Four Legendary Knights had stepped forward.
Four had chosen.
And with each passing selection, the weight inside my chest grew heavier.
When Pheonix's masked gaze had met mine, it felt personal.
As though, for a fleeting second, the arena had disappeared.
As though he had spoken only to me.
"I saw bravery."
Those words still echoed.
But bravery alone had not been enough.
Rose stood below the main platform now, radiant beneath the attention.
Greg beside her, composed as ever.
The others too, faces glowing with triumph.
And I…
I remained where I had started.
Maybe it takes time, I told myself.
Maybe another will choose me.
If not—
The thought crept in like cold water.
If not… what then?
Return to the Chapel?
Help Sister Abigail with the children?
Fix the broken benches. Sweep the floors. Carry water from the well.
Would she smile and say she was proud anyway?
Or would her eyes betray the disappointment she tried to hide?
She had believed in me since the night I stood on a wooden crate, fists clenched, and declared—
"I will become a Magic Knight and protect Rocky Village from bandits and trolls!"
I was four.
Four.
The villagers had laughed.
But Sister Abigail had knelt down, held my face gently, and said,
"Then you must grow strong, Silver."
And now…
Now I stood here with a bandaged torso and no mentor.
Stop it.
Stop it, stupid mind.
I have magic.
Even if it is small.
Even if it flickers.
It exists.
That should be enough.
Right?
Before doubt could dig deeper—
A loud pop shattered the air.
A smoke bomb exploded at the center of the stage.
Thick gray smoke swallowed the platform instantly. The crowd gasped, some rising from their seats in alarm.
The smoke did not disperse naturally.
It coiled.
Twisted.
Gathered.
And from within it—
A figure stepped forward.
Clad in dark armor that absorbed the light rather than reflecting it. A long cloak flowed behind him like liquid shadow. His face was hidden beneath a black helm, only faint glimmers visible where his eyes should be.
His voice was low.
Controlled.
"I am The Shadow Warrior."
The name struck something deep inside me.
The Shadow Warrior.
My mind repeated it.
Wasn't he—
Yes.
The one who had saved Rocky Village from the Goblin Tribes attack twenty-five years ago.
I had grown up on those stories.
The villagers would sit around the fire and speak of a lone knight who emerged from the darkness, cutting through goblins like a phantom. How he vanished before dawn without asking for reward.
How the children had searched for him the next morning, hoping to see their hero.
I had imagined him a thousand times.
And now—
He stood before me.
Real.
His presence was different from the others.
Quieter.
Sharper.
The smoke lingered around him unnaturally, clinging to his armor like a living thing.
His gaze swept across the students.
It paused briefly on those whose shadows seemed slightly darker than they should have been.
"You."
A boy flinched as his own shadow stretched unnaturally behind him.
"Shadow Magic. Step forward."
Another student—this one whose fingertips emitted faint wisps of black mist.
"Dark Magic. You as well."
A third whose aura carried a sickly green undertone.
"Poison Magic."
And a fourth—silent, composed, shadow pooling faintly around his boots.
All boys.
All aligned with darker attributes.
They stepped forward one by one.
The Shadow Warrior gave a single nod.
No speech.
No flourish.
The smoke thickened again.
And then—
He was gone.
The stage cleared.
Four more chosen.
The arena's energy shifted once more.
I stared at the place where he had stood.
The man who once saved my village.
And yet—
He had not even looked at me twice.
Hope flickered again.
We were running out of Knights.
And I was still waiting.
Then came a small blizzard.
It did not rush in like a storm. It arrived softly at first, like winter testing the door. A thin veil of frost spread across the stage. The air turned sharp. My breath became visible in front of me.
Through the curtain of snow stepped a very young, short woman.
A frozen rose rested in her silver hair. Her gown flowed like drifting snow, untouched by the wind that swirled around her. For a moment, the entire arena felt quiet, almost sacred. She did not walk. She glided.
She looked like an angel carved from ice.
"My name is Fiona Goodwill, and I will choose."
Her voice was calm, but beneath it was something cold and commanding.
She scanned the crowd slowly. Her eyes passed over dozens of students.
Then they stopped.
On me.
"You."
My heart slammed against my ribs. This was it. Finally. I pointed to myself, silently asking for confirmation, afraid to breathe in case the moment shattered.
"Me?" I asked, already feeling the rush of victory.
"No, not you. The one behind you."
The world froze harder than her magic.
I turned.
Julian Dave.
Julian blinked, then gave a lazy smirk. "Nah. I am not interested in a child."
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
For the first time, the angel's face cracked.
Her expression darkened. The frost at her feet spread violently.
"How dare you say that?" she shouted, and the temperature dropped so sharply my fingers went numb. "You do not have a choice now. I have chosen you. You will get ready to face the winds."
Julian's grin faded.
She inhaled slowly, regaining her composure, though the air still trembled with her anger. Then she began choosing others. Four girls with wind and frost affinity. Two boys with storm magic.
