After finishing our meal, the professors began to leave the hall, their robes trailing behind them like shadows. Only the house heads remained, standing by their respective tables.

  The girl introduced as Caelyn stepped forward, her crimson-striped robes marking her as one of us. She had a confident air, her blonde hair tied neatly back and her sharp green eyes scanning us with practised ease.

  “Drakens,” she called out, her voice loud enough to carry over the remaining chatter. “I’m Caelyn, your senior and assistant to Professor Eris. I’ll be guiding you through your wand selection. The Wand Hall is located in the lower levels of the main building, away from the prying eyes of others. If there are no questions, let’s move to the wand hall, we don’t want to make others wait.”

  The stone corridors of the college stretched ahead, dimly lit by oil lamps placed at intervals along the walls. Shadows flickered and danced, cast by the wavering flames, as our group of first years followed Caelyn. Nightingales were walking in front of us, led by Professor Bloodrose, and Umbrawards on our back, led by Professor Thornveil.

  Rowan walked beside me, his expression a mixture of curiosity and excitement. He nudged me with his elbow. “Think this wand ceremony is going to be as fancy as they make it sound?”

  I shrugged. “They wouldn’t go through all this for something mundane.”

  He smirked. “Fair enough. I hope mine looks impressive. Maybe carved with runes or something.”

  “Why?” I asked dryly. “Planning to impress the ladies?”

  He chuckled, keeping his voice low. “Maybe just one or two. You know, keep my options open.”

  Behind us, Valen and Lucas were walking a few paces apart. Lucas, true to form, was grumbling under his breath.

  “This whole charade is ridiculous,” he muttered loud enough for us to hear. “A proper sorcerer should be trained with a family heirloom, not some mass-crafted wand.”

  Valen sighed, his patience wearing thin. “Not every family has the luxury of having a personalized wand for the new generation, Lucas. Besides, the laws have changed throughout the lands.”

  Lucas sniffed, unimpressed. “Laws. Yes.”

  I exchanged a glance with Rowan, who rolled his eyes. The group continued descending further into the lower levels of the college, the air growing cooler with every step. The faint hum of the feast hall above faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of our footsteps and the occasional creak of the ancient stone beneath our feet.

  Finally, we reached two massive wooden doors, tall enough to make even the towering feast hall’s doors feel small. The surface of the doors was etched with intricate runes, glowing faintly with a golden hue that pulsed like a heartbeat. Mister Mosswell, the Keeper of Laws, stood before them, his stern expression made more severe by the dim light. A large ring of ancient keys hung from his belt, clinking softly as he moved.

  Mister Mosswell turned to face us, his voice sharp and commanding. “This is the Wand Hall, a restricted area that very few are permitted to enter. This will be your first and last time here. Treat it with respect. Beyond these doors lies the legacy of centuries of craftsmanship and magic. Every wand you see here was created by the wandmakers of Lorien, designed to bond with its rightful wielder. Today, you will discover which wand will accept you. Make this moment count.”

  The room fell into silence, the weight of his words sinking in.

  Mister Mosswell turned back to the doors, pulling a key from his ring. He inserted it into the keyhole, turning it three times with deliberate slowness. The runes on the doors flared brightly, casting golden light across the hall, before a loud click echoed through the corridor. The doors creaked open, revealing nothing but pitch darkness beyond.

  The first step into the hall was taken by Professor Selvar, the head of Luminaris. His usual playful demeanor was replaced with a quiet focus. He raised his wand, whispering an incantation under his breath. The tip of his wand flared to life, emitting a soft bluish-white glow. He flicked it upwards, and the light shot toward the ceiling, exploding into hundreds of glowing orbs that scattered throughout the hall.

  As the light spread, the Wand Hall came to life before our eyes.

  Rows upon rows of tall wooden shelves stretched into the distance, on each side of the walls. Each shelf was lined with wands, laid out on velvet cloths in perfect order. The wands were of varying lengths, colours, and designs—some sleek and simple, others carved with rune patterns that glinted in the light. The orbs hovering above cast a pale, ethereal glow, illuminating the space without any visible flames.

  The very air seemed to hum with energy, a faint vibration that resonated deep in my chest. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before—an ancient power, quiet yet commanding, as if the hall itself was alive.

  Caelyn turned to us, her voice calm but firm. “Take a moment to feel this. This hall is one of the most sacred places in the college. What you feel right now is the connection between the wands and the orb in the center. Go and take seats on the steps around the orb.”

  We took the seats on the very stairs leading down to the central floor, where the orb pulsed faintly with a green-blue hue. The artifact seemed to breathe, its soft energy rippling outward and touching every shelf, every wand nestled within. It wasn’t the cold, mechanical hum of magic. It was alive, connected to the very core of the hall. The professors stood at the base of the grand hall, framed by the flickering glow of the massive orb behind them.

  Professor Selvar, seemingly indifferent to the gravity of the moment, yawned without a hint of shame, his jaw stretching wide as though the students’ watchful eyes were beneath his notice. Beside him, Professor Greenshade cast a sidelong glance, her sharp features twisting in visible disgust. She adjusted the collar of her greenish robe, its color matching the eerie shimmer of the orb, and flicked a strand of her long black hair over her shoulder with practiced annoyance.

