Elya stood in front of the apprentices, her heart pounding so forcefully that she felt it might burst from her chest. This demonstration was supposed to be a formality, a chance to prove that she had at least conquered one of the most basic spells. She could almost picture how it was meant to go: she would recite the incantation, channel the magic with confidence, and finally step away from the shadow of failure. Instead, she found herself trembling, her fingers unsteady as they hovered in the air.
She whispered the incantation, her voice catching on every syllable. For a fleeting second, she sensed something stir, a ghost of the power she craved, but the magic refused to take hold. A thin, pallid glow flickered against her palm, hinting at the potential she had worked so tirelessly to grasp. Then it vanished in an instant, as though her will had never touched it, leaving only emptiness behind.
The silence that followed pressed against her ears like a tangible weight, so much worse than any laughter or jeering could have been. She felt the stares of the apprentices like a dozen knives poised to strike, waiting for her to shatter under the strain. Aldric stood somewhere in the distance, his face unreadable but his silence telling her all she needed to know. In that heavy hush, it felt as if even the magic itself was mocking her, unwilling to acknowledge her meager attempts. The realization stung, more than any insult or scolding ever could.
A hush fell over the training hall. Aldric watched her with weary eyes, a profound indifference carved into every line of his face. There was a time when he would have reprimanded her openly, calling out each misstep, scolding her for not meeting his exacting standards. That anger, however cold, had at least shown he cared enough to be disappointed. Now, it had cooled into something far worse: a silent, apathetic dismissal that spoke more volumes than a reprimand ever could. It was as if, in his eyes, Elya's failures had become so routine that they no longer warranted even the energy of frustration.
“Return to your studies, Elya,” he said, turning away from her with a dismissive wave, as though the very sight of her had already grown tedious. “If you cannot cast, you are wasting my time. This place is for those who can wield magic, not for those who crumble at every turn.”
The apprentices neither laughed nor bothered to hide their pity. Instead, they simply stared at her in silence, a silence that wrapped around her like a suffocating shroud. In that moment, Elya felt something far more unsettling than open ridicule, she felt invisible. Their eyes were filled with a muted sort of pity, as though her failure no longer shocked or amused them. Once, their barbs had cut her to the core, but at least then they had acknowledged her presence, her potential, her ability to feel pain. Now, it was as if she were beneath even their scorn, too insignificant to warrant so much as a sneer.
That realization twisted in her stomach, leaving her both relieved that the humiliation had ended and horrified by the thought that she mattered so little. She would have almost preferred the biting words, anything that affirmed she was still part of the world around her, rather than this cold, empty disregard. In that excruciating hush, she felt herself fading into the backdrop of the hall, painfully aware of how utterly she had failed to meet anyone’s expectations—even her own.
She drifted from the hall like a ghost, slipping past the curious glances of her peers with her gaze fixed on the floor. The heaviness of failure sat on her shoulders, pressing down until her posture slumped and her steps dragged. She had convinced herself she would welcome solitude, imagining that isolation might soothe the sting of her defeat, but the reality felt hollow. As she passed by Jalen, who seemed ready to offer another casual word of encouragement, she pulled away before he could speak, sidestepping him as though his simple kindness might slice deeper than any insult. She skirted around Lina as well, refusing to meet the quiet concern flickering in her dark eyes, unwilling to acknowledge the compassion she might find there.
Elya's chest tightened with each half-hearted step, the ache inside her growing sharper every time she dodged a well-intentioned glance. The sympathy she saw on their faces only amplified her sense of failure, filling the silent spaces within her with an even deeper emptiness. It was easier to pretend she didn't see them at all, to tell herself that she needed no one's pity. Yet, the more she avoided their eyes, the more alone she felt, a bitter taste spreading in her mouth as she realized that alienating her friends was just another consequence of her inability to cast the simplest spell. And that made the ache in her chest burn all the more.
So she isolated herself.
She skipped meals, her stomach twisting too tightly with shame to hold anything down. The idea of food felt more like an insult than a necessity, her appetite chased away by the gnawing sense of futility. Hunger gnawed at her edges, sharpening her already frayed nerves, but she refused to admit that her body needed rest or nourishment. She barely slept, choosing instead to bury herself in her notes, pages upon pages of cramped handwriting chronicling every painstaking attempt at magic she had ever made. Each cramped line testified to her hopes, her failures, her desperation.
Every success—few and far between—was recorded with a shaky elation, every flicker of light that had once stirred hope in her chest. And every crushing failure, the moments that left her body trembling and her mind teetering on despair, was cataloged in excruciating detail: the exact time, her posture, the precise second her arms gave out or her focus slipped. She read each line until her eyes blurred, the words melting into a sea of inked frustration. If there was a clue hidden within those countless scribbles, some pattern she had overlooked, Elya intended to find it. Anything, any thread at all, that might lead her out of the spiral of inadequacy she felt tightening around her like a vise.
