Fourteen years had passed since Max opened his eyes in the world of Avalith, a realm steeped in wonder and magic. Though his body had grown, tall and lean with a sharp gaze that missed little, his true self—his soul forged in Earth's shadows—remained untouched, observing the world with quiet calculation.
To the outside world, Max was simply one of the many orphans raised in the modest stone orphanage nestled at the edge of Greenhollow, a sleepy village known more for its herbs than heroism. He shared chores, studied scrolls, and laughed under the starlight like any other child. But in secret, Max had spent every stolen moment perfecting his grasp over Avalith's mana. The meditation technique from his former life had long evolved into a nightly ritual, allowing him to breathe with the world, feel its rhythm, and drink in its raw magic.
By age seven, he could strengthen his muscles beyond a grown man's peak with a whisper of intent. At nine, he shaped elemental forces—casting fire with a flick, freezing dew into spears. By twelve, he understood the true breadth of magic. Now, at fourteen, Max had surpassed the legends, wielding 90 circles of condensed, white-pure mana—a feat that, if known, would shatter the very foundation of the magical world.
But Max had no interest in fame. He crafted an illusion—a subtle blend of body aura and false rings—that masked his strength. His projected mana showed him as an unremarkable five-circle apprentice. Enough to be noticed, but not feared.
He wasn't alone in the orphanage anymore. Lily, his best friend since infancy, had grown alongside him. She was kind, curious, and a little clumsy, with fire-kissed auburn hair and a laugh that could chase clouds away. She had no memory of her origins, only that the village elder brought her in as a baby. Magic didn't come naturally to her at first, but Max secretly helped her understand its flow. Now, she was a bright young mage-in-training with six circles and a gift for wind magic.
The selection test came during the last frost of winter.
A white carriage bearing the crest of the Grand Arcanum Academy arrived unannounced, drawn by two mana-touched stags. From it stepped a middle-aged mage with robes of flowing midnight and a gaze like polished glass. Her name was Archmage Sylven Dorr, a recruiter known across the continent for finding talent in unlikely places.
The test was simple. Students were lined up and asked to demonstrate their control, projection, and understanding of mana. Some fumbled, others wept, but Lily stood strong. Her display of a directed wind blade earned an impressed nod.
Then it was Max's turn.
He stepped forward calmly, and the moment he did, Sylven's eyes narrowed. There was a pause—barely half a second—but Max felt the shift. The Archmage was probing, searching deeper. A light ripple brushed against Max's false aura. He instinctively layered another veil over it, allowing only the faintest flicker of resistance. Just enough to seem naturally guarded.
"Interesting," Sylven murmured, her lips barely moving.
Max conjured a basic flame orb, rotating it with the elegance of a practiced magician, then dispelled it with a controlled wave. Textbook. Nothing flashy. Just clean and efficient.
"Efficient use of mana threads," Sylven said aloud. "Passable. Both of you—Max Kade and Lily Ashbourne—you will be offered full scholarships to the Grand Arcanum Academy."
Cheers erupted from the younger children, and even the caretakers gasped in surprise. Lily turned to Max, eyes wide with disbelief. He smiled faintly.
But Sylven did not stop watching him.
Later that evening, while Lily packed her books and a locket she wore always, Max stood in the courtyard alone. Snowflakes drifted from the gray sky, catching in his dark hair. He let his senses open—feeling the trees, the breath of wind, the low hum of the earth's mana.
"Who are you really, Max Kade?" came a voice behind him.
Max turned slowly. Sylven stood there, arms folded.
"A boy from Greenhollow," Max said smoothly. "Same as Lily."
"You carry the composure of a war mage and the discipline of a council scholar. Yet, you live in obscurity."
Max said nothing.
Sylven walked a circle around him, then stopped. "You've hidden your rings. Illusion magic. Subtle, but… imperfect."
That made Max blink. This woman was sharper than she let on.
"I don't mean to expose you," Sylven said softly. "If anything, I'm curious. If you are who I think you might be, the academy will not contain you for long. Just remember—power attracts attention. Use it wisely."
And with that, he walked away.
The next morning, the carriage returned.
Max and Lily stood hand-in-hand at the orphanage gate. The other children waved tearful goodbyes as the caretakers dabbed at their eyes. Max carried a plain satchel; Lily had a small box with her keepsakes. Both wore fresh wool cloaks provided by the academy.
As they stepped into the carriage, Max glanced back once at the place that had become his quiet sanctuary. He felt no sorrow, only a mild nostalgia. The world beyond was calling, and he had only begun to taste its potential.
Lily leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Do you think we'll be okay?" she whispered.
Max smiled, staring out at the snowy road ahead. "We'll be better than okay."
And with the creak of wheels and the crack of reins, the carriage rolled forward, carrying them toward destiny—and into a world not yet ready for who he truly was.