  “Must you?” she muttered, her voice clipped, though her disapproval was evident without the words.

  Professor Selvar only smirked lazily, his narrow face half-hidden beneath a mop of disheveled gray hair. “I’ll yawn as I please, Lily,” he replied, his tone light but laced with dry humor. “It’s not my fault the students are dull enough to put even this old me to sleep.”

  At this, Professor Greenshade stiffened, her sharp gaze snapping back to the rows of students seated in front of them, on the stairs.

  Professor Bloodrose, standing to Selvar’s left, exuded a far different energy. His black robes seemed to catch the light of the orb and reflect it back, the color deepening into something akin to spilled potion. His presence was cold and commanding, the sharp angles of his face and piercing eyes cutting through the din of murmuring students with ease. When his gaze passed over a section of the crowd, the students there stiffened instinctively, their whispered conversations dying mid-sentence.

  Even Professor Thornveil, who loomed at the far right of the group, seemed imbued with a quiet authority that no amount of casual demeanour could diminish. His hulking figure was swathed in layers of black and bronze, his braided beard resting against his chest like an iron chain. Though his expression remained neutral, there was an undeniable weight to his presence, as though he were a statue carved by ancient hands, standing sentinel over the gathering.

  Professor Bloodrose stepped forward, his black robe sweeping behind him. His sharp gaze scanned the room, silencing any lingering whispers. “This is the Orb of Essence,” he said, his voice clear and commanding. “An ancient artifact left behind by the First Headmaster. It amplifies the bond between the wands and their potential wielders, allowing the right match to be found.”

  He gestured to the orb. “The process is simple. Place your hand on the orb and release a small amount of your essence. The orb will amplify the connection, and the wand meant for you will call out. You’ll know when you feel it.”

  A murmur ran through the students, a mix of nervousness and excitement.

  “To demonstrate,” Professor Bloodrose continued, “Erika Rose from Nightingale.” He gestured to a girl sitting among the Nightingale first-years. “Will you go first, Miss Rose? I will guide you.”

  Erika stood hesitantly, her brown hair tied back in a simple braid. She adjusted her glasses nervously as she stepped forward, descending the short staircase to the pedestal. The hall fell silent, all eyes on her.

  “Place your hand on the orb,” Professor Bloodrose instructed, “and focus on your essence. Let it flow naturally, like casting a spell with the tip of your fingers instead of the wand.”

  Erika nodded, her trembling hand hovering briefly before she placed it on the orb. As her palm connected with the surface, the hall seemed to shift. A soft hum, almost imperceptible at first, began to grow. The orb pulsed, sending waves of energy through the room.

  The wands responded.

  A faint chorus of hums filled the air, the sound like distant whispers carried on the wind. Shelves upon shelves began to stir as a few wands glimmered faintly, their vibrations growing louder. But one wand, resting at the front of a nearby shelf, glowed brightest of all, its hum sharp and clear, like a bell ringing in the stillness.

  Erika’s eyes snapped to it.

  Professor Bloodrose smiled faintly, gesturing. “Go on. Call it to you.”

  She extended her hand toward the wand, her fingers trembling slightly. The wand responded without hesitation, lifting from the shelf and gliding through the air toward her outstretched hand. It landed softly in her palm, as if it had been waiting for her all along.

  “Red Oak,” Professor Bloodrose said, stepping closer to examine it. “Core of Basilisk Fang. A well balanced wand, strong in both offense and defense.”

  He stepped back, gesturing for her to try it. “Now, cast a basic energy spell. Don’t think too hard. The wand knows you.”

  Erika nodded, her grip on the wand tightening. She raised it, tracing a simple pattern in the air before uttering, “Vistros!”

  A small but sharp burst of energy shot from the wand’s tip, traveling straight toward Bloodrose. With a flick of his own wand, he deflected the spell effortlessly, sending it into the floor where it fizzled out harmlessly.

  “Well done,” he said, his tone approving for first time. “No backlash, no instability. This wand is yours, Miss Rose. Congratulations.”

  The hall erupted into soft murmurs, the students buzzing with excitement. Even Rowan, sitting beside me, leaned forward eagerly.

  “That was incredible,” he whispered. “Imagine having something like that in your hand.”

  Every student sat at the edge of their seats, leaning forward as the first demonstration concluded. The sight of a wand flying into someone’s hand and the way it felt so naturally attuned to them—it was like watching a moment of destiny unfold. But then came Professor Thornveil, his strict and commanding presence shrouding the room with a newfound tension.

  He stepped forward, his thick, battle-scarred hands clasped behind his back, his dark grey robes embroidered with the sigil of Umbrawards swishing slightly as he moved. His voice boomed across the hall, heavy with authority.

  "Umbrawards! Step forward!"

  From the second row of the stairs, a boy leapt up. His eagerness was obvious—he practically ran down to the stairs, nearly stumbling in his excitement. He had pale skin, a thin frame, and the kind of nervous energy that made you think he was either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish.

  Professor Thornveil eyed him with the same intensity as a hawk would a rabbit. “Place your hand on the orb,” he ordered. His tone left no room for questions or hesitation.

