Fe’Ash The Unwanted Magician
Chapter 1: The Foothills of Fe'Ar
The air was sharp and clean, scented with dry granite and a hint of ozone. Young Fe’Ash walked with a hurried, side-to-side shuffle unique to his species, his small, scaly body tucked securely between his parents. The sun, though high, felt distant, a weak presence against the looming shadow of Mouth Fe'Ar. The mountain, a jagged spine of rock and perpetually frozen peaks, dominated the northern horizon of Aethel, its lower slopes where Fe’Ash's family resided.
His Mum, Fe'Slee, was notably larger than most other Kobolds, her scales smooth and plump from a life largely spent enjoying the fruits of their successful trade, a clear sign of the relaxed and easy life their geographical advantage afforded them. His Dad, Fe'Rib, was noticeably shy and never initiated conversation, a rare trait among their normally boisterous people. Fe'Ash often noticed the old, wicked scars covering his Dad's tail and legs, injuries he carried from a past he never spoke of.
They were returning from a highly successful day of trade in the nearby lowlands. Fe'Rib carried the empty burlap backpack, which had held their finest wooden cultural carvings, now exchanged for a heavy purse of coinage. The Fe'Kinn tribe, the easternmost clan, held a distinct advantage: their low mountain elevation gave them rare access to tall timber trees that their kin higher up the slopes could not reach. This resource was the foundation of their livelihood.
Fe’Ash himself, a small humanoid lizard with alert, yellow eyes, was a creature built for the dark, cold, and confined spaces of the tunnels. He felt exposed here, on the open plain. Most humans, uneducated about their race, saw his scales and vertical pupils and associated him with his terrifying, distant relatives, the dragons, seeing only a vicious beast. Fe’Ash and his family were, in reality, curious and friendly, but their life was isolated, their knowledge of the outside world scant. They lived by the rule of Fe, their silent mountain god, sacrificing their finest creations to the volcanic lava pools hidden deep within the mountain's core. As they reached the base of the mountain, the open land gave way to the entrance of their communal tunnels. The passage was old, framed by ancient, cracking timbers put in place generations ago.
"We move quickly now, Fe'Ash," Fe'Rib hissed, his voice low. "The entrance is old, and the sun is still high."
Fe’Ash and his parents had taken barely five steps into the cool, damp safety of the rock when the mountain shuddered. It wasn't the usual geological shift; this was a violent, sharp earthquake. A deafening roar erupted as the ground lurched beneath them. The old timber supports, already brittle with age, snapped like dry twigs.
"Fe'Rib!" Fe'Slee shrieked, instantly pushing Fe'Ash forward, shielding him with her body.
Fe'Ash heard the terrifying roar of crushing stone and earth, the sound immediately followed by an overwhelming cascade of dust. He was slammed forward, his small body pinned under the weight of his father's leg and a slab of rough granite. Suffocating, immediate darkness enveloped them.
"We're trapped! We're trapped!" Fe'Slee gasped, her voice thick with panic, struggling against the immovable debris that pressed against her substantial frame. "We can't move! Oh, Fe, save us!"
Fe'Ash, terrified, tried to push back against the stone that pinned him, but it was useless. "I can't breathe! Dad, what do we do?"
"Silence!" Fe'Rib's voice, usually so low and shy, cut through the darkness with unexpected force, instantly snapping Fe'Ash and Fe'Slee out of their frantic movements. "Panic will consume the air we need." Fe'Rib shifted his weight with slow, agonising deliberation, his scarred tail probing the debris around them. "Breathe slowly."
"Fe'Rib, we're buried! It's crushing us!" Fe'Slee sobbed.
"No," Fe'Rib corrected, his voice tight but analytical. "The structure is gone, but the rock hasn't completely settled." He paused, listening to the ominous shifting of pebbles above. "The collapse is external. It has blocked the passage behind us and the tunnel ahead. We are trapped in a tiny air pocket." He took a slow, calculated breath. "We can't move around, but we are not being crushed. We are safe for now. Stay still. Conserve your breath. We wait." The terrifying instability of the very mountain they called home had become their grave.
Then, just as despair threatened to consume them, a sound pierced the silence of the debris: a clear, clean voice, utterly devoid of the usual guttural or hissing style of the Kobold tongue. "Hello! Is anyone there? I saw the dust plume, did you get caught in the cave-in?"
The family froze. A human voice.
"Yes! Help us!" Fe'Slee croaked, her voice weak.
"Do not fear," the voice replied, calm and steady. "I promise I will help you."
Fe'Ash, pinned and terrified, looked at his parents. They were confused, exchanging wide-eyed glances. How could a single human, a soft-spoken individual, possibly clear the immense stone and earth that entombed them?
Then, the boulders began to move. Not with the roar of explosions or the scrape of metal, but with a deep, resonant groan from the earth itself. A line of light, thin at first, slowly widened. Fe'Ash, his eyes now fixed on the gap, was the first to see him: a human magician, his figure tall and illuminated by the weak afternoon sun, standing utterly calm against the destruction. He wore a brown cloak, the distinct colour marking him as a magician of the Ground Elemental School, and upon his chest, visible through the haze, was the large, white star emblem of the Zar School of Magic.
The magician did not hesitate. He was focusing with intense effort, his hands held out toward the wall of debris. With a single, clear, powerful command, he channelled his magic. The earth and stone, Fe'Ash's very prison, obeyed. The immense weight above them shifted, the debris stabilised, and a massive, unseen force pushed the stone and earth away from the trapped family, creating a clear, lifesaving exit.
Fe'Ash watched the rock bow to the human's will in awe. That fleeting moment of impossible power, the human's calm control over chaotic nature, planted a seed of desire so strong it would consume him. He wanted that power. He wanted to command the mountain itself.
The vision snapped.
Fe'Ash’s eyes flew open. He lay curled in his small, cold nest of woven reeds in the communal Fe'Kinn tunnels. It was his usual dream, the memory always ending at the exact same point, but it felt as real and immediate as the dry air in his lungs. That day happened almost five years ago to this date.
He still remembered the raw confusion of that moment. He hadn't understood any of it, how a single human could clear the immense rubble, or why the man wore a large piece of fabric on his back and over his head like a hood. But Fe'Ash, driven by the natural, inherent curiosity of his people, had been determined to understand. He had researched.
His tribe, like all Kobolds, loved to hoard, and their communal knowledge was stored in a vast, dry tunnel library. As he read, he pieced together the missing information about the dream. The human was a magician. The brown cloak, he learned, marked him as belonging to the Ground School of Magic, which perfectly explained how he moved the rubble and boulders so easily. The large white star at the centre of the cloak and on his chest was the emblem of the Zar School of Magic, the only magic academy close to Mount Fe'Ar, a detail that now made perfect sense.
Fe'Ash pushed the last remnants of the memory aside and began his routine. His internal clock, sharp and precise, told him it was just past dawn on the surface. He slipped out of his nest, his small, scaly hands automatically tidying his sleeping area. He moved through the cold, dark tunnels of the Fe'Kinn, greeting his clan-mates with soft, quick hisses, ignoring the low buzz of their ongoing mining work. He knew exactly where he was headed: not to the ore veins, not to the smelting chambers, but to the deep, dry tunnels that housed the tribal library. He had to continue his research.
