Muna: So it stuck. Really stuck.

  Esra: It did. Lyra never got rid of it.

  Muna: When the encirclement of Magis started forming around the stage… did you know why? Did you recognise the girl from the Dois Trae?

  [audible of swallowing followed by a glass being placed on wood ]

  Esra: No.

  Muna: Not even then?

  Esra: My attention was… wrong that day. I felt wrong that day.

  [audible of chair shifting]

  Esra: You didn’t notice. Or maybe you did and didn’t ask. But my magic wasn’t hungry. But my stomach was starving.

  Muna: At all? I mean magic...

  Esra: Not even a little.

  [audible of soft cough]

  Esra: I was tired. Sad, sorta, it was confusing.

  Muna: And that stood out to you?

  Esra: Now it does. Back then, I just thought I was overwhelmed.

  TRANSCRIPT §08 | Esra Ann × M. Dragustea | Summer 554-4-4 | Antares

  With every Magi turned toward the stage, all Esra could see at first were the backs of the Black Robes. Berk craned his neck. Lyra rose onto her toes. Even Tariq stopped joking around.

  Esra slipped sideways, easing between two bodies while no one protested, and found a narrow line of sight. The stage was barely lit now, but enough.

  Two officers stood before her. The smaller one listened without speaking, head dipping once, then again. Blue hair caught what little light there was.

  The taller officer moved next. With the help of another Magi, he lifted the pedestals and carried them off the stage, wood scraping softly as they were dragged away. The space emptied.

  For a moment, there was nothing to see at all.

  Then Lolth’s voice rose.

  “All candidates are to withdraw immediately to a safe distance from the stage. You have five minutes to vacate the surrounding grounds. The next phase of the Trial involves magic that may exceed established containment parameters. Personal safety cannot be assured. Any candidate unwilling to accept this risk is instructed to leave the facilities at once and return only when clearance has been formally restored. This directive is final.”

  Lyra frowned, eyes tracking the ring of black robes tightening around the stage. “What is she talking about?”

  Tariq leaned sideways, craning his neck, clearly more invested in angles than answers. “Means things are about to get ugly.”

  Berk crossed his arms. “Why would it be dangerous? She’s still bound to the stage, right? Same limits as the rest of us.”

  Esra didn’t answer immediately.

  His gaze had fixed on the figure at the centre, small against the emptied space, the way the officers kept their distance without being told to.

  “She’s like my mum,” he said at last.

  Lyra and Berk both turned.

  “A Seeder,” Esra added. “But I don’t know what kind.”

  And that, somehow, felt worse.

  “A Seeder?” Tariq muttered. “You’re telling me that little thing just makes magic? No siphon, no source?”

  Esra shook his head slowly. “I don’t really know how it works,” he said. “They don’t draw the way we do. They don’t need to.” His eyes stayed on the stage. “I just… can’t tell what she does.”

  Lyra tilted her head, thinking out loud. “Your mum’s a seer, right? Maybe she twists minds. Or summons things. Birds, spirits—something like that. I don’t see what else she could do.”

  Esra’s fingers curled into the fabric of his robe. “She’s scared,” he said suddenly.

  Both Lyra and Berk turned to him.

  “How do you know?” the Mere asked.

  Esra rubbed his thumb against the fabric of his robe, as if trying to wipe something off. “I don’t,” he said after a moment. “It just… feels like it.” He didn’t add that the fear sat in his own chest.

  Lolth slipped back into the shadow behind the girl. The taller officer stepped forward instead, tail betraying him with a restless twitch.

  “Fire.”

  Nothing happened on the stage. Then the sky answered.

  A deep roar rolled overhead, distant at first. The air turned heavy and damp, pressing into lungs until breathing felt like work. Sweat broke out along the spines, with a metallic taste.

  Another roar split the dark.

  Heads tilted back as the clouds began to glow from within, traced in harsh white. Then the sky tore open.

  Tariq squinted upward. “What’s she doing?” he muttered. “Thunder ain’t fire.”

  The answer came straight down.

  A bolt slammed into the wooden stage with a crack that shook the boards. Flame bloomed where it struck, licking up around the girl’s bare feet without touching her.

  Lyra didn’t look away. “You were saying?”

  This wasn’t a joke. None of them was laughing.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The taller officer drew himself upright again, tail snapping once behind him.

  “Earth.”

  Heads tipped upward at once. Even the officers looked to the clouds, bracing for falling stone, for sand, for something to break loose from the sky.

  Instead, the sound came from below.

  At first, it was barely there. A low murmur, felt more than heard, crawling up through bare feet. Then the wooden planks trembled. Someone staggered as the ground lurched hard enough to steal balance.

  The shaking deepened. It was an earthquake.

  “Enough!”

  The motion died instantly.