  The boy obeyed, pressing his trembling hand against the glowing surface. A pulse of light rippled outward, filling the room with a low hum. From somewhere deep within the labyrinth of shelves, wands began to vibrate, their resonance a soft chorus of possibilities. A few hummed louder than others, and one in particular seemed to call out like a beacon, shaking free from its resting place.

  The wand flew through the air, landing in the boy’s outstretched hand with a soft thud. It was an older wand, its surface slightly worn, with faint runes carved into the wood. The boy’s grin stretched ear to ear, his excitement almost tangible.

  “An Ironwood,” Thornveil said, stepping closer. There was a strange edge to his tone, as though he wasn’t entirely pleased. “Strong. Durable. A wand that once belonged to a master sorcerer.”

  The boy’s grin faltered for a moment, noticing the subtle concern in Thornveil’s eyes. “But it hummed the loudest, Professor,” he said, clutching the wand tighter.

  Thornveil’s lips thinned. “Powerful wands demand powerful wielders. Are you sure you’re ready to handle it?”

  “I am,” the boy replied quickly, his confidence almost defiant.

  From the corner of the floor, Professor Selvar chuckled, the playful sound breaking the tension. His wand twirling idly between his fingers.

  “Careful now, Professor Thornveil,” Selvar said, his voice light but edged with humor. “You’ll scare the poor boy before he’s had a chance to hurt himself. Being overprotective can limit their growth.”

  Thornveil shot him a glare but said nothing. Instead, he gestured for the boy to proceed. “Very well. Try it. Cast a simple spell. Let’s see if your confidence is well-placed.”

  The boy squared his shoulders, holding the wand with both hands. He stepped forward, planting his feet firmly, his eyes locking on Thornveil’s raised wand. With a deep breath, he traced the spell’s pattern in the air, his voice echoing through the hall.

  “Vistros!”

  The wand’s tip flared with a sudden, violent light, and the spell shot forth like a bolt of raw energy. But the force was too much. The recoil sent the boy flying backward, tumbling across the polished stone floor with a grunt of pain. The wand clattered to the ground beside him, still vibrating faintly.

  The spell itself was immense—more powerful than any basic force spell had a right to be. Thornveil had to brace himself as he deflected it with his own wand, the impact sending a dull boom reverberating through the hall. A faint crack appeared in the stone where the spell struck, and several students gasped.

  Selvar, ever the mischievous one, laughed openly this time. “Well, that’s one way to test durability!”

  Thornveil ignored him, his heavy boots echoing as he approached the boy, who was still groaning on the floor. He extended a hand, helping him to his feet. “And that,” he said, his voice low but firm, “is what happens when overconfidence meets reality.”

  The boy’s face burned with embarrassment as he cradled his trembling right hand. The Ironwood wand lay forgotten on the floor behind him.

  “Go on,” Thornveil said, gesturing toward the shelves. “Try again. Choose a wand that resonates with you—not one that tries to overpower you.”

  The boy hesitated, glancing back at the Ironwood wand as though it had betrayed him. But he nodded, stepping in from. This time, he extends his hand in the front direction of the hall. Where mostly new wands are present.

  Another wand hummed softly, floating gently into his hand. It was a slender wand, pale in color, with a faint shimmer that suggested a Willow wood. The boy glanced at Thornveil, who gave a curt nod.

  “Now try again,” Thornveil instructed.

  The boy raised the new wand, his movements slower, more precise. He traced the same pattern, his voice quieter this time. “Vistros.”

  The force spell that emerged was smaller, more controlled. It sailed forward with steady precision, striking Thornveil’s raised wand harmlessly.

  “Better,” Thornveil said. “A wand that matches your essence will amplify your strengths, not expose your weaknesses. Remember that.”

  The boy nodded, his shoulders relaxing as he returned to his seat. The Ironwood wand floated back to its original place, retreating into the depths of the shelves.

  The tension in the room eased slightly, though the lesson lingered in the air. Rowan leaned over to me, whispering under his breath. “Did you see that first blast? Nearly knocked the soul out of him.”

  I smirked. “Good thing Professor Thornveil was there to stop it. Otherwise, we’d be scraping him off the floor.”

  Valen, sitting on his other side, added quietly, “That’s the problem with people who only care about power. They don’t understand what it takes to wield it.”

  Lucas, seated a few steps above us, scoffed. “The boy was just an idiot. A true sorcerer would’ve mastered any wand on the first try.”

  Rowan shot him a glare but held his tongue. The room was already settling down for the next selection.

  Caelyn called out, “Drakens. Step forward.” Her voice echoed through the glowing chamber, laced with quiet authority that left little room for hesitation.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Lucas stand abruptly, his smug expression firmly plastered across his face as he adjusted his perfectly tailored crimson-striped robes. “Let me show you peasants how it’s done,” he said with a smirk, his voice loud enough to draw a few chuckles from some of the other Drakens.

  Rowan muttered under his breath beside me, “I already want to break that wand before he even gets it.”

  I gave him a side glance and replied, “If it explodes in his face, that’ll save us the trouble.”

  Lucas strode confidently toward the Orb, his polished boots clicking against the stone floor as he approached. Every move he made seemed deliberate, calculated to show off his airs of superiority. He reached the orb, placed his hand on it, and the room seemed to hold its breath.

  The orb pulsed immediately, sending out a wave of energy that filled the hall. The hum of countless wands reverberated around us like a chorus, each resonating in response to his essence. From the front section, where the newer wands sat, to the midsection with its rarer pieces, and even faintly from the back section, the wands that once belonged to powerful sorcerers in the past.

  He extended his hand toward the midsection, and a sleek, dark wand came soaring toward him, landing effortlessly in his outstretched palm. Its polished surface gleamed faintly under the floating lights, and its presence alone seemed to command attention.

  Before Caelyn could say a word, Professor Selvar suddenly stepped forward, his enthusiasm breaking the air of formality. “You, my boy, are incredibly lucky!” he exclaimed, his sharp features lighting up with excitement as he gestured toward the wand in Lucas’s hand.

  “That,” Selvar said, pointing at the wand, “is the Weaver Wand. Nightshade oak and a core of Phantom Weaver, a spider-like creature from the forbidden land. A rare wand, one that excels in illusion and shadow magic. A true treasure.” He chuckled to himself before gesturing toward Lucas. “Come. Let me test you.”

  Lucas shot a quick glance toward Caelyn, seeking her approval, and she gave him a small nod. He stepped forward confidently, gripping the wand tightly as Selvar moved to the far side of the floor.

  “Let’s see what this beauty can do,” Selvar said with a grin, his own wand already in his hand.

  Lucas raised his wand, his movements smooth and fluid. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he traced a pattern into the air and shouted, “Vistros!”

  The wand responded instantly. A surge of dark, shadow-like energy erupted from its tip, powerful and stable, streaking toward Selvar with alarming speed. Selvar, ever the showman, dodged the spell with a graceful sidestep, letting it crash into the ground behind him. The impact was strong enough to shake the floor slightly, leaving a faint scorch mark on the stone.

  “Brilliant!” Selvar said, clapping his hands together with a laugh. “Absolutely brilliant! It’s a pity you’re a Draken. If you were Lumin, I’d have personally taken you under my wing. Professor Eris is truly lucky to have you.”

  Lucas smirked, his ego swelling visibly as he walked back to the group. His eyes flicked toward Rowan and me, a clear message in his gaze: one step ahead.

  Rowan leaned closer to me, muttering, “That bastard just had to rub it in. We need to one-up him.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I nodded faintly, keeping my eyes fixed on the next round.

  The ceremony continued, moving through other houses and students. A few minor misfires here and there, but no accidents like before. When Drakens were called again, it was Lyssa who stood this time.

  She hesitated for a moment, but with a reassuring smile from Sera and Alina, she made her way down to the floor. The three girls seemed to have a quiet camaraderie that reminded me of Rowan and myself, though much more civil.

  Lyssa approached the orb, her hands trembling slightly as she placed them on its surface. The energy wave that pulsed out from the orb felt… cold. A sharp chill ran through the hall, and for a moment, even the professors seemed to shift uncomfortably.

  Multiple wands hummed in response to her essence—wands from all sections of the hall, including the back section, where the most dangerous and powerful wands were stored. The tension in the room heightened as Lyssa extended her hand toward the back section.

  A wand flew toward her, its surface a pale white, crooked and slightly uneven. It had an otherworldly appearance, its handle wrapped in what looked like frost.

  “Glacierpine,” Professor Greenshade said, stepping forward. “With a core of Ice Wyrm. A rare find. They say it was carved from the frozen pines of the northern elven territories, imbued with the essence of a creature once feared across the lands.”

  Caelyn stepped closer to Lyssa, her tone soft but firm. “Want to give it a try?”

  Lyssa hesitated, then nodded, gripping the wand tighter.

  Professor Bloodrose stepped forward this time, his expression serious. “I’ll handle this one. Miss Fade, stand back. This could be unpredictable.”

  Lyssa raised the wand, her lips forming the words of the spell. “Vistros.”

  The energy that erupted from her wand was cold, a silvery-blue force that sailed through the air with precision. Bloodrose deflected it easily, but where the spell struck the ground, frost spread across the stone, leaving it frozen solid.

  “Well done,” Bloodrose said, his tone begrudgingly approving. “That wand will serve you well, but do not expect it to handle fire magic. Its nature is far too cold for that.”

  Lyssa exhaled in relief, a faint smile crossing her face as she returned to her seat. Sera and Alina were quick to embrace her, giggling softly at her success.

  The ceremony continued.

  When it was Rowan’s turn, he walked to the floor with a confidence that only he could muster, a grin plastered across his face as if this were a game. The orb reacted strongly to him, and though many wands hummed in response, one from the midsection stood out. It flew into his hand, its surface a dark, polished ashwood.

  “Ashwood from Stonehaven ruins, with a core of Heartstone,” Bloodrose announced, nodding approvingly. Rowan’s first spell was executed perfectly, the wand humming with satisfaction as it settled into his grasp.

  He returned to his seat beaming, whispering to me, “Even with that bastard.”

  The ceremony dragged on, wand after wand finding its master, each pairing marked by cheers, gasps, or the occasional heavy silence when a student failed to summon a wand at all. The hour stretched endlessly, the excitement waning as more students stepped forward, leaving fewer of us to linger on the stairs.