Chapter 2: The Biological Barrier
Fe'Ash left the communal warmth of the Fe'Kinn tunnels and moved into the deeper, quieter veins of the mountain. He navigated the familiar twists of the raw rock until the passage opened abruptly into a vast cavern. This was the tribal library, a natural cathedral of stone.
As he entered, the air immediately grew colder and profoundly still. The usual scent of dry granite and ore was replaced by the faint, distinctive smell of aged parchment and dried fungi, a clean, almost musty scent that was the true odour of forgotten knowledge. Overhead, the immense ceiling disappeared into the darkness, but Fe'Ash's sharp yellow eyes perceived every detail. The floor was lined with colossal stalagmites, ancient spears of rock that jutted up towards the ceiling, serving as natural, sturdy shelving for thousands of scrolls and leather-bound books.
The only sound in the deep quiet was a gentle, irregular plink, plink, plink, the far-off dripping of mineral water slowly forming new stalagmites, the geological pulse of the mountain itself. Even though the space was pitch black to a human eye, Fe'Ash saw the cavern floor clearly: smooth, dark rock worn slick by generations of Kobold feet.
Fe'Ash was not alone, but he was early. The cavern was a favourite gathering spot for the tribe's most curious members, drawn here to pore over the rare items and texts traded from the outside world. He walked past the primary archives, his small hands running over the rough spines of countless tribal histories and engineering schematics, and went straight to the small, tucked-away section dedicated to outsider knowledge. This was where the rare, coveted small collection of human and elven magic theory books lay, traded from travellers who ventured close to Mouth Fe'Ar.
Instead of stopping, he made his way to the centre of the library, where a massive nest of woven mountain reeds rested. This was the home of the library's keeper, the ancient Kobold Fe'Wei. Fe'Ash always joked to himself that she was as old as the stalagmites themselves, a thought that always made him smile. "Good morning, Fe'Ash," Fe'Wei greeted, her voice a low, dry rustle.
Fe'Ash bowed his head low, placing his right hand over his chest where his heart lay, the respectful greeting of a younger Kobold to an elder.
"Rise," she added. And Fe'Ash did so.
"Good morning, Elder Fe'Wei," Fe'Ash said with a genuine smile.
"I have kept the books and scrolls out for you in your usual spot," Fe'Wei said, gesturing towards the northernmost section of the library where Fe'Ash spent his time reading.
"Thank you, Fe'Wei." Fe'Ash was about to make his way north when he was stopped.
"I have something for you," Fe'Wei said, and Fe'Ash looked back. He saw a youthful twinkle in her ancient eyes. Fe'Ash had learned that there was nothing more she enjoyed than completing a relentless, frustrating hunt for a specific, obscure book or scroll.
"You found it?" Fe'Ash said, his tail wagging, the telltale sign of a Kobold in blissfully joyous anticipation.
Fe'Wei pulled out a large book from deep within her nest. The book was massive, larger than any text Fe'Ash had ever held before. And it was old. The leather binding was marred by blotches of burnt, black mould and pitted by small rips, its edges corroded by centuries of mineral dust. Fe'Ash couldn't discern what the original colour of the leather might have been. Fe'Wei lifted the book with two hands over the nest and extended it to Fe'Ash.
It was heavy and very fragile. As soon as he held it, he could feel the book almost sinking through his small claws, the sheer age of the artifact palpable.
"This book is titled," he read aloud, his voice hushed, "Prana throughout the species, a guide to the understanding of Prana of all and by all." A wave of awe washed over him. This was the book he was hoping for; this book could contain the answers he needed.
Fe'Wei chuckled, a dry, rustling sound, as she slowly lowered herself back down into her nest. "This is a fairly interesting book," she whispered, "as it has many different authors, actually, an author from each race and their own research from their race, even Kobold."
"Thank you so much, Fe'Wei, I owe you," Fe'Ash breathed, already turning toward the northern tunnels.
"That you do, hatchling, that you do," Fe'Wei replied, settling deep within her woven reeds.
Fe'Ash raced north, possibilities running through his mind. He moved with a speed that startled the silence, passing empty and cleared reading nests. He finally reached the one at the very end, his usual spot, a cozy, familiar nest created by piles of books and scrolls that surrounded his reading nest, a sanctuary of knowledge. He scanned the familiar piles of texts and scrolls; everything was exactly as he had left it yesterday. He settled into the middle of the nest, a place that, over the past five years, had become his true home within the cold stone of Mouth Fe'Ar.
He reached for a specific scroll, unravelling it carefully. At the very top, written in his own sharp hand, was the title: ‘Fe'Ash’s Path to Becoming a Magician’. This was his personal note scroll, where he meticulously, obsessively, even, jotted down every piece of important knowledge gleaned from countless books and scrolls about elemental magic.
He looked over his years of work. The scroll had become long, much longer than he had ever anticipated when he started. The parchment at the top was brittle and yellowed, contrasting sharply with the newer, crisper paper at the bottom, charting his journey through the changing hues of the material itself. He saw years of diagrams, formulas, racial hierarchies, and elemental theories. He followed the text down, past his detailed notes on Ground Magic, past the complex energy transfer charts, until he reached the very end. The scroll was, once again, coming to a close.
He gently placed the scroll down beside him. "I have to purchase some more parchment soon," Fe'Ash thought to himself. He moved his body to get into a comfortable position; today was going to be another long day of sitting and reading. He gently took up the newest book in his possession and slowly opened the first page. Excitement flushed through his body, anticipation sharp and intense. He believed that after reading this book, the final jigsaw pieces would fall into place.
Fe'Ash knew well the struggle of research. When he started this journey, he quickly learned that most, if not all, scriptures dedicated to magic were written by authors who assumed their readers were already deeply versed in the topic. Many chapters were riddled with references and meanings that were lost to him, which is why he had to find so many other books to enlighten him. Only then would he read back and finally understand the full meaning of a chapter. He had started seeing one word appear in every book and scroll: Prana. The more he read, the more he thought he understood the meaning of the word, but he was not certain. This uncertainty had led him to this moment, to this book dedicated to the word itself.
He ran his claws over the brittle, ancient paper, the feeling of the rough material grounding him. He found the first heading: "Prana: The Catalytic Flow and Elemental Distribution." He began to read, his eyes greedily tracing the careful script.
Fe'Ash learned that Prana was the fundamental life catalyst, the very energy that allowed a magician to command the elements. It was not an unlimited fuel; rather, it was a finite, internal resource, much like the natural energy that fuels muscle movement and physical endurance. Once expended, it had to be restored and replenished over time through rest and nutrition.
He absorbed theories on how Prana flowed. He found an old, controversial hypothesis by a scholar named Arch-Mage Viridia, who made a famous, though unproven, assumption: Prana flows through the body following the same vascular channels as blood. Viridia theorised that the body's life essence and magical catalyst were inextricably linked.
Fe'Ash carefully placed the massive book down, open to the page he was on. He moved quickly around his nest, his gaze darting across the familiar piles of scrolls and texts, searching for confirmation of his resonance theory. He found it: a slim, silver-stitched volume. He pulled out the book titled The Known Elemental Schools by Lysandra Galathil.
He flipped immediately to the chapter titled 'How an Elemental School is Chosen.' His eyes scanned the elegant, flowing script, its tone refined and focused on natural harmony:
"Know this, seeker: Prana itself holds no preference. Yet, through the boundless might of the wild, it expresses its nature within a soul, manifesting as Fire, Water, Wind, Ground, Dark, or Light. The designated element is chosen based on the individual's resonance. As our vessels mature, they are moulded by the dominant forces of their surroundings. This influence shapes the element one's body is destined to wield. For instance, should one be birthed in the perpetual night and dwell in the hidden deeps, they shall assuredly wield Dark Magic. If one lives by the sea and often sails upon its vast expanse, they shall favour Water. Yet, let it be known that this path is not always true; unforeseen occurrences and acts of profound will can alter this elemental certainty."
A wave of exultation washed over Fe'Ash. It was confirmation! His entire existence within the rock meant his resonance must be Ground. He was on the right path.
He eagerly returned to the massive book, flipping past the general theories of flow, until he reached the detailed chapter on Elemental Affinity and Racial Capacity.
Fe'Ash followed the text down, past the sections confirming Elves possessed the highest Prana reserves, an entire chapter dedicated to their mastery and rare dual-elemental capabilities. He saw that Humans followed, possessing the second-highest capacity, capable of strong, versatile magic. Good, he thought, the pieces are lining up. He skipped over sections dedicated to other common races, eager for the section dedicated to his people.
His gaze finally landed on the bracket separated by a thick, obsidian line. His tribe's symbol was drawn next to it. He read the clinical, concise, and utterly damning statement:
"Kobold: Lowest Recorded Prana Levels. Biological inability to sustain elemental command. Zero recorded successful manifestations."
The shock was absolute. For a long moment, Fe'Ash sat utterly motionless, clutching the fragile book. It's wrong, he thought, denial rising like bile. This book is ancient. It must be a mistake. The author was uneducated about the Fe'Kinn. He flipped frantically to the author's notes, looking for contradictions, for any hint that the statement was inaccurate, but the clinical data was repeated, referenced by multiple other authors. Why? Why would the magician save me only for the books to condemn me? If I try harder, if I sacrifice more to Fe, the god will grant me the Prana! He looked around the vast, silent library, feeling a desperate injustice. Five years. Five years of study, all for an absolute law of biology.
The anger subsided into a chilling despair. He wasn't simply facing a challenge; he was facing an absolute, biological barrier. His destiny to command Ground Magic was a cruel, impossible joke. His small claws trembled as he read the line again, letting the truth sink into the very marrow of his bones. His impossible dream was over.
Fe'Ash spent the next few hours of the day looking over his notes and meticulously filling in the devastating new information about Prana, simultaneously trying to figure out a path forward. He felt profoundly weak, as though the life had been physically sucked out of his body along with his impossible dream. He moved slowly as he wrote the last line in his notes, the line about Kobolds and their biological deficiency, the scrolls feeling heavy and final in his claws. He slowly rolled up his years of obsessive work.
He looked around at the piles of mismatched books and scrolls, old and new, that formed his study nest. He had to clean this up now. Fe'Ash slowly pushed himself up, his legs weak and numb from sitting so long. He scratched his scaly legs, allowing the blood to flow back into them, giving his muscles enough strength to move.
He started to clean up, picking up a handful of books near the entrance to his study nest. He paused to read each title: The Principles of Earth-Shaping, Wardenry and the Whispering Wilds, and Alchemical Foundations: Tinctures and Tonics. A small smile touched his scaly lips as he recalled the difficulty and eventual triumph of understanding those texts for the first time. His arms now full, he made a neat pile and started on the second armful when one particular book stopped him.
He remembered the cover and the title: The Flow and Use of Prana for Beginner Magicians. Fe'Ash paused, trying to recall. He remembered starting the book but stopping only a few pages in. Why did I stop again? he thought to himself. Prana. The book used the word Prana extensively, and at the time, the concept had made no sense to him. This very confusion had propelled him into years of deep research.
He added the book to his arms and continued to clean up, moving toward the discard pile. He stopped. He felt a profound sense of resistance as he prepared to stack it with the others. I cannot be a magician anymore, not as a Kobold, he thought. The law is absolute. But the book was still in his grip. Before he knew it, Fe'Ash found himself sitting back down in his nest, and he slowly opened and started to read.
Chapter 3: Crimson Catalyst
Fe'Ash had not left his home in days. He had not returned to the library, asked Fe'Wei for any new texts, or consulted his years of meticulously gathered notes. His entire world was currently condensed to the small stone pillar beside his sleeping nest, where a single, worn book rested.
He slowly opened his eyes again. Outside the woven reeds of his home, the main tunnels of the Fe'Kinn were busy with the familiar flow of workers, the low, quick hisses of his clan-mates echoing softly. It's midday, his internal clock informed him. His body was tense and sore, his muscles protesting the simple act of existing. His brain felt bruised; any minor motion sent a sharp spike of pain through his skull. If anyone saw Fe'Ash in his current state, he would look profoundly hungover, like he was finally awakening from a days-long bout of hard drinking. I pushed myself too hard, he thought, the admission laced with grim resignation.
It took all his might to push himself up and into a sitting position. His arms and hands started shaking just from this small action, and his head spun violently. He tried to focus his eyes on the book beside his bed, but any effort to decipher its title made his mind burst into absolute, blinding pain. Fe'Ash closed his eyes and sat there, his head bowed.
He decided to focus on his breathing. With each long, slow inhale and exhale, the chaotic pain in his mind slowly vanished, granting him a precious chance to think about what he should do today. He needed rest, clarity. I feel I should just rest today, he finally decided, the choice a weary relief. And Fe'Ash gently lay back down.
Fe'Ash did not fall back to sleep; he simply stared up at his rocky ceiling. The ceiling of his home was close, the tunnel not large at all, and his sharp, yellow eyes, accustomed to the dimness, perceived every detail of the raw rock above him. The ceiling was low and vaulted, following the natural curve of the mountain, and the stone was a damp, mottled slate-grey that absorbed all light. He could trace the countless fissures and tiny crystalline deposits that glittered faintly. He found a dark vein of an unknown mineral winding across the rough stone, its colour a deep, rich ochre that looked almost like dried blood. He followed the dark line as it split into two paths, each halving its width, their pattern an intricate, organic map. He chose to follow the right path, watching it split again and again until the veins were too thin for his eyes to trace. This intricate network of lines reminded him of something. He tried to think back, but the effort caused a slight spike of pain in his head. He slowly clenched and unclenched his claws, and that physical action sprang the thought to his mind: It was like his Prana channels. He smiled. Tomorrow, he thought, he should be fully rested from the intense Prana strain, and he would get back to training.
Fe'Ash slowly released a breath as he focused on the feeling. His mind was trying to force the Prana to flow, tracing the unseen channels from the centre of his chest, out to both shoulders simultaneously, down both arms, and finally, to both palms at the same time... nothing. Fe'Ash released a frustrated hiss, the sound sharp in the quiet tunnel, as he sat cross-legged on his nest. He opened his eyes and first looked at his right palm, nothing. Then his left, also nothing. What am I doing wrong? he thought.
Fe'Ash got up with haste and moved towards his bedside slab. He reached down, about to snatch up the scroll in anger, but paused. With much effort, he calmed himself, taking a slow, deep breath, and gently grasped his note scroll. It had been three weeks since he started his Prana training. He trained every day until his body and mind were completely exhausted.
He had seen improvement, drastic improvement at that. For the first few days, he practised for hours, following the complex mental rotations required to channel Prana, and nothing happened. Then one day, something did. He followed the guide for one full rotation, and the sheer mental drain almost killed him. He woke up four hours later, sweating and head pounding, and it took a further hour to realise the simple fact: he had succeeded in channelling, but the effort had nearly shattered him. Now, he could get through twelve full rotations without needing a break. But still... after so much training, after thousands of rotations, nothing was being produced.
Fe'Ash quickly scanned his notes until he found the title: Basics To Prana Rotation.
Rotations, the concept explained, were the act of channelling your Prana through its internal pathways and guiding it to your palms, where the energy was converted into a specific elemental school of magic. Ok, let’s see here, Fe'Ash thought as he read the guide.
"First, one must use your claw and trace the scales from the centre of your chest, across to your shoulders, and down your arms. Keep doing this action and try to memorise the feeling of your claw tracing the path."
That step is easy, Fe'Ash thought. He could feel the familiar, almost electric sensation of his Prana channels even when he wasn't training.
"Next step is to meditate and focus on that feeling without moving your body. This action should open up your Prana channels, and the flow will start. This will create a rotation. Prana should move from the centre of your chest and down to your palm."
I can feel that perfectly, he thought, but I’m not creating any Prana in my palms.
Fe’Ash read down the parchment and continued to the next section: Command Manifestation.
“To use Prana to make an elemental magic command, one must open their hands and spread their claws wide. They must hold their palms up, like they are cradling two large, invisible spheres. Prana will converge to each claw tip and then spark between each finger in a clockwise motion. This action will slowly form a concentrated ball of Prana in the centre of the palm, which will have a soft hue reflecting the elemental school. This ball of Prana is the basics and the first step before delivering the command.”
Fe'Ash threw down the scroll in anger, the brittle parchment making a sharp, resentful crackle against the stone floor. I am missing no steps, I am doing nothing wrong, he thought, his frustration a burning coal in his chest. He sat back down, jaw clenched, planting his small, scaly feet firmly on the mat. He spread his arms out before him, palms up, claws deliberately spread wide in the correct command posture. His entire upper body was tense, his palms shaking with effort.
He shut his eyes, recalling the sensation of his claw tracing his scales to his palms, and instantly felt the channels spring open as his eyes did. His gaze, utterly focused on his right palm, his dominant hand, burned with a frantic energy. His breathing quickened, becoming shallow and rapid. He felt Prana pulse down his arm, an unmistakable surge of life force flowing from his chest. His palm shook more and more. Pain flared in his mind, sharp and immediate, but it did not stop him. He pushed and pushed, harder, HARDER, trying to force the energy into manifestation. His left eye started to twitch uncontrollably from the strain, and his tail whipped once, sharply, against the rock floor. Then... nothing
Pure rage filled his body; his tail whipped back and forth uncontrollably, every muscle tensed, vibrating in fury. I can't do it, he simply can't produce enough Prana... I can't. The thought dragged him deeper down into despair. He suddenly felt a sharp pain in both fists. The ache sent a new wave of utter frustration through his body, and he clenched his fists harder. He could feel his claws dig deep into his palms, but it did not stop him. He vented a final roar of wrath and pure outrage, not caring who heard him.
Then, Fe'Ash was still. Standing in his room, his shoulders slowly rising and falling as he forced control back into his breathing. His tail was still, his fists remained tightly balled, crimson tears of blood slowly dripping from them. He slowly brought his balled fists in front of him, palms up. His fingers were covered in his own hot blood. In the back of his mind, he worried about the damage he must have done to his palms. He slowly and carefully loosened his fists and spread his claws. He saw the tips of his claws exit the torn skin, leaving brutal, deep fissures in his palms, surely destined to scar. As he slowly opened his hands, he noticed a network of blood that webbed between each claw and the cuts. He unconsciously rotated his Prana.
As Fe'Ash observed his palms, a chilling phenomenon began. He was no healer, yet blood, far more than should have been leaving his body, flowed from each brutal cut and pooled directly toward his claws. What in Fe's name was happening! he thought, mesmerised and horrified.
The pooled blood suspended between the tips of his claws began to rotate, slowly converging into a marble-sized ball in the centre of each palm. The marbles of blood suddenly spun faster and faster, rapidly growing. As the blood balls swelled, Fe'Ash felt more and more faint. His legs started to wobble, threatening to buckle under his light weight. The spheres of pure crimson grew to the size of his hands, then suddenly imploded. The rotation stopped, leaving behind two balls of pure, volatile Prana the size of his palms.
Fe'Ash swayed violently, his vision flickering. He used every remaining thread of his will to stay conscious, focusing intensely on the Prana resting in his hands. On the very edge of blacking out, he noticed the colour. His colour. The balls of energy held a slight, undeniable hue of midnight black, each with a small, incandescent crimson core.
Chapter 4: The Unwanted Candidate
The world moved with a terrifying speed. Fe'Ash rode precariously on the back of a large wooden wagon, pulled steadily by a single, powerful draft horse. He wore a full-body cloak gifted by his parents, its colour a deep, dark green that blended subtly with the surrounding landscape. The fabric felt soft and smooth against his scaly skin. The wide hood was pulled low, shielding his sensitive eyes from the glare. The sun, unfiltered by the mountain's perpetual shadow, was blinding him; his scaly eyes, used only to the dim light of the tunnels, hadn't yet adjusted to the sheer intensity of the open air. The wagon was a specialised carriage sent directly from Zar, a detail that still made him giddy. He had been informed that a reply usually took weeks, but he had assumed, being the very first Kobold magician, that they had prioritised his acceptance.
As the path unwound, a vibrant new world slowly unfolded before him. He saw endless fields of meticulously arranged crops, contrasting sharply with the raw, untamed stone of his homeland. He saw large, brightly painted farmhouses and steam-powered water pumps working the fields. The air smelled of fertile soil and cut grass, an alien freshness. He tracked the movement of every human farmer, every strange vehicle, every bird in the sky. His innate Kobold curiosity consumed him, cataloguing every detail of this organised, productive civilisation.
Five years. Five years had passed in a blur of focused, painful training since the day he first created his own method. He was a magician now. The thought alone, despite his initial disappointment that his elemental school was Dark Magic and not Ground, filled him with quiet triumph. He had divided his time meticulously between rotations and casting commands, and rigorous physical training. He was lean and sinewy, with visible muscles in his arms, legs, and chest. He had learned that physical conditioning was now paramount. Magicians commanded magic through Prana rotations as the primary catalyst, but for Fe'Ash he used his blood. He needed a strong heart, an engine, to pump enough blood and sustain his commands. He flexed his right hand, the scales on his palm now replaced by deep, crimson-stained scar tissue where his claws had pierced the skin countless times. That was the price. The cost of his dream.
The pace of the horses became a monotonous rhythm, and the sights along the stone-paved road began to repeat themselves, another pump house, another field, another farmer. Nothing new emerged, and Fe'Ash's thoughts turned inward, focusing on the near future. He knew the next major event was the entrance exam, his singular goal for the last five years.
After sending off his letter of inquiry to The Zar School of Magic, or simply Zar, Fe'Ash had devoured every piece of literature he could find about the institution. He had learned about the grand entrance event: The Zar Rotation. It was hosted once every two years, a grand celebration marking the achievements of graduating students while simultaneously holding the examination for all potential new students. Fe'Ash couldn't help but smile and roll his eyes at the overly dramatic name.
