Throne of Ash and Blood

Chapter 5 Judgement

The crystal on the pedestal seemed ordinary at first—just a smooth, faintly glowing stone the size of a melon. But the closer Alphonse stepped, the more he felt its pull. It wasn’t calling him in words, but in sensation: a soft hum in his bones, a whisper just beneath his thoughts.

“Hands,” Kaelen instructed, standing just far enough away to watch. “Both of them. And keep them there until the crystal is finished.”

Alphonse hesitated only a second before placing his palms on the cool surface. At once, the crystal’s glow sharpened from pale silver to a brilliant white. It pulsed once—twice—then splintered into a dozen shifting colors that raced up his arms like liquid light.

A wave of heat struck first, followed by a sharp, bracing cold. Then came the rush of wind, the grounding weight of earth, and the tingling brush of unseen sparks across his skin. His breath caught—he could feel them all. Every element.

The crystal’s glow intensified until the room was flooded with colors, the walls awash in dancing light. Outside the chamber, footsteps hurried; voices murmured in alarm.

Then, with a final blinding flash, the crystal dimmed. The marks of each element shimmered faintly along Alphonse’s forearms—flame, frost, wind, stone, and the delicate shimmer of sprite magic—before fading into his skin.

Kaelen stepped forward slowly, his sharp eyes studying Alphonse as though seeing him for the first time. One dark brow lifted.

“Interesting.”

It was all he said for a long moment, but the weight in his tone made Alphonse’s heart pound harder. Kaelen finally turned toward the door.

“Follow me. The Spheres will have much to… discuss about you. In the meantime, I will show you your quarters.”

They walked through winding halls, the air still crackling faintly from whatever had happened in that chamber. Several mages they passed glanced at him—some curious, others wary.

Finally, they stopped before a tall, arched door of polished oak bound with gold inlays. Kaelen pushed it open, revealing a room that looked more like a noble’s suite than a student’s quarters.

A massive bed draped in deep blue silk dominated one side, its carved headboard etched with constellations. Tall windows stretched from floor to ceiling, framed by heavy velvet curtains, offering a view of the ocean beyond the island’s cliffs. A desk of rich mahogany sat by the far wall, stacked with blank parchment, inkwells, and a silver lamp that glowed without flame. Shelves lined with books—on magic, history, and strange symbols—filled the space between the windows.

The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and something sweeter, like honey tea. A wardrobe stood open to reveal neatly folded robes and cloaks, each embroidered with the insignia of the Spheres.

“This will be yours for as long as you are here,” Kaelen said simply. “Enjoy it. You’ll see little of it once training begins.”

Alphonse stepped inside, running his hand over the smooth wood of the desk, the silk bedspread. It was beautiful, comfortable… yet it felt less like a gift and more like a gilded cage.

Kaelen moved toward the door. “Rest for now. Tomorrow, we begin.”

The door shut softly behind him, leaving Alphonse alone with the fading light from the sea and the distant murmur of magic humming through the walls.

The Council chamber was dimly lit, save for the bluish glow of the hovering crystal orbs that circled the high table. Seven figures sat in a perfect half-circle, their robes denoting rank—deep crimson for the Archmages, silver-trimmed black for the Elders, and deep blue for the Element Masters.

“He wields all five,” one Elder said, his voice low but edged with concern. “Without a conduit and words. That is… not supposed to be possible.”

Another, a stern woman with silver hair bound tightly behind her head, folded her arms. “Not supposed to be possible—and yet here he stands. If that boy’s temper ever outweighed his restraint, he could level cities before anyone could intervene.”

“Then we train him,” Archmage Orrin replied calmly, tapping a finger on the table. “We do not shun such a gift. It is rare—perhaps once in an age.”

“And dangerous,” the silver-haired Elder countered. “The last time a mage like this walked among us, kingdoms fell.”

A younger Master, the only one leaning forward with genuine curiosity, interjected. “And they fell because he wasn’t trained. That boy is dangerous only without proper discipline. Under our guidance, he could be… unstoppable, in the right way.”

The murmurs went back and forth for several minutes before Orrin raised a hand. “Master Kaelen will handle his training. Keep him away from politics for now. And watch him closely.”

The decision was made. Alphonse, meanwhile, slept soundly in his new quarters—completely unaware that his name had just been spoken with both admiration and fear.

The next morning, sunlight filtered in through the large arched window of Alphonse’s room. He blinked awake, still a little stunned by how nice it was—polished stone floors covered with thick rugs, a bed softer than clouds, carved oak furniture, and even a writing desk by the window that overlooked the ocean.

When Master Kaelen entered, he didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Do you know why a mage uses a wand or staff?”

Alphonse stretched and rubbed his eyes. “Because a mage needs a conduit,” he said confidently.

Kaelen’s brow rose slightly. “And do you know what a conduit is?”

Alphonse nodded. “It’s… a focus. A way to harness magic so it doesn’t destroy the caster. Like a river needing banks—without them, the water just floods everywhere. A conduit keeps magic flowing where you want it.”

Kaelen’s lips twitched in something close to approval. “Correct. But there are some—like you—who don’t need a conduit. Your body channels magic on its own.” He paused. “Still, a staff or wand can be used for you as well—not as a leash, but as an amplifier. To make your magic stronger.”

That got Alphonse’s attention.

Kaelen led him through the stone corridors until they reached the armory. The scent of polished wood, leather, and faint ozone from lingering spells hung in the air. Weapons gleamed on stands, armor displayed like statues—sleek silver chestplates, segmented pauldrons, even mage-blades humming faintly with stored power.

But the far wall was where Alphonse’s attention locked. Rows upon rows of staffs stood upright, each unique. Some were pitch black with jagged red gems that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. Others were wrapped in spiraling runes, the wood twisting in elegant, impossible shapes. There were staffs tipped with animal skulls, staffs crowned with crystalline flowers, staffs that glimmered faintly as though holding captive stars.

He reached out toward a menacing black staff tipped with crimson spikes—

SLAP!

“Ow!” Alphonse pulled his hand back and rubbed it, glaring at Kaelen. “What was that for?”

Kaelen’s face was perfectly blank. “You don’t just pick one because it looks cool. A staff is not a toy. It is alive. It chooses you, not the other way around.”

Alphonse furrowed his brow. “…Alive?”

“Close your eyes,” Kaelen instructed. “Reach out your dominant hand.”

“Uh… about that,” Alphonse said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m… ambidextrous.”

Kaelen raised one eyebrow. “Then use both.”

Alphonse let out a small huff but complied, closing his eyes and raising both hands. The air in the room shifted immediately—like a sudden change before a storm. The staffs began to hum, wood and metal faintly vibrating in their stands. The sound grew louder until CRACK—one flew across the room and slammed into his grip.

Alphonse’s eyes flew open—and his excitement immediately plummeted.

“…Seriously?” he muttered.

The staff was plain. No twisting runes, no menacing skulls, no dark gleam of power. Just a smooth brown shaft of wood, its only decoration a large, multicolored gem the size of a pineapple mounted at the top. The gem had a small crack near the top, like a missing shard.

“That’s it?” Alphonse groaned. “Not even a spike?”

Kaelen’s tone was flat but firm. “It isn’t about looks—it’s about power. As your strength grows, so will your staff. It is now a part of you. Care for it, and it will care for you.”

Alphonse sighed, glancing down at the unimpressive stick in his hands. “…Guess I was hoping for something a little more… intimidating.”

“You’ll learn,” Kaelen replied, already turning away.

Alphonse followed, muttering under his breath, “Still would’ve looked cooler with spikes…”