  By the time Alina rose from her seat, the quiet tension around us felt almost suffocating. Her boots clicked softly against the stone as she descended, her posture straight but not rigid. Purposeful.

  “She’ll be fine,” Rowan muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “It’s Alina. She’s got this.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Alina’s strength wasn’t in raw power or natural charisma but in an unyielding drive that never let her fail. Still, as she approached the Orb, I caught a flicker of doubt in her hazel eyes—a rare crack in her armor.

  The air shifted subtly when she placed her hand on the Orb of Essence, its energy stirring the room in a way that was almost imperceptible. A faint hum resonated through the shelves. A wand from the front section responded first, trembling on its velvet cushion before it launched into the air, sleek and polished, its simplicity a testament to its craftsmanship.

  But before it could reach her, another wand shot forth from the middle section—sleek, elegant, and glowing faintly with a silver sheen. The air seemed to still as both wands hovered before her, as though the very essence of the hall was deciding. A ripple of murmurs spread through the room, drawing even the professors’ focused attention.

  “What the—” Rowan started, only to catch himself, his voice trailing off in disbelief.

  Alina froze, her composure faltering for a brief second before she straightened. Two wands. Two choices. Neither entirely hers, yet neither willing to release her either.

  “Interesting,” murmured Professor Bloodrose as he strode forward, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. “Test them both. Let the wands speak to you. Choose the one that feels… right.”

  Alina nodded, though the tightness in her jaw betrayed her discomfort. With deliberate care, she reached for the first wand—the more modest one. It sparked faintly in her grasp, golden light glimmering along its surface, but its reaction was subdued. Unremarkable.

  Then she extended her hand toward the second wand. As her fingers closed around the polished wood, a faint shimmer of silver danced along its grain, mingling with the moonstone embedded at the base. The response wasn’t dramatic—no bursts of fire or cascading winds—but it was profound. The connection was undeniable. Even I could feel it, like the hum of a distant storm.

  Professor Bloodrose stepped closer, his sharp gaze narrowing on the wand. “Silvervine wood,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Core of moonstone. Rare. Meticulous. A wand of precision.”

  His eyes flicked to Alina, unreadable. “Well, Miss Eveline? Have you made your choice?”

  She hesitated for only a moment before picking a wand. “This one,” she said, holding up the silvervine wand. Her voice was calm but carried an edge of certainty.

  After testing with perfect compatibility, returned to the stairs, Sera immediately leaned toward her, her light blue eyes alight with curiosity. “Silvervine,” she said, brushing her fingers over the wand’s surface as Alina sat. “Rare wood. Grows only in the southern forests of Lorien. And a moonstone core? That’s precision magic—perfect for alchemy.”

  Alina shrugged, though the faint tug at her lips betrayed her pride. “The wand chose me. I’m simply returning the favor.”

  Rowan leaned closer, elbowing me. “You should go next. Wands won’t bite you. Look how we have got ours.”

  I rolled my eyes, though my heart tightened. He wasn’t wrong; only Valen and I were left. But my instincts were screaming at me, telling me it wouldn’t end well. I can only delay the inevitable.

  The ceremony wore on, the earlier buzz of excitement settling into a subdued hum. Most of the students now clutched wands in their hands, their initial triumphs giving way to quiet murmurs and stolen glances. Those still unchosen were scattered across the hall like remnants of a feast, their tension palpable.

  Rowan, of course, couldn’t keep still. He jabbed my side for the fourth time, his brown eyes flicking between me and Valen, the grin on his face deliberately forced. “Stop brooding and get going.”

  “I’m not brooding,” I said flatly, though the stiffness in my shoulders betrayed me. I wasn’t sure what I dreaded more—my turn or Valen’s. Both carried their own kind of weight.

  Valen sits apart from me, leaning against the edge of the stairs. The warm glow of the floating lights caught the fiery strands of his ember-red hair, but his posture was rigid, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. His foot tapped an irregular rhythm against the stone floor—a subtle giveaway of his nerves, though his expression remained unreadable.

  Nearby, Alina and Lyssa whispered to Sera, coaxing her to take her turn. Sera waved them off with a polite smile, tucking a silver strand of hair behind her ear as she deflected their insistence.

  And then, without warning, Rowan took it upon himself to decide. “Come on, Valen,” he said, clapping him on the back with enough force to make anyone stumble. “No one’s going to laugh if the wands hate you. Except maybe Lucas—but then you can just punch him.”

  Valen shot him a sharp look, but Rowan’s grin remained unrepentant. After a beat, Valen stood from the steps, stepping forward with slow, deliberate strides. He didn’t need Rowan’s encouragement, but it gave him an excuse to move.

  The noise in the hall softened, a wave of quiet following his steps as he descended toward the Orb. All eyes followed him now, tension rising like the weight of a storm.

  Caelyn, standing to the side of the Orb, raised a hand to indicate where he should stand. Her voice was clear and steady. “Place your hand.”

  Valen hesitated for the briefest moment before complying. His palm settled on the surface, and the light within the Orb flickered, dimming before igniting with a faint, fiery glow. It pulsed like a living ember, flames twisting softly inside the glass.