  Tariq stared at the stage, mouth open. “By all the stars,” he breathed. “I thought the little one would play with the weather, not the whole scheida map.” He swallowed. “And she’s still got two more.”

  When the crowd finally found its footing again, the next call rang out.

  “Water.”

  Nothing moved.

  A fine touch first, barely there. Drops gathered on arms, hair, lashes. Warm dew slid down faces and necks, darkening fabric. The scent of rain spread through the camp, gently.

  A few hands lifted. Someone laughed in relief. Applause rippled outward, uneven but real.

  “And finally,” the officer said, “Air.”

  The camp leaned forward as one. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for.

  Nothing came.

  No gust. No pull. No visible shift. The darkness swallowed the stage whole, leaving only the girl's vague outline standing there.

  Lyra squinted, craning her neck. “That’s it?” she muttered. “Do you see anything?”

  No one answered.

  Then a sound broke through the silence. Someone gagging, retching hard enough to echo against the wooden planks.

  A shape bolted down the stairs, feet slapping fast. No announcement followed. Just hurried steps fading into the dark beyond the stage.

  The crowd hesitated, unsure whether to react at all.

  Tariq leaned back, withdrawing from his awkward vantage point, and shook his head once. “Poor thing,” he said quietly. “She failed.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Berk muttered. “She showed everything. Thunder doesn’t walk onto a stage by itself. Does it?”

  Lyra didn’t argue. She folded her arms instead, eyes still fixed on the empty platform. “Control matters,” she said. “That’s why they boxed her in. Well, she can always try next summer.”

  The field slowly loosened.

  Names were checked in the meantime as if nothing happened, and the lists kept being updated. The summoned Magis drifted away. The candidates who didn’t make it walked toward the exits; the others stayed for their turns, dissolving into low conversations. A few officers repositioned.

  They all stayed and waited for Esra's turn.

  “Ann?” Lyra said.

  Esra hadn’t moved. One hand was pressed flat against his stomach, fingers digging in as if trying to hold something still.

  “I feel sick,” he said.

  Lyra’s eyes flicked down. His knuckles had gone pale. His shoulders trembled, just enough to notice.

  “You’re shaking,” she said.

  Berk was already there, steadying him by the arm. “Is it happening?”

  Lyra’s breath caught. “Lay him down.” She grabbed Esra’s legs, lowering him carefully. “Berk, hold him.”

  Tariq straightened, confusion sharpening into concern. “Hey— what’s going on?”

  “Ann has seizures,” Lyra said with no further explanation.

  “Stop.” Esra pulled free with more force than he meant to. “I’m fine.”

  Lyra hesitated, hands still hovering, unsure where to let go. Berk didn’t release him right away.

  “It’s nothing,” Esra went on, already pushing himself upright. “Just— indigestion or something.” He waved it off. “I just need a second.”

  “Esra Ann.” The name cut through the space before anyone could argue.

  “Well,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “That’s me.”

  The ground tilted as he walked. Not enough to fall. Just enough to make the world feel loosely detached. Faces blurred at the edges. Sounds came late, as if dragged through water.

  He reached the stairs and stopped. One breath. Then another. Then he climbed.

  Lolth waited for him at the top.

  No announcement. No ritual tone. Just her standing there, mask unreadable, dark-blue hair catching what little light remained. Esra tried to meet her gaze and said nothing.

  He waited. She let the silence stretch. Then, simply, “Impress me.”

  Esra blinked. “That’s… not exactly an instruction.”

  Lolth tilted her head. “Use your imagination. I’m curious. What can you do?”

  “What are the rules?”

  Then a quiet, almost amused reply. “No rules for you. You don’t strike me as someone who follows them anyway.”

  A step forward from behind.

  “Lolth,” the taller officer said, tail twitching with unease. “What are you doing?”

  Lolth didn’t turn.

  “I’ll explain later, Jaer,” Lolth said without looking back. “This is going to be fun.”

  The taller officer stiffened, then stepped aside. He didn’t argue.

  Esra exhaled through his nose, annoyed. “You know what,” he muttered, more tired than defiant. He lifted one hand and turned away.

  Motion drained out of everything. The world stopped.

  “Whatever.” Esra rolled his shoulders once. “Crazy bitch how am I supposed to know what to do?”

  He walked.

  The pedestals stood with flames frozen mid-flicker, water locked in a glassy curl. Easy, he thought. He could change their place, turn off and on one by one, and be done in moments.

  “Pardon me?” Lolth said. “Did you call me bitch?”

  Esra flinched hard enough that his heel skidded on the wood. He spun around. Lolth stood exactly where she had been.

  Behind her, the crowd remained carved from silence.

  “How do you—” Esra stopped himself. He looked past her, at his unmoving friends. At Lyra’s frozen half-step. Berk’s mouth caught mid-word. “You shouldn’t be able to—”

  Lolth met his stare and finished the sentence. “Move?”

