Malek stood frozen, staring at Aael as she placed the wrapped object on the desk and settled into her wooden chair.

  "Do you know how spiritual affinity is tested?" she asked.

  A wave of wrongness washed over him, so intense he almost staggered. His stomach churned.

  Why does it feel like she just asked that?

  The thought came unbidden, nonsensical even. She had just asked it. Of course she had. That was how conversations worked. But something in his mind screamed that this wasn't the first time. That he'd heard these exact words, in this exact tone, in this exact room before.

  Impossible.

  "No. I don't. Forgive me for not having that knowledge," Malek heard himself say.

  The words felt rehearsed. Like lines from a play he didn't remember auditioning for.

  Before Aael could respond, his brain lurched. A terrible certainty gripped him, he knew what she was about to say. It was not a guess not an intuition. The words were already forming in his head, perfectly synchronized with the movement of her lips.

  "That's understandable. You're young and from a rural area. There's no reason you would know."

  Malek's breathing quickened. His hands trembled at his sides.

  Aael unwrapped the object slowly. "Long ago, there was a mage who encountered a magical beast. This beast hunted down other beasts that possessed spiritual affinity and the mage was fascinated by that."

  Most of what Aael said became distant noise. Malek's mind was drowning in déjà vu so powerful it felt suffocating. Every word, every gesture, every small movement he'd seen it all before.

  But when?

  He tried to focus on her words, to ground himself in the present moment, but the sensation only intensified. The yellowish light in the room seemed to flicker in a pattern he recognized. The way Aael paused between sentences. The angle of her head when she looked at him.

  All of it was familiar.

  "What do you think fascinated the mage?" Aael asked.

  "The beast's ability to hunt spiritual beasts," Malek said automatically.

  No. Wait. That's not what I meant to

  "That's a reasonable assumption," Aael continued, and Malek's thoughts scattered. "Beasts with spiritual affinity are very strong, so hunting them successfully is impressive. But no. That's not what fascinated him."

  The sphere emerged from its wrapping. Dark glass or crystal, with faint veins running through it like cracks.

  Malek stared at it as chills ran down his spine.

  He'd seen this before. He was certain.

  But there was no memory attached to that certainty. Just a hollow space where a memory should be. Like someone had reached into his mind and carved out a piece of time, leaving only the shape of what had been there.

  "What fascinated the mage," Aael said, "was how the beast could identify which creatures had spiritual affinity and which didn't."

  Yes, Malek thought. And then she'll ask me what the mage did. And I'll say he killed the beast. And she'll ask why. And I'll explain about classes and observation and—

  He stopped himself.

  How did he know that?

  The conversation continued exactly as his mind predicted. Word for word. Beat for beat. Like a song he'd heard a thousand times but couldn't remember learning.

  When Aael finally pushed the sphere toward him and said, "Place your hand on it," Malek hesitated.

  Every instinct told him not to touch it.

  Not because it was dangerous, though that thought was there too, but because touching it felt like completing a loop. Like stepping into the same river twice.

  But what choice did he have? Refusing would raise questions he couldn't answer.

  He reached out slowly. His hand hovered above the sphere's surface.

  The déjà vu intensified to the point of nausea. His vision blurred at the edges. The room felt too bright and too dark at the same time.

  Don't, something whispered in the back of his mind. Don't touch it. Something terrible happens when you—

  But the thought fragmented before it could complete.

  Malek placed his palm on the sphere. And nothing happened.

  The sphere remained inert under his touch. Cool and smooth and utterly ordinary.

  Malek stood there, hand pressed against the crystal, waiting for something that never came.

  Aael watched him carefully. Several seconds passed.

  "Interesting," she murmured.

  Malek looked at her. "What is?"

  "You have no spiritual affinity at all. Completely null. That's... unusual for someone who broke the testing crystal."

  Relief flooded through him.

  But beneath the relief, terror still coiled in his gut like a living thing.