He had read that each applicant had to showcase their elemental commands to a panel of stern judges. This was always conducted in the massive courtyard within Zar, a wide-open space where applicants could unleash their full potential to try and impress the examiners. Competition was brutal: out of the usual ten thousand applicants, only 360 positions were ever available to be filled. The stakes were life-altering; he'd read accounts in the footnotes of old tomes about people trying their entire lives to be accepted, only to have their dreams crushed repeatedly. Upon reading that, Fe'Ash, already pushing his limits, had trained extra hard that day, leading to one of his more severe sessions where he felt unconscious due to blood loss.
He knew the curriculum well. Zar employed specialised teachers for each elemental school. As Water and Wind were the most common elements, there were dozens of teachers dedicated to those schools. But Dark and Light magic, being the rarest, had only one teacher each. Fe'Ash wondered what that teacher of the Dark school was like.
He reviewed the known attributes: Magicians in the Elemental school of dark were associated with mystery, stealth, cunning, and deception. Other magicians tended to avoid those in this elemental school, as their true intentions were never easy to discern. Magicians in the Elemental school of Light magic, conversely, were associated with beauty, kindness, healing, and life.
A sharp jolt interrupted his thoughts as the horse-drawn wagon slowed significantly, pulling to a halt. He could hear the driver calling out to him through the canvas. "We are here."
A wave of excitement, raw and powerful, rushed through Fe'Ash, and he leapt from the wagon. The sudden jolt of his feet on the paved ground was exhilarating. He turned toward the direction the wagon had faced and froze, completely captivated.
Looming before him was a massive, single-piece stone gate, its ancient surface scarred but resolute. It was a fortress of pale, formidable granite, its entrance barricaded by thick, black steel bars, cold and unyielding. The stone walls that flanked the gate were colossal, stretching out of sight, an absolute, impenetrable force of stone and authority.
Though he couldn't pass through the gate, Fe'Ash could see the world beyond. It was a stunning vista: rolling hills of vibrant green, a shocking expanse of fertility that contrasted sharply with the scorched granite of Mount Fe'Ar. Upon each hill stood a massive stone windmill, its great wooden arms turning slowly, rhythmically, powered by the constant, gentle breeze. Below, nestled in the valleys, were clusters of buildings, stone houses, wooden huts, small villages that lacked any walls or formal defences. This sight, small, open communities living in harmony, stirred a memory of home, reminding him of how the Kobold tribes, despite their separate tunnels, all connected to form one massive community.
Fe'Ash squinted at the far distance, just on the horizon. There, dominating the skyline, was a colossal structure: a massive spiral of polished stone that penetrated the sky, towering above all else. This magnificent spire was surrounded by other huge buildings, structures larger than any individual village he could see. That had to be Zar, he concluded.
He scanned the immediate foreground. Beyond the gate, humans worked the fields, tiny figures tending to vast fields of wheat, their movements unhurried. Closer still, leaning against the cold stone of the gate, were two guards he hadn't noticed at first. They were tall, uniformed humans, their arms crossed, watching the road with a bored vigilance.
The sight filled Fe'Ash with conflicting emotions. There was awe at the scale of human endeavour, their power, their wealth, their absolute control over this fertile landscape. But beneath the awe was the hard core of his goal: this was the world that possessed the knowledge and the power he needed. This was the place that claimed his kind was biologically impossible. He had to enter. He had to become one of them.
A guard cleared his throat, the sound sharp and demanding. Fe'Ash looked up at him. The first thing that caught Fe'Ash's attention was a large, bushy line of brown hair resting on the man's upper lip, a moustache. What is that? Fe'Ash thought, tilting his head. He slowly edged forward, his scaly eyes intent, trying to get a better look at the strange human anomaly.
The guard became visibly nervous, taking a slight step back. He was used to dealing with farmers and delivery drivers, not curious lizard-like humanoids. Living in the Republic of Zar, a nation bordering the mountains, he knew of the Kobold race, but this was the first time he had ever seen one in person. The guard quickly gathered himself, clearing his throat.
"You must be Fe'Ash?" the guard asked, his voice strained.
Fe'Ash looked at the guard and hissed his response, the sound sharp and guttural. "Yes, I am. I am here for the entrance exam." The strange, hissing quality of Fe'Ash's accent made the guard's skin prickle.
"We were briefed on your arrival and given strict instructions to escort you to Zar," the guard said, trying to regain his composure.
"Escort?" Fe'Ash asked.
"Well, you are the first Kobold to attend the entrance exams," the guard explained. "The Headmaster was not sure how the citizens of ROZ would react to seeing a lone Kobold wandering the streets."
Fe'Ash nodded, then latched onto a word. "ROZ?"
The other guard, seeming more relaxed now, chuckled. "ROZ, short for the Republic of Zar," he supplied.
"Ah, of course, ROZ," Fe'Ash said with a genuine smile, enjoying the small victory of understanding more of the local customs.
"Do you have everything?" the first guard asked, his eyes scanning the empty wagon. "The wagon will be leaving soon."
Fe'Ash's eyes widened a bit. "My bag," he said, suddenly remembering the small luggage. He rushed back to the wagon, completely unaware of the guards exchanging confused glances as they watched his tail. He collected his bag, a fairly small leather satchel containing only a few changes of clothes. Even though Kobolds loved to hoard, they did not keep much personal property for themselves, focusing instead on collective wealth and their crafted goods.
With his small bag in hand, Fe'Ash approached the massive steel gate again. The two guards were still standing rigidly at attention. One of them stepped forward. "Before we open the gates and escort you, we have to check your bag and," the guard paused, looking slightly uncomfortable, "and your body for any weapons."
Fe'Ash looked between the guards and simply nodded, placing the small bag on the ground in front of himself. He stood utterly still, waiting to be examined.’Something does not feel right,’ Fe’Ash thought.
One of the guards stepped forward and grabbed the bag, lifting it with ease, surprised by how light it was. The other guard started to approach Fe'Ash.
"Do you have to do this with everyone or just outsiders?" Fe'Ash asked.
Both guards paused, looking at each other. "Yes," one said firmly.
"No," the other countered, his voice dejected. He let out a soft sigh. "We were asked to be cautious with you... As a Kobold."
Fe'Ash nodded, a pleasant, understanding expression settling on his face. On the surface, he looked completely accepting of the situation. But deep down, a sense of profound unease gently bubbled. Cautious, he thought, masking his disappointment. He had noticed the quick, sidelong glances they gave his scales and his vertical pupils, looks that saw a potential beast, not a student. He was accepted to come here, yet they still saw him as a threat.
The guard searching the bag snapped the clasp shut. "All clear," he announced.
The guard who had been running his hands over Fe'Ash's cloak, searching meticulously for any hidden weapons, finalised his inspection, stepped back, and also confirmed, "All clear." He then looked at Fe'Ash and softly said, "Sorry." He turned and joined his associate at the gate.
A sound like a heavy clunk, followed by a low, rhythmic rattle, filled the air as the two guards activated the pulley system. The massive steel bars slowly began to rise.
Fe'Ash remained utterly still. The physical contact, the examination, had left him feeling nervous and deeply uncomfortable. He was hesitant to move. When my kind feels threatened, the instinct is to lash out. He processed this, his mind racing. What would humans do? He watched the guards walk past the now-rising steel barrier. Can I move? Can I pick up my bag yet?
One of the guards walked past the gate, looked back, and noticed Fe'Ash still frozen in place. "Are you coming?"
With much effort, fighting against his instinct, Fe’Ash reached down, grabbed his belongings and raced up to meet the guards. The guards flanked Fe'Ash immediately, one on his left and one on his right, maintaining the same precise pace. "It's about a three-hour walk to Zar," one of them stated.
The initial walk was quiet. Fe'Ash, no longer focused on the immediate threat, couldn't help but look around, his natural curiosity taking over. Up close, the fertile landscape was astonishing. He saw wide, clear irrigation canals, their banks lined with smooth, man-made stone, managed by small, hissing steam pumps. The earth was impossibly rich, dark, and yielding, supporting wheat stalks taller than he was. The air smelled of life, of damp earth and blooming flowers.
"Which elemental school are you in?" the guard on his left asked, breaking the silence.
Fe'Ash was about to respond, but stopped himself. Ground. He had to say Ground. He quickly calculated the risk of revealing his true affinity. "Ground," he replied, the word coming out flat.
The guard noticed his hesitation. "We're sorry if we make you nervous," he said, concern in his voice. He doubled down on his initial question. "But why did you pause? We are just curious."
Fe'Ash quickly manufactured a lie. "We say a different word rather than 'ground' in my community," he explained. "As I used our native term while studying, I had to think of what the general term was."
As he spoke the lie, a small wave of unfamiliar energy washed through his body, a subtle, uncomfortable pulse. He noticed the very tip of his tail twitching involuntarily, a telltale sign that he was anxious. He focused on this alien feeling. Why am I feeling this way? He realised it wasn't the fear of the guards physically hurting him anymore, but the deeper, social threat: he did not feel welcomed here.
He finally looked around, really looked. He noticed the faces, everyone they walked past, farmers, labourers, and citizens, stopped and examined Fe'Ash. He saw no fear or hatred in their eyes. Instead, they looked at him with awe, with wonder. They regarded him like an exotic new specimen, a creature of legend just discovered. It made him feel immensely anxious, a profound, unsettling discomfort.
The rest of the walk through ROZ was uneventful, filled with the soft thud of their boots on the paved road and the constant, unnerving scrutiny of the locals. The guards, now more relaxed with a Kobold’s presence, filled the silence with their curiosity. "What's it like to have a tail?" one would ask. "How old are you, really?" the other would follow up. "Can you breathe fire?" Fe'Ash tried his best to give them quick, easy answers he thought they would be happy with, carefully avoiding any mention of his true feelings.
As they reached the final stretch, the scene transformed. The typical sprawling farmlands and wheat fields Fe'Ash had seen for the last two hours were slowly replaced by a dense concentration of residential homes, markets, and specialised shops, the supporting city of the Republic of Zar. The population shifted dramatically; farmers and labourers were replaced by students, many wearing the distinct, clean robes of the school. Fe'Ash watched, mesmerised, as he saw flashes of elemental affiliation: blue cloaks marking the Water Elemental school, vibrant red cloaks for Fire, and the earthy brown he remembered from his rescue.
The immediate sense of anxious discomfort he felt from being stared at was utterly flushed away, replaced by utter excitement. He was finally here. The Magic School of Zar, possibly, hopefully, his new home. He couldn't help but scan the passing students. He wondered if he would see the human magician who had saved him all those years ago, the one who first commanded the earth and stone, the one who ignited this impossible dream.
Chapter 5: Welcome To Zar
The sheer scale of the event was overwhelming. Fe'Ash stood at the far back of Zar's colossal courtyard, a vast open space surrounded by soaring, impossibly high stone buildings. He was alone, a small, scaly figure lost among the hundreds of hushed applicants, humans and elves mostly, who stood near the entrance, all craning their necks in awe. He assumed these were his competitors, all here for the entrance exam.
In front of him, thousands of seats stretched toward a massive central podium. The chairs were filled with students and faculty, a brilliant mosaic of coloured cloaks: blue, red, green, white and brown, signifying the various elemental schools.
On the podium, commanding the attention of the entire assembly, stood the Headmaster. His voice, rich and deep, boomed across the courtyard, amplified by unseen wind magic. "Welcome, all, to the Zar Rotation! Today, we celebrate the mastery achieved by those who dedicate their souls to knowledge."
As the Headmaster spoke, Fe'Ash studied him intently. He was an imposing figure: a magnificent white beard tapered to a perfect point, reaching his chest, and slicked-back white hair that gleamed faintly. He was cloaked in robes of deep black, adding to his formidable presence. But it was his eyes that caught Fe'Ash's attention: they were a startling, unnatural bright red. Fe'Ash knew little of humans, but he instinctively felt that such eyes were not normal, not natural.
The Headmaster gestured grandly to the first three rows of seats. "The students you see before you have achieved the highest rank. They are graduating, ready to carry Zar’s wisdom into the world."
One by one, the graduates rose as their names were called. They marched onto the platform, received a gold-trimmed scroll from the Headmaster, and returned to their seats, their faces shining with pride. Fe'Ash watched, the grandeur of the ritual only intensifying his desperate ambition. Fe'Ash watched intently, noting that every graduating student who collected their scrolls was wearing their specific elemental school cloak. He waited, scanning the colours. By the direction the students were rising, he assumed they were reaching the final graduates, as the students to the far left hadn’t stood up yet.
"Not a single Dark elemental school magician," Fe'Ash noted internally, a strange sense of isolation settling over him.
Then, a name was called, Elara Syllvanus, and a significantly louder cheer erupted across the courtyard. She was clearly well-liked. Her cloak was golden, woven with threads of light, and truly beautiful, the Elemental School of Light. She walked with absolute grace to the podium, received her scroll, and returned to her seat.
The Headmaster paused, and his voice resonated once more: "And finally." He called the name of the last graduate, a human named Dorian Vance. Fe'Ash noted that he was wearing a clean white cloak, a Wind Elemental School Magician. No Dark at all, Fe'Ash recorded, his internal research confirming the immense rarity of that specific school.
As Dorian Vance took his seat after collecting his graduating scroll, the Headmaster returned to the podium. "That concludes the ceremony for our graduating students," he announced. A round of even, respectful applause followed. "I ask all current students to please return to their studies. Those who have free periods may watch the entrance exams, but please make sure you keep clear of the courtyard. Thank you, everyone, for attending, and the best of luck to our graduating students."
Fe'Ash stood frozen, unsure of the protocol, as he watched the students who had been seated in front of him begin to move. Following the Headmaster's command, they collected their chairs, folding and stacking them in neat piles near the massive entrance to the main building of the school. One by one, they disappeared inside. Fe'Ash noticed that some of the students who were sitting close to him turned, glanced at his small, scaly form, and immediately looked away. They registered his presence but did not react at all; they saw nothing significant or threatening about him. This surprising lack of curiosity and fear made Fe'Ash feel immensely, wonderfully comfortable. The intense scrutiny he had grown used to in the lowlands simply vanished here.
After a few minutes, the courtyard was cleared. The thousands of chairs were gone, and the space suddenly seemed vast. The graduating students had also disappeared, though Fe'Ash hadn't noticed where they went.
"Welcome, newcomers," the Headmaster’s voice boomed once more from the podium. This time, Fe'Ash noticed he was flanked by five other people. They exuded an aura of utmost confidence and authority, and Fe'Ash suspected they must be the school's most senior teachers. "Please come closer as we start the entrance exams."
A pulse of pure excitement flushed through Fe'Ash's body. His dream was unfolding before him. He smiled and walked forward, eager to join the other applicants assembling near the central podium.