  “Yes,” Esra said carefully. "So you know?"

  “I know.”

  He swallowed. “So you know what I did for my friend, Berk?

  "Quick thinking. Very effective.”

  “So… I’m done?”

  Lolth reached up and unclasped her mask. It came away with a soft metallic click.

  Her skin was dark, not smooth but flecked with tiny mineral lights. Thin elf ears curved back through loose strands of deep blue hair. Her eyes didn’t blink when she looked at Esra.

  “Since twenty summers ago,” she said, “I started investigating for mages like you.”

  She stepped past him, boots quiet on the wooden boards.

  “Those who could stop Time. Bend it. Step outside it. There is almost no record.”

  She stopped behind him.

  “But when I most needed it,” she continued, “a time master saved my life and... well that is a story for another time.”

  “My friends think I just run really fast,” he said.

  “Smart.” She faced him again. “But not enough.”

  He rolled his sleeves, gaze flicking briefly to the silent crowd. “I can do pretty things.”

  Lolth lifted one hand and pointed. The pedestals waited.

  “Can you do pretty things with four elements?”

  “I can try. Can’t be that hard.”

  Lolth didn’t hesitate. “Fire.”

  Esra touched the frozen flame. It didn’t resist him. The fire held its shape as his hand passed through its heat, warmth brushing his skin without burning. He lifted a portion of it, studying the way the light bent around his fingers.

  “Hm,” he murmured.

  With small, precise movements, he pressed and pulled at the flame as if it were soft clay. The fire thinned, stretched, then gathered again, lines sharpening. Horns curled. A narrow muzzle formed. The suggestion of eyes flickered into being.

  He turned his hand.

  A goat’s head stared back at Lolth, sculpted entirely from living fire.

  “There,” Esra said.

  Lolth tilted her head. “A goat. The Flaming Ram?”

  “No, this is Gale,” Esra replied easily. “My butler.”

  Her fingers rose, reaching toward the flame. They passed straight through it, disturbing nothing. The goat didn’t waver.

  Lolth withdrew her hand. “I can’t hold it.”

  Esra blinked. “You can’t?”

  “No.” Her eyes stayed on the flame. “I can’t.”

  He returned the fire to its pedestal, with Gale's portrait hovering.

  Esra glanced sideways. “Earth?”

  Lolth shrugged. “That one should be easy.”

  “I agree.”

  He gathered the earth between his hands and, with a few drops of water drawn from the neighboring pedestal, shaped it into a shallow basin, curved and smooth, its handle narrowing into a long, hollow neck—something between a ladle and a bowl.

  Lolth raised an eyebrow. “Not very impressive.”

  Esra smiled. “I didn’t finish.”

  He drew water from the next pedestal in a thin, obedient ribbon and shaped it midair, matching the basin's curve with careful precision. It hovered just above the lip, held there, waiting. Below it, the small goat of flame flickered.

  Esra tilted his head, assessing the balance. “Now all that’s missing,” he said, lightly, “is a push.”

  He leaned forward and blew once through the hollow neck of the basin.

  The air held still, waiting in expectation.

  Lolth regarded the arrangement for a long moment. “It’s… pretty.”

  Esra inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  She turned her gaze back to him. “With all this,” she said, gesturing at the frozen world around them, “stopping Time included—where do you draw your magic from? There is nothing here to siphon.”

  Esra hesitated, then answered simply. “I’m an incubus.”

  “Ah. Like Master Mediah.”

  The name struck one of Esra’s nerves.

  Only then did he notice how long Time had been frozen, more than usual. How the world remained paused around them. He felt no hunger. No ache asking to be fed.

  Lolth watched him closely, head tilted. “You should speak with him,” she said. “Someone with shared experience can save you summers of guessing.”

  Esra nodded once. “Thank you.”

  She stepped back and raised her hand. “Now,” she said, “let’s see it in real time.”

  Time lurched.

  Air rushed where it had been absent. The basin trembled, filled, tipped. Water spilt forward in a clean arc, breaking over the flame. Steam hissed as the goat-shaped fire collapsed into smoke and vanished.

  Lolth nodded, satisfied. “Pretty.”

  The taller officer exhaled. “That was really fast. I could barely see anything. Could you repeat it?”

  “There’s no need,” Lolth said, already moving. “He passed the Trial of Elements.”

  She reached for Esra’s hand.

  But he flinched and turned just in time to retch.

  The world spun back into him all at once. Knees buckled. Lolth caught his shoulder and, with the other hand, patting his back.

  “I know the feeling,” she said, "Happened to me too."

  

  “[…] IX – A Magi may leave the Black Robe, yet the Trial of Elements does not leave the Magi. […]” from the Handbook of Advanced Elemental Theories and Practical Applications for the Trial of the Elements by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune