The Magister waved them off, his beard twitching with amusement. "And yet..." His grin widened. "You should have suffered more injuries. The students would be delighted to practice on you."
A growl rumbled from an alcove, slicing through the air. "They do not practice," a voice declared, sharp as a scalpel. "They heal."
The Magister barely suppressed a chuckle. "Ah, there he is. The esteemed Magister-Healer, reminding us all that his students save lives—" he paused, smirking, "—even after nearly ending them."
A man in dark green robes, heavy with gilded embroidery, stormed out, scowling. "Edict take you, old windy goat."
"And yet," the Magister replied, "you descend to fecal humor when reprimanding me."
An incoherent growl. The healer vanished. The jokes landed. Everyone laughed. But Aaron watched the old man’s eyes. Too quick. Too sharp. This was a performance.
Aaron stayed silent. Amusing, sure—but calculated.... The old man’s watching reactions, reading faces. Likes knowing exactly how far he can push someone.
He glanced sideways. Openmouthed, wide-eyed faces stared back. Guess this is serious after all.
The Magister noticed. "Bah. You shall not worry. An Edict of Chains shall strike that cranky old butcher should he act against you." He nodded, smug. For a moment, his eyes turned to flint. Scary old man.
"As for little old me… I am protected from a healer's attention in more than one way." He winked. "Now, follow me. I have heard of your record in the Trial of Will." He turned without waiting. "You must tell me—how did you cross the river? I wager it is a bookworm’s tale."
Aaron fell in step. Not a harmless grandfather. Smart, friendly, powerful. Dangerous. But comforting, somehow. The others—I have seen their dark sides. Not used to them.
Rhea hesitated. Even Erais’s arrogance faded into confusion—her mouth still hung open. Theon followed with slow, measured steps. The others trailed behind.
"Well?" The old man glanced back. Theon stayed silent. Guess it’s my chance to piss off grandpa. If there are rules, I don’t know them. But Theon’s staying quiet, so… guess I’ll go for it.
"We reached the river early in the morning. It had flooded badly..." The old man laughed often, the sound carrying easily. "And we hid under the canopy. Then we just swam across." Not talking about that battle. No way.
"Well done. Worthy of a Sage, if you ask me." He nodded, eyes gleaming. They walked down a corridor lit by a band of small crystals in the ceiling. Looks like magical lighting.
Aaron paused mid-step. No. This is not possible.
He glanced up, expecting torchlight or glowing runes. Instead, a clean, cold luminescence lined the ceiling—too smooth. Too precise. He stopped mid-step.
Not crystals. Not fire. His eyes narrowed. The glow had the sterile clarity of— LEDs. Embedded in stone. He squinted, making out the faint structure of diodes. A chill ran down his spine. Magitech? Or something else?
Belatedly, he realized he had stopped. Rhea and Theon looked at him with quiet resignation. Erais seemed genuinely puzzled, as though she had never seen anyone stare at a lamp in shocked fascination.
The old mage tilted his head. "Ah, yes. The artificer lights. A terrible waste of such a mage’s time. However, my colleague insists upon certain standards in the Trial. Do continue, if you do not mind."
His friendly expression remained unreadable. Aaron nodded. I cannot keep staring at every magical or technological item I stumble across.
A few dozen steps down the tunnel, Aaron furrowed his brow. This mage knew about the Trial of Will. Only a few slaves, the alien and the mind-mage saw what we did. The mind-mage—my companions can not remember.
Either word of mouth travels fast here, or… Aaron hesitated. He had to ask—even if it was a mistake. "Magister," he said carefully, "what has the Mind Mage told you about how we finished the Trial of Will?"
The old man’s step faltered—just for a fraction of a second. His head twitched, the only sign of a misstep. Then, he chuckled. "Young Xandros, you must be confused. I do not"—his beard twitched with amusement—"recall any Mind Mage."
Another twitch. Aaron felt Theon’s gaze on his back. He turned and shrugged at the still-confused faces. He knows. He could not resist making a joke. Either he is genuine in his humor or trying to make others believe he is. He is scary.
They reached a hall. Orange and yellow-robed attendants ushered Erais and Theon towards a backroom. Red fluid enveloped the caretakers’ hands. Free and magical healthcare. Take that, America.
The hall opened into a wide chamber. Tables groaned under the weight of a feast—not just tempting because he was hungry, but genuinely the kind of spread expected at a medieval banquet.
Roasted birds glistened beside bowls of grapes. Cheeses, sliced into delicate portions, lay beside skewers ready for the taking. Two slaves bustled around a table occupied by six young adults. The diners barely seemed to notice. Service personnel often goes unnoticed back home. But here? Slaves might as well not exist.
The aroma of roasted meat stirred his hunger—until a sour taste rose in his throat. Slaves prepared this food. But I still need to eat. And I kinda want to. Does that make me a bad person?