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  "The crystal you broke during the test," Aael continued, "was likely defective. It happens occasionally with mass-produced testing tools. I apologize for the confusion."

  "I understand," Malek said. His voice sounded distant to his own ears.

  "You may go. Get some rest. Tomorrow's final test will be demanding."

  Malek withdrew his hand from the sphere. The moment his skin left its surface, a wave of dizziness hit him so hard he nearly fell.

  Aael stood, concerned. "Are you alright?"

  "Yes," Malek lied. "Just tired from today's tests."

  She nodded, though her expression remained skeptical. "Very well. Dismissed."

  Malek turned and walked to the door. His legs felt weak. Each step required conscious effort.

  As his hand touched the door handle, Aael spoke again.

  "Malek."

  He turned back.

  “You should prepare something that will help you fight in a real battle.”

  She was clearly giving him some kind of hint for the next test, but Malek’s mind was nowhere near focused. All he wanted was to leave the office, lie down, and sleep.

  Malek left the office and closed the door behind him. The hallway outside was empty and poorly lit. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor.

  He walked quickly, desperate to put distance between himself and that room. That sphere. That conversation that felt like a echo of something that never happened.

  As he rounded a corner, he caught his reflection in a window.

  For just a moment—less than a second—he saw something else.

  Blood running from his eyes.

  Burns on his left hand.

  A expression of absolute terror on his face.

  Then it was gone. Just his normal reflection staring back at him.

  Malek turned away from the window and kept walking.

  He didn't look back.

  ***

  Malek woke to someone shaking his shoulder.

  "Wake up. We'll be late."

  He opened his eyes. Elara stood beside his bed, already dressed and ready.

  "Ah.” He groaned, clutching his head with his left hand, as a sharp pain pierced his skull. like someone was stabbing it.

  "What time is it?" Malek's voice came out rough.

  "Early enough that we won't miss breakfast if you hurry."

  Malek sat up, rubbing his face. His head felt heavy, thoughts sluggish like he'd slept poorly. The pain slowly began to fade.

  “You came back quite late last night. What was the instructor talking to you about?”

  One by one, most of the people in the room began to leave.

  He tried to remember the previous evening—going to Instructor Aael's office, the affinity test—but the details were foggy. He remembered entering the office. Remembered testing his affinity.

  Beyond that, nothing stood out. Just a normal meeting that had ended normally.

  “It’s nothing, really. I was just tired.” He said.

  "You look terrible,"

  "Thanks." Malek stood and grabbed his clothes. "Give me a few minutes."

  She left the room, and Malek dressed quickly. The grogginess clung to him, but he pushed it aside. Today was the final test. He needed to focus.

  When he emerged, Elara was waiting in the hallway. They walked together toward the dining hall.

  "I heard the next test will be combat-based. Someone said we'll be fighting each other."

  Malek glanced at her. "Where did you hear that?"

  "One of the other candidates mentioned it last night. Said an instructor let it slip."

  The instructor let it slip, though it felt more like they’d said it on purpose.

  They entered the dining hall. It was more crowded than yesterday most candidates had arrived early, probably anxious about the final test. Malek and Elara found seats and ate quickly. Bread, eggs, some kind of porridge.

  Jaron sat a few tables away with some other candidates, talking animatedly. He looked confident. Excited, even.

  After breakfast, all candidates were directed to the main courtyard.

  The courtyard was large and open, with a raised platform at one end. Instructor Aael stood on the platform alongside two other instructors Malek didn't recognize. Behind them was a large board covered with a cloth.

  The candidates formed a loose crowd in front of the platform. Malek counted roughly forty people. Everyone who had passed the first two tests.

  Aael stepped forward. The murmuring crowd fell silent.

  "Congratulations on reaching the final test," she began. Her voice carried clearly across the courtyard. "This test will determine who among you will be accepted and who will not."

  She gestured to the covered board behind her. "The format is simple. Combat matches. One-on-one. You will be paired randomly and fight until one combatant yields or is rendered unable to continue."