  A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room. Even the professors, scattered along the edges of the floor, exchanged glances. The Orb rarely responded like this, and when it did, it meant one thing: raw strength. It happened before with Lyssa and Lucas and few others from different houses.

  Beside me, Rowan’s grin faltered, his usual air of levity dimming as he sat forward. Even Lucas looked serious, his green eyes narrowing as he leaned slightly closer.

  But something was wrong.

  When Valen looked at the wands, only a handful stirred. Two, perhaps three—and not from the front or middle sections where most students’ matches waited. No, the wands that responded were from the farthest shelves—the section reserved for the temperamental and the dangerous.

  A ripple of laughter broke the silence, low but sharp enough to cut through the moment. “Doesn’t look like they’re lining up to choose you,” someone muttered, and my hands curled into fists at my sides.

  Valen ignored the comment—or pretended to. His jaw tightened, and his movements were deliberate as he extended a hand toward the back shelves. A single wand stirred, lifting into the air as though drawn reluctantly.

  It flew toward him, landing in his outstretched hand with a soft but weighty finality. The wand was unlike any I’d ever seen—its surface charred and cracked, as though it had been forged in a dragon’s breath. Faint embers glowed in the fissures, flickering orange and red, as though the wand itself still burned.

  Professor Bloodrose stepped forward, his dark robe sweeping across the floor. His sharp gaze locked onto Valen with an intensity that made the air around him feel heavier. “Your name,” he said, his voice low and measured.

  “Valen Leonhart,” Valen replied, gripping the wand tighter as if bracing himself for something unseen.

  A strange expression crossed Bloodrose’s face—curiosity mixed with something deeper. “Ah,” he murmured, half to himself. “A Leonhart. Of course.”

  Straightening, Bloodrose addressed the hall with his usual commanding tone. “This wand was forged from Firewood, burned in the flames of an ancient creature—a Flame Dragon. It was crafted for Elyndra Leonhart, one of the First Five students of this academy.” His gaze settled back on Valen. “The core is Tears of Ember, drawn from the flame dragon itself. It is a wand of immense power, but it has rejected every wielder since her. There is no guarantee it will accept you. Try it.”

  Valen nodded, though his expression was taut. He raised the wand, tracing a motion through the air with careful precision. “Vistros,” he commanded.

  The spell erupted from the wand in a surge of fiery energy, brilliant but chaotic. Flames ignited along the wand’s cracks, searing his hand as the magic surged wildly. Valen flinched, his grip faltering, the angry red burns on his skin a testament to the wand’s temper.

  Bloodrose deflected the spell effortlessly, the energy dissipating harmlessly against the far wall. A faint scorch mark remained on the floor, the scent of smoke lingering in the air.

  Valen dropped the wand, shaking his injured hand. The charred wood pulsed faintly where it lay on the stone, the embers in its cracks glowing with an almost defiant life.

  “It’s a pity,” Bloodrose said, his tone heavy with disappointment. “That wand belonged to one of the first five sorcerers in history, a gift from the first Headmaster. Her strength still remains unmatched. It seems the wand still waits for someone worthy.”

  With a flick of his wrist, Bloodrose summoned a plain black wand from the shelves. He tossed it toward Valen, who caught it awkwardly. “Use this for now. A testing wand. Your house head will decide your next steps upon her return.”

  Valen nodded and turned back toward us, his face carefully blank. But I recognized the look of someone holding themselves together by a thread.

  To my surprise, Lucas broke the silence first. “It’s not your fault,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically light. “That wand isn’t made for anyone alive. Even the others probably couldn’t handle your magic—better to reject you outright than be destroyed.”

  A faint chuckle escaped Valen, weak but genuine. “Thanks, Lucas.”

  Rowan leaned over, muttering to me, “I hate to admit it, but he’s right. For once.”

  Another wave of students followed Valen’s misstep. His so-called failure, if that’s what we were calling it, seemed to spur the others forward like a gust stoking embers. They moved with hurried steps, eager to prove their magic wouldn’t falter. As though faster movements or more confidence could erase the memory of Valen’s singed hand and the furious, pulsing wand left abandoned on the floor.

  I stood at the edge of the hall, arms crossed, watching as houses were called. Rowan shifted beside me, restless and impatient. I ignored him, focusing instead on the students who ventured forward one by one, their fates determined in moments.

  Then Sera stood from behind. With her silver-white hair catching the soft light of the floating orbs, she moved to the center of the floor with a calm, deliberate stride. Each step seemed purposeful, as if she had already claimed the space in her mind. Lyssa murmured something encouraging behind me, and Alina tilted her head, her sharp eyes already analyzing the scene.

  Sera placed her hand on the orb, her pale fingers steady against its glass surface. A hush fell over the hall, the kind that made the air feel heavier, expectant. The orb’s light flickered faintly before surging to life, blazing brightly enough to cast long shadows across the stone floor. The glow spilled over Sera’s composed expression, illuminating her features like a statue carved from marble.

  “Of course the elf gets to show off,” Rowan muttered, low enough for only me to hear. His tone lacked its usual sarcasm; if anything, it carried an undercurrent of admiration.