Strangely, after the fourth girl stepped forward, Julian seemed far more willing to cooperate.
I watched him go, half amused, half bitter.
Another chance gone.
Then came the next knight.
He wore priestly robes that shimmered faintly with golden light. No dramatic entrance. No thunder. No storm.
Just warmth.
He stepped forward quietly. His presence alone silenced the crowd. A soft glow surrounded him, gentle but powerful. He looked at us, eyes kind yet unreadable.
He said nothing.
He simply walked through the line.
When he stopped, he placed a hand on a boy's shoulder.
"You," he said softly.
The boy trembled as golden light bloomed around him. Holy magic.
The priest nodded once and led him away without another word.
And just like that, another knight had chosen.
And I was still standing there.
Then came the last one.
He did not arrive with thunder or snow. He jumped down from the main platform and landed on the stage with a heavy thud that echoed through the arena.
He adjusted his coat, lifted his chin, and announced himself.
"I am Ser Thonwalt Gerdfal."
His voice carried arrogance like perfume.
He looked over us as if inspecting livestock. Without hesitation he called, "Ceilian."
Ceilian stepped forward immediately.
Then twelve more names followed. All nobles. All well dressed. All proud.
One by one they walked to his side.
My chest tightened.
This was the last knight.
And my name had not been called.
A strange silence filled my ears as the remaining students slowly began turning toward the exit. Feet shuffled. Hopes died quietly.
So this is it.
Not chosen. Not worthy.
I swallowed hard. Sister Abigail's smile flashed in my mind. The way she would stand outside the chapel at sunset. The way she would tell the villagers that I would become a Magic Knight one day.
I could not even become a student.
Then—
"And you. With the red hair."
My heart stopped.
I turned slowly.
He was looking directly at me.
At me.
The world rushed back in a wave. I had been chosen.
Relief flooded my body so quickly my knees almost gave in. I was chosen. I will be a Magic Knight. Sister Abigail will be so happy.
I stepped forward.
Ser Gerdfal's lips curled into a smile.
It was not kind.
"From today onward you are my student," he said. "And your first lesson is to lick my shoes. Then the shoes of the other students I have chosen."
The arena gasped.
The relief inside me shattered.
For a moment I thought I had misheard him.
But he extended his polished boot toward my face.
No one spoke for me.
Julian took a step forward. "This is—"
I raised a hand slightly, stopping him.
My throat felt dry, but I forced the words out. "No, thanks. I will take my leave."
I turned.
"You do not have that option," Gerdfal said coldly. "Ceilian. The rest of you. Catch that pathetic creature. He must lick my shoes to thank me for even considering him."
Hands grabbed me before I could react.
Ceilian's fingers tangled into my hair and yanked hard. Pain shot through my scalp as he dragged me toward the stage.
"Do it," he muttered near my ear. "If you want to be a Magic Knight, you obey."
Laughter rippled through parts of the crowd.
I struggled. I tried to twist free. I tried to stand firm.
Ceilian punched me in the stomach.
Air left my lungs.
I fell to my knees.
Gerdfal stepped closer and placed his boot inches from my face.
The polished leather reflected my humiliation.
I am sorry, Sister Abigail.
I am weak.
"Gerdfal. Stop. I will not allow you to bully him."
The grip in my hair loosened.
Silence fell again.
Gerdfal turned sharply.
I forced my head up.
Standing there, calm as ever, was Pheonix.
The golden feather rested in his pocket. His masked gaze was steady.
"What does this have to do with you?" Gerdfal spat. "Can you not see I am teaching my disciple?"
Pheonix's voice remained even. "He refused your offer. Thus you are not his teacher."
A flicker of annoyance crossed Gerdfal's face.
"Pheonix. You and your habit of ruining my fun. Fine. I will leave him. But I will find him again and teach this pathetic insect a lesson."
He shot me a glare full of promise.
"What a disgrace to me," he muttered before ordering Ceilian and the others away.
They released me.
I stayed on my knees for a second longer, catching my breath.
Pheonix stepped closer.
"Sorry, child," he said. "I did not select you earlier. I had planned to take only five students. I had already promised someone a place."
Gerdfal's eyes widened. "But you already promised his hig—"
"I know," Pheonix interrupted calmly. "But only I can decide who I teach."
He extended his hand toward me.
"I cannot allow someone like him to trample over potential. Become my student. I will teach you to be a Magic Knight."
My mind raced.
Is this pity?
Or is this my chance?
If I refuse, I walk back to the chapel with nothing.
If I accept, I walk into fire.
Sister Abigail did not raise me to kneel.
I looked up at him.
No mockery. No cruelty. Only resolve.
This is not pity.
This is opportunity.
And I will not waste it.
I took his hand.
"I accept," I said.
In that moment, as he pulled me to my feet, I felt it.
My destiny had shifted.
And this time, I was not on my knees.