CHAPTER SEVEN — First Ability Evaluation
1033 Words
The morning air at Silvercrest Academy carried a thin layer of cold that crept into Aria’s bones as she walked toward the northern wing. Today was mandatory. Today determined placement rankings, training schedules, and—unfortunately—reputation.
The Initial Ability Evaluation.
Students streamed past her, buzzing with excitement and nerves. Aria clutched her small notebook to her chest as she walked, her steps soft, almost ghostlike. She always walked like she was trying not to draw attention.
It never worked.
Whispers always followed her.
As she approached the massive doors of the Evaluation Hall, she lifted her eyes and stared. The building was built of stone infused with faintly glowing runes, the entire structure humming with old magic. The energy inside the hall pulsed like a heartbeat.
Aria swallowed.
She hated tests.
She hated attention.
And she hated the moment where she had to open her mouth—only to produce silence.
Inside, the space was vast. Tall crystalline pillars stood in a circle, each glowing faintly as if aware of the students entering. Instructors lined the perimeter, clipboards in hand. But at the center stood one figure who drew the eyes of every student:
Instructor Kael Rowan.
Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Cold expression. Commanding presence.
Aria felt her chest tighten when his gaze swept over the students—and stopped on her. His eyes didn’t shift away immediately. They lingered for just a breath too long, unreadable.
She looked down quickly, pretending to check her notebook.
“Form your lines,” Kael announced, voice low but carrying easily. “Group One, prepare for your evaluation.”
Students hustled into position. Aria moved to Group Three, her assigned placement. Two girls shot her glances. One whispered.
“She shouldn’t even be here. How will she pass? She can’t communicate.”
Aria lowered her gaze, jaw clenched.
Kael’s head snapped toward the sound.
The girl fell silent.
Aria’s breath eased slightly. He always heard everything.
Group One stepped forward. Aria watched student after student place their hand on the crystal pillar. Some made the pillar flare in bright colors; others elicited only a dull glow. The hall reacted each time—gasps, whispers, murmurs.
Group Two followed.
Aria felt sweat forming in her palms. Her mind replayed the same fear:
What if nothing happens?
What if the crystal doesn’t respond at all?
The thought made her stomach twist.
Finally:
“Group Three,” an instructor called. “Step forward.”
Aria’s pulse pounded painfully. She joined the line, and the room felt suddenly smaller.
A boy ahead of her placed his hand on the crystal. The pillar glowed a vibrant blue—a strong elemental affinity. The crowd murmured in approval.
Then:
“Aria.”
Her name cut through the noise like a blade.
She exhaled shakily and stepped into the circle.
Kael shifted slightly, his attention sharpening. He didn’t stand this close to the other students. Aria noticed—but pretended not to.
“Center of the ring,” Kael instructed, voice softer than before.
She moved into position.
“Place your hand on the crystal. Relax your breathing.”
Aria lifted her hand and pressed it against the cold surface. The chill seeped instantly into her fingertips.
At first—nothing.
Silence.
Stillness.
The faint buzzing of whispers rising again.
Then a faint glow appeared at the base of the pillar. Weak. Fleeting.
A few students snickered.
Aria’s cheeks burned.
“Barely reacting.”
“Told you she has nothing.”
“She’ll get the lowest ranking.”
Aria’s chest tightened painfully.
Kael’s gaze darkened. “Quiet,” he said sharply—not loudly, but with authority that froze the entire row.
He turned back to Aria.
“Don’t focus on them,” he said quietly—unexpectedly gentle. “Just breathe.”
Aria inhaled slowly.
When she exhaled, something inside her chest shifted—soft and warm, like a sleeping presence stirring faintly. The crystal flickered again, as if responding to something deep within her.
A pulse.
Then another.
So subtle most students didn’t notice.
But Kael did.
His eyes narrowed, his posture sharpening with interest.
The pillar’s runes shimmered faintly, not in a bright show of power, but in a strange… hesitant way. Like something inside Aria was trying to remain unseen.
Kael stepped closer.
“That’s unusual,” he murmured—not to her, not to himself, but somewhere in between.
Aria felt her hand tremble slightly. She forced herself to stay still, breathing as he instructed.
The glow faded completely after a moment.
The proctor scribbled the result.
“Aria—minimal measurable ability. Classification pending.”
A few students snorted.
Aria removed her hand and stepped back quickly, heart hammering in humiliation and confusion.
Minimal ability.
Again.
Just like every test she had ever taken.
But something had stirred.
Something had tried to rise.
She felt it.
Before she could return to her group, Kael called quietly:
“Aria.”
She froze.
He stepped closer, expression unreadable but eyes sharp with intent.
“Look at me.”
She lifted her gaze slowly.
“What you showed was not ‘minimal,’” he said. “It was muted.”
Her breath caught.
Muted.
Like her voice.
kael continued, his tone low so only she could hear.
“That crystal is ancient. It doesn’t misread. If it can’t measure you…” His eyes narrowed further. “Then you are hiding something. Whether intentionally or not.”
Aria shook her head quickly.
She wasn’t hiding anything.
She didn’t know anything.
Kael studied her for a long moment.
Most instructors would have dismissed her.
He didn’t.
Finally, he stepped back.
“You passed,” he said. “But barely.”
Aria nodded weakly and turned away, her heart thudding in her ears.
As she walked back to her peers, she felt eyes burning into her back—some mocking, some curious, and one in particular… sharp and calculating.
For the first time since she arrived at Silvercrest Academy, Aria felt a strange mix of fear and awareness.
Someone had noticed the thing she’d spent her whole life ignoring.
Someone had seen through her silence.
And that someone was Kael Rowan.
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