  I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

  The wands responded instantly. A soft hum filled the air, vibrating through the hall like the first note of a symphony. Over a dozen wands trembled on their shelves, several shifting forward slightly, drawn to her essence. Most were from the front and middle rows, but one, tucked away near the far end of the display, began to hum faintly.

  Sera’s light blue eyes scanned the rows of wands. She didn’t hesitate. Her hand extended toward the glowing wand at the back, as though it had called to her by name. The wand flew through the air, elegant and certain, landing lightly in her grasp. Its sleek, silver-white surface shimmered faintly, golden lines tracing intricate patterns along its length—curves that reminded me of flowing water.

  “Interesting,” Professor Thornveil murmured, stepping forward. His sharp gaze locked on the wand as if it held secrets only he could uncover. “That’s… the First Wand. One of the very few wands wielded by the First Five Students. The previous headmaster wielded that.”

  A ripple of whispers broke through the students, buzzing like restless bees. Even the professors exchanged glances, their usually composed expressions betraying intrigue.

  “The First Wand?” Rowan whispered beside me. “Sounds dramatic.”

  Professor Thornveil ignored the murmurs, his focus fixed on Sera. “That wand was mad from a branch of the Elder Tree. Its core is the essence of Sylvavoris, a creature of great antiquity.” His voice dipped lower, reverent. “An ancient beast, colossal and deer-like, its body resembling living wood. Flowers bloom from its antlers, and its breath carries the scent of spring. Elder Wood wands are unmatched in precision and connection to nature—a fitting match for someone of elven blood.”

  Sera inclined her head, her expression as composed as ever, though the faintest glimmer of pride lit her eyes.

  Caelyn stepped forward. “Let’s see it in action.”

  Sera raised the wand, the movement practiced and fluid, her silver hair falling like a curtain over her shoulders. Her voice was steady as she traced a precise arc through the air. “Vistros!”

  The wand responded immediately. A shimmering sphere of energy, golden and perfectly formed, shot from its tip with quiet precision. It wasn’t wild or explosive, like Valen’s attempt had been; it was controlled, graceful, and undeniably powerful. Caelyn deflected the spell with a casual flick of her own wand, the energy dissipating into a ripple of harmless light. The stone floor bore no scorch marks, no cracks—only the faintest trace of displaced air.

  “Perfect control,” Caelyn said, her tone cool but approving. “Few can wield that level of precision. Congratulations.”

  Sera’s lips curved into a faint smile as she inclined her head once more. She stepped back toward our group, her steps just as composed as before. Lyssa greeted her with a warm smile, while Alina gave her an approving nod. Sera giggled softly as she rejoined them, the brief moment of success loosening her poise just enough for a quiet exchange of whispers among the girls.

  The ceremony moved on, but the air still carried the glow of her triumph. Other houses were called, students stepping forward with varied results, thinning the crowd further.

  Rowan leaned closer to me, his voice cutting into my thoughts. “Only a few left, Einar. You should go next.”

  “Not yet,” I said, keeping my voice steady, though my stomach churned at the thought.

  “There’s no point in waiting,” he replied, his grin teasing but edged with encouragement. “Unless you’re hoping to bore the wands into picking you.”

  “Rowan,” I said sharply, turning to glare at him, “shut up.”

  The hall was filled with whispers and murmurs as I stood, summoned by Caelyn’s sharp call. “Draken. Step forward.”

  The air felt colder somehow, heavier. I could feel their eyes on me—Rowan, Alina, Valen, Lucas, and the rest. Each step I took down the stone steps felt heavier than the last, my doubts whispering louder with every footfall. What if no wand chooses me? The question gnawed at my thoughts. What if the magic runs wild again? What if…

  “Don’t let us down, peasant,” Lucas called, his voice carrying a smugness that grated against my nerves.

  I ignored him, gripping the small amulet around my neck as I descended. Its cold surface pressed into my palm, a calming anchor. I muttered under my breath, so low only I could hear it, “Valeria…”

  When I reached the floor, the orb loomed before me, a silent judge. The faint hum of magic hung in the air, muted compared to the lively hums I’d heard for others.

  Caelyn’s voice broke the silence, “Touch the orb.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the others. Rowan was clasping his hands together like he was muttering a prayer. Alina leaned forward, her hazel eyes narrowing in focus. Lyssa and Sera sat frozen, their gazes locked on me. Lucas had that insufferable smirk, like he was already planning to laugh at my failure. Valen… his face was unreadable, but there was tension in his posture.

  I reached out and placed my palm on the Orb of Essence. For several seconds, nothing happened. The silence became suffocating.

  Caelyn’s tone was calm. “Release your essence, like you’re casting a spell.”

  I tried to focus, but the doubts screamed louder. My grip on the amulet tightened. Then I closed my eyes, shut everything else out, and exhaled. A slow, steady release of my essence began, hesitant at first, like a flicker of light in darkness.

  And then the orb reacted—but not how I’d expected.

  The faint light within it vanished. It turned pitch black, as if my essence had consumed the light entirely. The darkness inside the orb seemed to spread, devouring everything around it. The room grew unnaturally cold.