Fe'Ash pushed his way gently through the gathering students, his small, scaly body surprisingly adept at slipping through the gaps, determined to get a better look at the teachers on the podium. He stopped near the front, just behind a cluster of tall human applicants.
The Headmaster slowly scanned his eyes over the crowd of eager, nervous students. Fe'Ash watched as the red eyes of the Headmaster swept closer, and as soon as they locked with Fe'Ash’s own yellow, vertical pupils, they stopped. It was a minuscule pause, a hesitation so brief that perhaps only Fe'Ash and the Headmaster noticed it, but it was significant. Fe'Ash felt a faint jolt, an inexplicable connection. As the Headmaster’s gaze had swept the crowd, his eyes were proud, glittering with confidence and expectation. But the instant they landed on Fe'Ash, Fe'Ash was confident he saw them soften. He saw a hidden understanding, a hidden kindness in the Headmaster’s startling red eyes. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the hidden kindness was gone as the gaze swept onward.
"Again, I just want to say thank you all for coming and good luck," the Headmaster’s voice boomed across the courtyard. "I am sure you are all well aware that this entrance exam is tough, maybe the toughest exam you will ever take. Out of the ten thousand applicants, you are the lucky one thousand who received an acceptance to join this entrance exam. But know this: we only have three hundred and sixty positions to fill. If you are not accepted today, please refine your skills and come back in two years."
The Headmaster then explained the structure of the examination. "I ask that all of you now retreat to the edges of this courtyard and form a wide circle. You will be called one by one to enter the centre of the circle. You will then have up to one minute to show us your best magic commands. If you require a target for any combat or healing style magical commands, a stone golem will be conjured for you."
The Headmaster then gestured to the people beside him. "These fine magicians are Zar's Heads of the Elements. They have reached the absolute pinnacle in their respective elemental schools."
He gestured to the far left of the podium, and that person took a step forward.
"Let me first introduce Floueta Everborn of the Elemental School of Wind." Floueta was a striking woman with hair the colour of a stormy sky, woven with strands of pale blue, and she moved with a subtle, effortless grace, as though she were constantly aided by gentle breeze.
Next to her, a tall, powerfully muscled man stepped forward. "Cornellius Brute of the Elemental School of Fire." Cornellius was a formidable figure, his skin deeply tanned and scarred. He wore simple, durable clothes, and his hands were large and calloused. A faint scent of ash and sulphur seemed to linger around him.
The Headmaster gestured to the small, young girl beside him. She stepped forward, an elf, tiny and delicate in appearance. "Fleur De'runville of the Elemental School of Water." Fleur had eyes that shimmered like polished sea glass, and her silver-white hair hung in perfect, neat braids. She had a calm, unnerving stillness about her, like the surface of a deep, frozen lake.
The Headmaster then gestured to the other side of him, and another young girl stepped forward. "Edwin of the Elemental School of Ground." Edwin was sturdy and plain-spoken, with broad, strong features. Her clothes were made of thick, durable, earthen-coloured linen, and her hands, though small, looked immensely strong, like she could easily crush granite.
"And finally," the Headmaster announced, gesturing to the last member, a tall, elegant-looking elf. "Sheur De'Runville of the Elemental School of Light." Sheur was magnificent, draped in robes of pristine gold that seemed to catch and amplify the light of the sun. He moved with a regal, almost ethereal elegance, his expression serene and utterly composed, embodying the beauty and purity of his element.
The Headmaster stepped forward, placing himself back at the centre of the podium. "And I, Silas", he declared, his startling red eyes sweeping over the vast crowd of applicants, his deep voice carrying an undeniable authority, "am your Headmaster. I also stand before you as the Head of the Elemental School of Dark."
Fe'Ash was hit by a wave of shock and elation. Dark. He shared the same elemental school as the Headmaster Silas. He looked at his scarred hands, then back at the imposing figure on the podium. A thought immediately followed: Is that why he looked at me like that?
The Headmaster's brief, penetrating stare earlier in the courtyard returned to him. Fe'Ash knew they did not have to disclose their elemental school in the application letter. He hadn't. He wondered if there was a way, a hidden sense, a particular skill known only to the peak of their discipline, that the Headmaster could use to tell, simply by looking, that Fe'Ash was also aligned with his element.
The Headmaster gestured, and the thousand applicants shuffled quickly to the edges of the courtyard, forming a vast, tense inner circle. Fe'Ash watched the faces opposite him; he noted the palpable fear and raw intimidation in their eyes. He understood. It was a terrifying reality, having everyone around you, all competing for the same few precious slots, as your direct rival. Fe'Ash found himself wishing he could volunteer to go first, just to get the paralysing wait over with. One thousand people here, and one minute each, he calculated. That's a very long day, or even two. I wonder what would happen if they accept 360 people before they reach the last person? He mused internally.
The Headmaster suddenly called a name, and a skinny young man slowly stepped forward into the centre. The Headmaster waited. The nervous boy stood silent. He raised his palms up, ready. The Headmaster gave a slight, dismissive nod and yelled, "Begin!"
The trials began in earnest. Applicants went one after the other, each performing a unique style of command. Fe'Ash watched, mesmerised, seeing ground commands that cracked the stone floor, water commands that conjured shimmering orbs, and fire commands that erupted in controlled bursts of heat. He had read about all the different styles, but it was a completely different experience to see the theory unfold right before his eyes. A huge, undisguised smile spread across Fe'Ash's face as he watched the spectacle.
During the introduction, the Headmaster had explained that to be accepted, four out of the six Heads of Elements had to accept you as a new student. So far, about two hundred applicants had been called forward, and none were accepted. Fe'Ash felt no pity for them; quite the opposite, actually. The fewer who are accepted, the better my chances, right?... right?
"Fe'Ash!" A booming voice called out, sharp and demanding, cutting through the excitement.
Fe'Ash was startled out of his thoughts. He looked toward the podium. The Headmaster was looking directly at him. It was his turn. Fe'Ash took a long, stabilising breath, and he could not help but smile.
Fe'Ash instantly felt a thousand eyes lock onto him as he walked toward the centre. The vast courtyard had never seemed so large. He could hear his own footsteps echo on the stone and the low scrape of his tail snaking across the ground. He had envisioned this moment every day since discovering his elemental school, practising every mental step he would take to impress the heads. He had to succeed. He could not make a mistake now.
Fe'Ash reached the centre of the circle and faced the six Heads of the Elements on the podium. He made a point of looking each master in the eye before settling his gaze on the Headmaster. "I would need a stone golem," Fe'Ash hissed out, the sound sharp and guttural.
He noticed a microscopic change in the Headmaster’s stoic mask. A faint, knowing smile appeared and quickly vanished at the corner of his mouth, as if acknowledging a shared secret. The Headmaster turned and nodded to Edwin, the Head of the Ground School. She lifted a lazy hand, and as she did, the stone floor cracked. A large stone golem rose slowly from the ground. It was humanoid in shape, two thick legs, a slightly rounded torso, two powerful arms, and a featureless, blank face.
"Begin," the Headmaster suddenly commanded.
Fe'Ash smiled a toothy grin. He dominated the centre stage. His right leg slid out in front, and he crouched low, slowly rocking forward on the balls of his feet. He sank lower and lower, his tail pointed straight out behind him, his body perfectly balanced and coiled tight like a spring about to burst. The years of rigorous physical training had honed his legs into deadly weapons of pure muscle. The stone golem was about twenty meters away, an easy target with one powerful leap.
