquisition.

He reached into his core. He found the "puddle" of mana and gently nudged it toward his hands. But as the mana flowed, it brushed against the vast, terrifying depth of his regressed soul. The soul acted like a bellows, catching the tiny spark of mana and magnifying its pressure by a factor of ten thousand.

The Eye of Truth didn't glow sapphire. It didn't glow at all for the first three seconds.

"See?" Zephriel yelled from the sidelines. "Dead. The kid is a dud!"

The crowd began to laugh. The proctor sighed, reaching for his pen to mark a 'Fail.'

Then, the vibration started. It wasn't a hum. It was a groan—the sound of mountains grinding together.

"Wait," Wandfall whispered, standing up from his seat. "The runes... they’re turning black."

Inside the orb, a speck of white light appeared. It was so bright it looked like a hole in reality. Eldrion’s eyes widened. No, no, no! Stop! Shut it down!

He tried to pull back, but the Eye of Truth was a vacuum. It had sensed a density of power it had never encountered in its five hundred years of service and was trying to map it.

"Eldrion, let go!" Headmistress Celestria shouted, her voice echoing with alarm.

"I can't!" Eldrion yelled back, his teeth gritted. "It’s stuck!"

The white light turned violet. Then a deep, abyssal red. The air in the Colosseum became heavy, the atmospheric pressure rising so rapidly that students in the front rows began to gasp for breath. The stone floor beneath the pedestal cracked, fissures spider-webbing out toward the walls.

"The containment field is failing!" the proctor screamed, diving behind a stone pillar.

Dammit, Eldrion thought, his vision blurring. If this thing pops, it’s taking the whole arena with it.

He did the only thing he could. Instead of pulling back, he pushed. He slammed a mental "lid" over his soul, using a high-level suppression technique—the Shackle of the Seventh Void.

The sudden, violent drop in pressure was too much for the Eye. It was like flash-freezing a boiling cauldron.

CRACK.

The sound was like a lightning strike. The massive obsidian orb didn't just break; it detonated. Shards of enchanted glass sprayed in every direction, whistling through the air like shrapnel. A shockwave of raw, unaligned mana surged outward, knocking Zephriel off his feet and sending the proctor’s desk flying.

Silence fell over the Colosseum. A thick cloud of silver dust settled over the arena.

Eldrion stood at the center, his hands still hovering in the air where the orb had been. He was covered in fine dust, his clothes slightly singed, but otherwise unharmed. He blinked, looking around at the devastation.

"Oh," he said into the quiet, his voice sounding thin. "Oops."

"Oops?" Zephriel scrambled to his feet, his golden hair now a mess of gray dust. "You just destroyed a National Treasure! What did you do, you freak?"

Headmistress Celestria was over the railing in an instant, floating down to the arena floor with a grace that betrayed her panic. She ignored Zephriel, her eyes locked on Eldrion.

"Eldrion Mysthaven," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Are you injured?"

"I don't think so," Eldrion said, trying to look as confused and frightened as a sixteen-year-old should be. "I... I just touched it, and it started shaking. I think it was broken. Was it supposed to do that?"

"Broken?" Wandfall had joined them, his heavy boots thudding on the sand. He knelt by the pedestal, picking up a shard of the orb. It was scorched black. "This orb has survived the mana of three High Kings and a dozen Archmages. It doesn't just 'break'."

"Maybe it was the heat?" Eldrion suggested helpfully, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s a very hot day. Expansion and contraction, you know? Science."

"Science?" Wandfall looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing into slits. "I didn't see a light, Mysthaven. I didn't see a rank. I saw a void. And then I saw an explosion."

"I saw a light!" Eldrion lied quickly. "It was... uh... a very pale yellow? Like a weak lemon? I think I'm a Grade 1. Maybe a Grade 0.5? I told you my mana was bad."

"Grade 0.5?" Zephriel laughed, though it sounded a bit hysterical. "You blew up the Eye of Truth because your mana is so weak? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!"

"It’s possible," Celestria said, though she didn't sound convinced. "If his mana is highly unstable or 'sour,' it could have created a resonance interference with the orb’s core. It’s rare, but... documented."

"Documented in fairy tales, maybe," Wandfall muttered. He grabbed Eldrion’s wrist.

Eldrion went still. He kept his "shackles" firmly in place. To Wandfall’s magical senses, Eldrion’s veins should feel like narrow, clogged pipes with barely a trickle of muddy water moving through them.

Wandfall closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. Seconds passed. He let go, looking even more frustrated than before.

"Nothing," the Professor hissed. "It’s garbage. His circuits are a mess. There isn't enough mana in this boy to light a tavern lantern."

"Then the orb was defective," Celestria sighed, rubbing her temples. "Wonderful. Do you have any idea how much a replacement will cost the Ministry?"

"Don't look at me," Eldrion said, holding up his hands. "I’m just a guy from the borders. We don't even have fancy orbs. We use sticks and string."

"Go," Wandfall said, pointing toward the exit. "Just... go. You’re admitted by default since we can't provide a second test today. But don't think this is over, Mysthaven. I’ll be watching you in my Fundamentals class."

"I look forward to it, Professor," Eldrion said, bowing slightly.

He turned and began to walk away, feeling the eyes of every student in the Colosseum on his back. Zephriel was still shouting something about "property damage," but Eldrion didn't care.

As he reached the tunnel leading out of the arena, he felt a sharp gaze from the shadows of the corridor. Arabelle Moonwyn was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed. She had watched the whole thing.

"A weak lemon, huh?" she asked as he passed.

"Very weak," Eldrion said without stopping. "Almost flavorless."

"You’re a terrible liar, Eldrion Mysthaven," she whispered.

Eldrion kept walking until he was deep in the bowels of the Academy, far from prying ears. Only then did he allow himself to lean against a stone pillar and let out a long, shaky breath.

"That was way too close," he muttered, looking at his trembling hands. "Note to self: Next time, don't try to suppress a supernova with a paper bag."

He looked up at the ceiling, a dark glint returning to his violet eyes.

"But hey," he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. "At least I didn't have to listen to the rest of the speeches."

Behind him, back in the arena, Professor Wandfall was still staring at the shattered remains of the pedestal. He wasn't looking at the glass. He was looking at the sand.

Underneath where Eldrion had stood, the sand hadn't just been blown away. It had been turned into glass. And not just any glass—it was black, perfectly smooth, and pulsed with a faint, lingering rhythm that matched the heartbeat of a man who shouldn't exist.

"A fluke," Wandfall whispered to himself, his grip tightening on his staff. "It has to be a fluke. Because if it isn't... we’re all in a lot of trouble."