  Professor Bloodrose was the first to react, his wand raised instinctively. “What’s happening?” His voice was sharp, his gaze wary.

  Professor Selvar stepped forward, grabbing Bloodrose’s arm. “Stop. Let it finish.” His usual playful demeanor was replaced with seriousness.

  Murmurs erupted among the students, gasps of awe and fear echoing through the hall. Then, all at once, the wands began to hum. All of them.

  The hum started faintly, like a distant vibration, then grew louder, filling the hall with a resonant, otherworldly sound. Every shelf, from the newest wands in the front to the ancient relics in the back, responded. It was like the entire hall was alive, shaking in response to me.

  The students turned their heads, their faces a mix of awe and unease. Sera’s lips parted as she whispered something to Lyssa. Rowan looked at me with wide eyes, his usual grin replaced with disbelief. Valen’s face was pale, his hand gripping the edge of his seat. Even Lucas—arrogant, self-assured Lucas—looked shaken, his smirk wiped clean.

  “Silence!” Professor Selvar’s voice boomed, cutting through the chaos. The hall fell silent except for the hum of the wands. His sharp gaze locked onto me. “What are you? You can’t be human.”

  I met his gaze, my voice steady but cold. “I’m still searching for that answer. And that’s what lead me here.”

  Selvar chuckled softly, though his expression remained guarded. “Interesting. Very well, then. Choose. I’m curious to see what wand will dare align with you.”

  I exhaled, releasing the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My hand stretched toward the shelves, scanning the wands. Many hummed, their vibrations pulling at my senses. But one stood out—a wand from the back section, buried among the relics of the past.

  It flew toward me, spinning gracefully through the air before landing in my hand. The moment I touched it, I felt its weight, its power—raw and ancient. The wood was charred black, its surface uneven, as though it had been through fire and ruin.

  “That wand…” Valen’s voice was barely audible, but I caught it. His eyes were locked on the wand, his expression a mixture of fear and recognition.

  Professor Selvar’s gaze sharpened. “That’s Elyndra Leonhart’s wand. You want to give it a try after Mister Leonhart over there?”

  The murmurs resumed, louder this time. I could feel the weight of their stares, the questions hanging in the air.

  Caelyn stepped forward cautiously. “Are you sure about this one? There are plenty of others.”

  I nodded, gripping the wand tightly. “This will work. If this one doesn’t, no other will.”

  Selvar’s grin returned, though it carried a sharp edge. “Fair enough. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  He moved to the far end of the floor, raising his wand in preparation. I stood there, feeling the weight of the wand in my hand. It was heavier than I expected, its energy pulsing faintly against my palm.

  I inhaled deeply, letting the essence flow through me. The wand responded, humming with a low, almost menacing vibration. I traced the spell pattern in the air, my movements precise, deliberate. Then I shouted, “Vistros!”

  The energy that erupted from the wand was like the one I had seen erupting from my hands one the day massacre happened. It was a red bolt of lightning, wild and untamed. My magic. The crackling energy shot forward, splitting the air with a deafening roar.

  Selvar’s grin faltered for the briefest moment as he raised his wand to deflect it. The impact sent him stumbling back a step, his boots scraping against the stone floor. The bolt ricocheted off his wand and struck the ground, leaving a deep, jagged crack in the stone.

  The hall was silent, the echoes of the spell fading into the distance. I looked down at the wand in my hand, noticing the faint cracks forming along its charred surface.

  Selvar straightened, brushing off his robes. His grin returned, wider this time. “Impressive. I’ve never seen a first-year cast with that much power. Not since…” He trailed off, his eyes glinting with unspoken thoughts. “Well, you’ll need a proper wand to handle that magic. This one’s already breaking. Don’t worry, you have come to the right place for answers, though it may take you some time to find them.”

  I dropped the wand, its cracked surface falling to the ground with a dull thud. Selvar extended his hand, summoning a plain black wand to himself before tossing it to me. “Use this for now. Your house head, Professor Eris, will help you find something more fitting.”

  As I returned to my seat, the silence in the hall was palpable. Every gaze followed me, though no one spoke. Finally, Rowan broke the tension, leaning toward me with a grin. “Well, at least you didn’t explode. That’s progress.”

  Alina nodded, her expression serious. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You didn’t just choose a wand—it felt like every wand in the hall wanted you.”

  “Or feared him,” Lyssa muttered softly, her amethyst eyes fixed on me.

  “That could be possible, remember, wands are alive too,” Sera muttered softly.

  The ceremony continued, but I felt their stares still lingering. Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t normal. I knew my magic would cause something, but after knowing what it caused, my mind unrest.

  The wand ceremony concluded with a few other students' selections and Professor Bloodrose's encouraging words for the young sorcerers. The grandeur of the hall was fading from memory as we filed out behind Caelyn, the dim light of the hall shrinking with each step.

  I turned back just once, watching as the glowing orbs on the ceiling flickered and went out, plunging the ancient room into pitch blackness. The massive stone doors creaked shut behind us with finality, the weight of their seal lingering like a locked vault.

  Mister Mosswell was gone, likely off to enforce some rule or deal with a wandering student. The corridors above the basement were bustling, filled with first-years holding their newly chosen wands like precious treasures.