He rotated his palms up and balled his fists large, instantly breaking the skin on his palms with his claws. He opened his hands to reveal the bloody wounds. Blood suddenly pooled to the tips of his claws and then began cycling quickly, pulling large amounts of blood from his wounds until the crimson spheres imploded, leaving behind slightly transparent balls of midnight black energy with a crimson core of condensed blood.
A collective symphony of awe came from the crowd, a stunned hum of thousands of voices reacting to the sight of Dark Magic. Fe'Ash rotated his Prana again, forcing out more blood, and the balls of black energy instantly morphed. In a split second, both spheres changed into long, wicked daggers. Fe'Ash balled his hands around their hilts. The daggers were made of pure black, transparent Prana, and the blades were lined with a thin trimming of crimson, solidified blood. There was a faint shine on the blood, like it had been forged into red steel.
This was Fe'Ash's unique command of magic: his conjured daggers of black and crimson.
Fe'Ash focused on the golem, his eyes narrowing, target acquired. He released the coiled energy in his legs and shot forward like a cannonball, releasing a small sonic boom that cracked the air. In the blink of an eye, Fe'Ash stopped just behind the stone golem. The head of the golem slowly fell from its shoulders, severed by a blinding strike.
Fe'Ash was not done. He turned, faced the back of the golem, clapped his daggers together, and forced more blood out. The two daggers merged and morphed. Suddenly, Fe'Ash was holding a claymore, its hilt and fuller transparent black energy, and its massive blade crimson steel. Fe'Ash thrust the blade forward and drove it straight through the chest of the golem.
It was all over in five seconds.
The crowd fell into a stunned silence. Fe'Ash dismissed his command, and the black transparent energy of the claymore vanished. The crimson steel of the blade started to melt, turning back into pure, hot blood as it splatted onto the ground in front of Fe'Ash.
Fe'Ash’s world twisted. His arms tingled and felt weak. Oh, Fe, I used so much blood, Fe'Ash admitted to himself, the immediate physical cost overwhelming him. His knees buckled, and he fell to one knee. He could feel the blackness creeping in, but he mentally screamed, No! He pushed the thought away, demanding his body not to collapse. He couldn't show any signs of weakness.
The silence was broken by slow claps coming from a single person. Fe'Ash slowly rose from his kneeling position and stood straight, his muscles trembling from exertion and the rapid blood loss. He looked directly at the only person clapping: the Headmaster. Slowly, the crowd around him started to clap, but Fe'Ash noticed that no one else on the podium was joining in. What was this? Fe'Ash thought.
The Headmaster stopped clapping, and the crowd immediately followed suit. The Heads of Elements turned to each other, starting their own rapid, private whispered conversation. Did I do something wrong? Fe'Ash thought, confusion mixing with his exhaustion. This hadn't happened with the applicants before him; they were dismissed after quick, individual verdicts.
The Heads of Elements broke their conversation and returned to their rigid positions. Sheur De'Runville, the Head of Light, spoke first, his elegant, clear voice cutting through the quiet. "Your command of Dark Magic is unique. It is well known amongst us all that Kobold have such low Prana levels that it should be impossible to do what you just did. We know what you did to overcome this weakness." His voice became low, carrying the weight of their judgment. "We can't accept you in."
The next magician chimed in, Cornellius Brute, the Head of Fire. "Using your own blood as a catalyst is far too risky. It will not work. After five seconds of commanding, you are barely standing. How would you survive the hours of training required at this school?"
Then, one by one, the rest of the Heads delivered their verdict: "No," "No," "No."
It was over. Five years of brutal training, snuffed out in merely a minute of judgment. What was worse was that Fe'Ash….agreed. His unique technique had taken a massive toll on his body. Those five seconds were the absolute peak of what Fe'Ash had achieved. Fe'Ash gave the podium a small, tired nod and turned, defeated, walking back toward his original position in the crowd. He did not look up, not wanting to see the inevitable pity or scorn on the faces of his fellow applicants; he just wanted to curl up in his nest.
"Stop."
Fe'Ash froze. He turned, and suddenly, the Headmaster, Silas, was right behind him. When did he get there? Fe'Ash thought, his mind racing.
"I did not give my verdict," the Headmaster said. He was smiling. A genuine, wide smile that stretched the skin around his unnerving red eyes, oh, those eyes. Why was the Headmaster smiling at my demise?
"I agree that you would not survive the curriculum here with your," the Headmaster lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, and gave a slow, deliberate wink, "Blood Magic." Fe'Ash searched the Headmaster’s gaze, trying desperately to understand what game he was playing. "You are the first Kobold who can command magic, and you are in the same elemental school as me." The Headmaster's smile widened. "Please, become my apprentice." Then, the Headmaster bowed and placed his right hand over his heart, a respectful gesture of the Kobold.
Fe'Ash stumbled back a step, the sheer shock of the gesture making what little blood he had left rush to his face and blush his scaly cheeks. Fe’Ash’s body became limp as darkness finally consumed him. Before his body had a chance to fall to the ground, Silas glided forward, his movements effortless like smoke flowing in the wind and his seized Fe’Ash in his arms.
Headmaster Silas sighed internally, making sure not to reveal his profound boredom. He watched the courtyard with detached interest. This whole process was tedious. The applicants commanded magic poorly, exhibiting such an unnecessary waste of Prana and such useless commands. Sure, anyone can conjure a plume of fire or a ball of water, Silas thought, observing the latest hopeful, but where is the application? Where is the insight?
Silas ran through his mental list, finding the name of the next applicant in the crowd. He released another internal sigh. More water... how exciting.
As the current applicant showed off his meagre commands, Silas quickly glanced at the small Kobold standing stiffly near the front. A thin smile touched his lips. Finally, he thought, after all these centuries, you decided to show yourself through your kin. He had watched and waited.
Silas checked his mental list again. Oh, and he's up next. The boredom vanished, replaced by an intense, cold focus. Silas watched the small Kobold, no, Fe'Ash, walk to the centre of the courtyard. His gaze met Silas's, and then the Kobold spoke. "I would need a stone golem."
The hissing quality of Fe'Ash's speech hit Silas like a battering ram. The present dissolved. Silas was suddenly walking down a narrow tunnel path. Beside him was a fully grown male Kobold. They were having a conversation, their words muffled and indistinct to Silas . The scene instantly shifted again. Silas saw the same Kobold sitting opposite him at a bar. Both held large jugs of beer; they cheered, and their laughter echoed.
Reality snapped back. Silas quickly hid his smile as he looked down at Fe'Ash. Was that a distant memory or a prophecy? he mused internally. I will have to ponder this later.
Silas turned to Edwin and nodded, the silent command clear. Edwin summoned the golem.
Silas watched Fe'Ash as he crouched, perfectly coiled. Silas sense a miniscule amount of Prana surging, but he suddenly saw spheres of dark magic ball in Fe'Ash's palms. Silas grinned. Excitement, sharp and cold, energised his old, bored body. Interesting, he thought. He looked closer, seeing the crimson core within the midnight black spheres. Oh, I see now. He used his own blood as a catalyst. How... sadistic.
Silas couldn't pull his eyes away as Fe'Ash turned the balls into long, lethal daggers. A small chuckle escaped Silas's lips. Now this, Silas thought, his grin transforming into a smile of pure, intellectual joy. This... is a true magician.