Aaron approached the table where the old man was helping himself to an impressive meal. Rhea followed, her posture stiffly professional. "Ah, I quite enjoyed your story. I believe we shall speak again," the old man said with a smirk. "Unless someone forgets it."
He winked and vanished down the corridor, his haul in hand. Aaron watched him disappear around a bend. He never gave us his name. Too late now. Let’s see.
The laughter faded. Plates clinked. Aaron wiped blood from his temple with the napkin.
Then froze. Aaron turned to Rhea. "Rhea, do you remember the bearded mage?" No clue what I’ll do if I keep talking to people everyone insists weren’t there. Tends to be a bad sign.
Rhea frowned. "Yes? Why would I not? He was very courteous."
Aaron studied her face. "But you still do not remember the mind-mage on the hill?"
Her brow creased. "What mind-mage? What are you talking about?" She gave him a look. Aaron’s stomach twisted. No. This isn’t happening.
"Rhea... you don’t remember?" His voice cracked. "We discussed mind magic after the Trial of Will."
She tilted her head, expression unreadable. "We never discussed mind magic."
Cold dread crawled up his spine. No. That cannot be right. She has to remember. Unless— What if the mind-mage erased more than just their presence? Entire conversations? Entire thoughts?
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
An anti-meme? Or something worse—something that devours ideas themselves? His pulse hammered. Holy hell. Not just powerful. Terrifying.
Rhea’s serious expression cracked. Then she burst out laughing. "You should have seen your face," she wheezed. "Of course I remember your paranoia. That was too good."
Aaron closed his eyes and exhaled. I almost started believing in anti-memes. "I shall never trust you again. Nay, how shall my heart endure such vile betrayal?"
He tried to stay serious, but laughter overtook him. Yes, I can also talk like I escaped from Hamlet. Take that, local lingo.
A sharp-faced, black-haired youth sneered across the hall. "Shut the troll-bitch down before I do it."
Aaron turned. Rhea stiffened beside him, looking away. His fist clenched. You don’t get to talk to her like that. "Are you going to silence my laughter too, scoundrel?" he shot back, tone light but eyes hard.
Aaron stared at the man. Added the mild insult for good measure. Was that wise? No.
But this ass just insulted one of the few people I kinda trust here. Rhea isn’t great with others—but that doesn’t justify this kind of aggression.
The noble shoved a slave aside and stood. "What did you just call me, Hellionis whelp?" Well, that escalated quickly.
His face had reddened. Part of Aaron wanted to eat in peace. Another, stronger part refused to let him get away with it. Let’s see how good my Shakespeare impression is. He looks too dumb to realize it’s mockery.
Aaron sighed theatrically. "Thou art a most vile twit, whose song to shatter glass doth fit."
Silence.
All eyes locked onto him, expressions blank with confusion. The noble recovered first. "Why do you speak in the manner of a barbarian tongue?" Ah, shit. Cultural landmine.
Before Aaron could respond, the boy exploded. "Are you insinuating that my grandmother was unworthy to join the Families of the Sixteen? That your blood is purer than mine, you mongrel—"
A girl stepped forward, grabbed his arm, spun him around, and clamped a hand over his mouth. His sister. Definitely.
He struggled, but her grip tightened—unyielding as a winch. I bet he loves this happening in front of his buddies. Oh, I know just the line.
Loudly, Aaron cleared his throat. He waited until the room’s attention focused on him. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he proclaimed. The finer implications are probably lost on him. Still funny, though.
The girl stared, slack-jawed. It’s that kind of day. Well, there’s a powerful healer present.
"Why do you mock my brother when I try to avoid conflict? And what, in the Bookworm’s name, are you saying? Explain yourself," she demanded, her voice sharp as a blade.
"Yes, you shall explain yourself immediately!" growled the noble.
His sister’s look agreed with Aaron. Asshole just demoted himself to henchman status.
Aaron held their gazes. The room fell silent. The slaves had fled. I know the perfect line for this. "Alas, dear Brutus, the fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves."
The noble turned scarlet. Veins throbbed at his temple. "You... you dare—"
His sister caught his arm again. She looked Aaron in the eyes—amused, apologetic. Oh, she’s dangerous.
Stage whispering to her irate sibling, she said, "He is quoting a poet, and you insult him in the manner of a muckfarmer. What will Father say when he hears of this?"
She yanked his arm, silencing whatever fury he had left. I’d wager he isn’t Daddy’s favorite. But her? Very well. I will accept the peace offering. He’s been sufficiently humiliated for insulting Rhea.
As they sat down, a grave silence settled over the dining room.
Nonetheless, the food was amazing.
Rhea murmured a subdued thanks to Aaron—probably afraid to piss him off again.Damn. Thinking about it, that escalated way further than I expected. I got lost in the fun. But it all worked out.