  A ripple of tension went through the crowd.

  "To be accepted into the program," Aael continued, "you must win at least two matches. Those who fail to win two matches will not be admitted. Those who succeed will be granted entry as first-year students."

  One of the other instructors pulled the cloth away from the board. It revealed a bracket—names paired against each other in the first round, with empty spaces for subsequent rounds.

  Malek scanned the board quickly, searching for his name.

  There. Third match of the first round.

  Malek vs. Krost

  He didn't recognize the name. Not that it mattered. He didn't know most of the candidates well.

  His eyes continued scanning and found other familiar names.

  Jaron vs. Darin — first match.

  Terris vs Thorn — second match

  Elara vs. Cassim — seventh match.

  "Matches will be held in the arena behind the main building," Aael said. "First match begins in thirty minutes. All participants and observers should make their way there now. Those not currently fighting are required to watch. Learn from your fellow candidates."

  She paused, looking over the crowd. "Remember—this is not a fight to the death. Excessive force will result in immediate disqualification. Show your skills, but also your control."

  With that, the instructors descended from the platform and began walking toward the arena.

  The candidates followed.

  Malek walked with Elara. She was silent, her expression focused.

  "You're in the seventh match," Malek said.

  "I saw."

  "Cassim. Do you know him?"

  "No."

  They reached the arena—a circular space with stone seating rising in tiers around a central fighting area. The ground was hard-packed dirt. No obstacles or cover. Just open space.

  Candidates filed into the seating. Instructors took positions at various points around the arena's edge.

  Malek found a seat in the third row. Elara sat beside him.

  "First match!" Aael's voice rang out. "Jaron and Darin, enter the arena."

  Jaron stood immediately, a grin on his face. He vaulted over the railing and landed in the arena with practiced ease.

  His opponent—Darin—was a stocky boy with short brown hair. He looked nervous as he climbed down into the arena more carefully.

  The two faced each other in the center.

  "Begin!" Aael called.

  Jaron moved first.

  Jaron raised both hands. Fire burst from his palms, two steady streams that shot forward in sharp arcs.

  Darin dove left. The flames barely missed him. He threw his hand out and the dirt under Jaron's feet suddenly shifted, trying to knock him down.

  But Jaron was already moving.

  He jumped back and fired again.

  This time it connected.

  The flames hit Darin's shoulder. He yelled and stumbled backward, clutching the burn.

  Jaron didn't wait.

  He rushed forward and sent a concentrated blast straight at Darin's chest.

  Darin's eyes went wide. He slammed both hands down.

  A wall of dirt shot up from the ground.

  The fire smashed into it. The wall held, but cracks spread across it fast. Pieces broke off and fell.

  Jaron moved to the side.

  Darin tried to raise another wall.

  "Too late." Jaron screamed.

  A bolt of fire slipped past the crumbling barrier and slammed into his ribs. He gasped and dropped to one knee.

  "Yield!" an instructor shouted.

  Darin lifted one hand. He surrendered.

  "Match over. Winner: Jaron."

  Light applause scattered through the crowd.

  Jaron walked over and pulled Darin to his feet, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin. They both left the arena.

  Malek watched carefully.

  Jaron had good control. His fire was hot enough to hurt, Every move was clean and fast.

  Impressive.

  More matches went by. Malek studied each one.

  Most candidates just threw their power around—big elemental blasts, brute force attacks, showy moves.

  Almost nobody fought smart.

  Then—

  "Third match! Malek versus Krost. Enter the arena!"

  Malek stood.

  The noise around him faded as he climbed down into the pit.

  Krost was already there. He was tall and thin, his long arms hung loosely at his sides. His eyes were locked on Malek. He was standing confidently. And why wouldn’t he be? To him, his opponent was just a twelve-year-old kid.

  To him, the outcome was already decided. Victory was already his.

  They stood across from each other.

  Malek took a slow breath.

  “Begin.”

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