It was deep into the night.
Two figures sat by a campfire, its flames casting trembling shadows across the ground. One of them appeared more refined; from the fluid grace of her movements and her slender silhouette, it was easy to tell she was a young woman. She silently observed the young man seated opposite her.
Despite the darkness, her eyes were still visible—dark crimson, almost the color of dried blood.
Sensing her gaze on him, the young man turned his head. Unlike her scarlet eyes, his were a cold shade of blue. Even the lazy curls of smoke rising from the fire could not conceal the unmistakable interest in her stare.
"Are you worried about tomorrow's trial?" the girl asked thoughtfully.
The young man gave only a silent nod before returning his gaze to the flames.
She wanted to encourage him, to say there was nothing to worry about, but she understood that empty words would not help him now.
"If it turns out you have no talent, what will really change?" the girl asked, smoothing the folds of her dress.
The young man met her gaze for a brief moment before looking back into the fire. Letting out a heavy sigh, he spoke in a quiet voice, barely above a whisper.
"If I have no gift for magic, I'll become useless to my family. Most likely, they'll renounce me, brand me as worthless, and send me to the academy to study swordsmanship."
He fell silent, watching as the fire slowly devoured the wood.
"And that's all?" The girl tilted her head slightly. "You're only afraid of being rejected by your family? Or are you more afraid of losing your place in the struggle for the throne?"
The young man lifted his eyes and gave a short, joyless smirk.
"In this world, magical talent rules everything. If you possess a gift, you become a desirable piece in other people's games—some will want to use you, while others will want to destroy you. But if you have no gift..." He paused. "Then you are even less free."
He tossed a dry branch into the fire and continued.
"Any mage can take whatever they desire from you: your home, your woman, your child... even your life."
"Neither," the young man replied quietly, never looking away. "What I fear is losing the tiny bit of freedom I still have."
He looked directly into the girl's eyes.
"Without talent, I'm no more than a servant... or a slave. Until my master decides to sacrifice me, I won't even be able to oppose him."
A thoughtful glint flickered through her crimson eyes. The girl seemed to weigh his words, but a moment later, she merely let out a quiet snort, her expression turning serious.
She fell into thought.
There was truth in what he said. A human without talent—a mortal, as mages contemptuously called such people—was rarely worth more than a servant.
But blindly relying solely on talent was no lesser mistake.
One who places all their faith in the power of their gift will, sooner or later, become its prisoner.
"Remember this," the girl said, never taking her eyes off him. "One who serves only their talent will never become its master."
The young man silently nodded and returned his gaze to the flames.
In the next instant, the fire vanished.
As if it had never existed.
The girl stared for a while longer at the place where the young man had been sitting, then lifted her head to the night sky.
"So, the time has come..." she murmured softly.
For the first time, there was the faintest trace of sadness in her voice.
"Well then, Aluric... either this will break you, or it will make you stronger. And all that remains for me is to watch and wait."
She lowered her gaze to where the fire had burned only moments before.
There was no fear or doubt left in her eyes now—only cold tranquility.