A while later, the healed students returned—completely unscathed if one ignored the state of their garments. "May the most noble heroes, who bravely stood against our enemies, join us?" Aaron grinned.
Rhea shook her head. Theon raised an eyebrow. "The graciousness of your invitation honors me. I shall join your feast," he said, face perfectly straight. No. I’m not falling for another one of these. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Guess I’ll play it straight too. "May I offer you some delicious bird roast?" Aaron extended a plate toward Theon.
Erai looked utterly confused. Again. The new look suited her.
"Again, I can only accept your graciousness." Theon took the meat, chewed, and smiled appreciatively.
I’m having lunch on a space habitat with a bunch of mage students. This is fucking amazing. And we’re being served by slaves. Just like at Hogwarts.
Yeah… I’ve always been good at making the worst out of my experiences. Making the best of things sounded wise—until you encounter slaves. Does that justify pessimism?
He ruminated in silence.
Soon, three mages in plain orange robes appeared. They led the siblings and another student out of the hall.
"What do you think the Trial of Wit is?" Rhea asked, sensing the tension had lifted.
"Something where we must be smarter than the others," Erais said confidently.
"This bodes ill," Rhea replied, leaving the rest unsaid. Erais glared at her.
Theon shook his head, clearing his throat. Great. An exposition dump.
"Three Novices took them. This suggests separate trials. One would suffice for a group. All trials thus far contained a twist—an unexpected challenge." He surveyed the room. Even the other group listened.
"The will to break the rule and act without waiting. Or the strength to persevere until understanding dawns. Half fail—so said the leader of the slaves." Damn that mind mage.
"The Trial of Strength? Dogs posed no real threat—with moderate preparation. But this was not a test of combat. It was about the strength to adapt. With the Magister-Healer present, death was not possible."
Theon tapped his chin. "So, fundamentally, both trials were subversions—a twist of appearance and expectation."
A throat cleared. From the other table.
"Excuse my curiosity, Anax, but would you answer a question?" A girl with short-cropped brown hair asked shyly. Smart approach with Theon. Might even stop him mid-combat.
"Naturally."
"What if the dogs had torn us apart?"
Theon tipped his chin. Deliberate pause? "It might have been part of the trial of survival. However, I believe the dogs could not have killed us. Powerful Sarkomancers require but a vial of blood to gain control. They were watching the fight."
Everyone nodded. Theon and the girl exchanged smiles.
Aaron cleared his throat. There’s a question worth asking. Might hold a clue.
"So, why is this trial right after the last one? Why no trek through the wilds?" Let the swarm intelligence handle this.
Theon leaned his chin into his fist, thoughtful. Surprisingly, the girl answered, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Diminishing returns. We survived three days in a hostile wilderness and crossed a dangerous barrier. They probably learned more about ranking us from the last trial than another day out there."
She blinked, realizing she had spoken aloud. Sweet on Theon? Great. More drama. But hey, good for him.
"It makes sense," Theon said with an encouraging smile.
The mood in the room relaxed. Their group shared teh experiences on teh journey with the others. After a short while the three orange-robed mages appeared, heading straight for them.
Theon caught Aaron’s confused glance. "Social status," he whispered. "Two commoners and a minor noble. It would be an insult to our house otherwise." Aaron nodded. Appreciate the heads-up.
Rhea stared at Erais. Theon cleared his throat. She ground her teeth as the left without her
They walked. The echoes of the feast faded. Silence swallowed the corridors. The Trial of Strength: adapt to brutality. The Trial of Will: act precisely, use what’s available. And now...
Aaron rolled his shoulders. The Trial of Wit.
One by one, the others were led into separate tunnels. The silent orange-robed figure at his side only deepened the oppressive quiet.
Endless corridors. Identical turns. Am I being led in circles? Or is this place just enormous?
Before panic could set in, they reached a massive portal. Carved twin doors groaned open. Aaron stepped inside—wearing nothing but his torn, stained tunic.
A circular chamber. The doors closed behind him with a deep thud.
Another portal stood across the room. The air felt heavy. Oppressive. Who builds perfect hemispheres for empty chambers?
At the center stood a single pedesta. On it, a large key—golden, gleaming against cold grey stone. Two figures flanked it. Halberds crossed before the pedestal. No eyes. But they stared.
"The Trial of Wit has begun," the orange-robed man intoned. The portal behind Aaron locked with a resonant click.
Fragment from Codex Phylogenetica, Archscholar Nemi Tarsis
As always, this chapter was edited using the mighty Infomancy Analyst Spell called ChatGPT.
Upload schedule: Mon/Tue/Wed/Thu/Fri 4:47 PM EST / 10:47 PM CET → Each chapter is 1500 +/- 500 words long.
What do you think of Aaron's decisions? Would you have done the same?
Comment below, Like, Favorite or Recommend. It really helps. Thank you :)