Late one night, surrounded by a nest of papers and half-melted candles, Elya let her gaze drift across the countless sketches of runes and incantation structures she had compiled. Her notebook lay open, ink-smudged and dog-eared, but it was not the only record of her long struggle. Dozens of loose pages were scattered around her like fallen leaves, each one filled with cramped notes and painstakingly drawn glyphs. She could feel the warmth of the dying candlelight flickering against her cheeks, the soft glow battling the pervasive darkness.
For so long, she had viewed each spell as its own insurmountable challenge, dwelling on every hiccup and shortcoming. Yet, crouched amid this messy archive of her failures, she suddenly realized she had never considered how they might be connected. She ran her fingertips across the diagrams, eyes narrowing as she noticed small overlaps and repeated lines in spells that, on the surface, were meant to be entirely distinct.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The realization struck her like a whisper of possibility, weaving through the weariness that draped her shoulders. Had she been so blinded by her struggles with individual spells that she failed to see a bigger picture? What if there were patterns underlying these structures—hidden threads that bound them together into something more profound? The thought sent an unexpected thrill through her exhausted mind, igniting a spark of curiosity and hope in the midst of her gloom.
Frowning, she traced her fingertips over a few diagrams, aligning them side by side on the floor. Her gaze traveled slowly across the runes, focusing on the smallest details, the slight bend of a line or the curve of a symbol that sometimes reappeared in other spells, almost hiding in plain sight. It was a subtle similarity that made her heart give a small flutter of excitement, something she had never noticed before.
She flipped through more pages, scattering sketches and half-finished incantation maps in her wake. Her heart began to pound as she realized this was not just a one-time coincidence. Again and again, she saw elements that repeated themselves: a gently sloping line here, a loop that echoed in multiple glyphs, a specific intersection of runes that seemed to appear where she had not expected it. Each discovery lit a new spark of curiosity in her mind, fanning the embers of hope she had all but given up on.
Common threads in spells that were supposedly different, she thought, the realization sending a chill down her spine. How could no one else have noticed this? Had everyone been so preoccupied with each individual incantation that they missed the overarching tapestry tying them all together? Was this the clue that might lead her beyond her own limitations, a bridge between the spells that, once understood, could help her body bear their weight?
The notion felt both thrilling and terrifying. If she was right, it meant her failures might have been a necessary step toward seeing the bigger picture. If she was wrong... well, she refused to dwell on that. Instead, she pressed her palms to the floor, steadying herself as she leaned in closer to the diagrams, examining each curve and line as if it might whisper a secret that had been hidden from every apprentice to pass through these halls.
A slow, hesitant spark lit in her mind, a question she could hardly believe she was daring to ask. She caught her breath, as if the very act of thinking it might cause the idea to vanish. What if these spells weren’t separate at all? What if, instead of discrete fragments of magic, they were interlocking parts of a greater whole, pieces of a larger design that everyone else had overlooked? The thought sent a chill dancing down her spine, a mixture of exhilaration and dread that made her heart flutter.
Her fingers hovered over the pages, tracing invisible lines between the diagrams she had spread out around her. Could it be that every struggle, every failure, was pointing her toward something no one else had glimpsed? She recalled the countless hours spent agonizing over each missed incantation, each spark that fizzled out in her hands. Now, it dawned on her that those failures might carry the seeds of an insight that surpassed the sum of the spells themselves.
It felt dangerous to entertain the notion that she might see something beyond what even the instructors recognized. What if she was wrong, and all her effort led to nothing but another disappointment? Yet, a fragile hope began to bloom in her chest, urging her to follow this thread wherever it led. The possibility that these spells formed a puzzle greater than anyone had realized shook the foundations of her doubt and, for the first time in too long, made her pulse race with anticipation instead of fear.
Elya sat up, every muscle in her body protesting at the sudden movement. She rifled through her notes with renewed energy, cross-referencing glyphs, scrawling new sketches, and drawing lines between spells that no one had ever taught her to connect. The candle beside her burned low, its flame dancing erratically in a draft, but she barely noticed.
“Have we all been missing something?” she whispered, her voice trembling with a strange mixture of fear and excitement. It felt risky just to say the words out loud, as though she might somehow jinx this fragile revelation by naming it. Her heart pounded hard enough to make her light-headed, and she pressed a hand against her chest, trying to steady herself. If these patterns truly mattered, then maybe her failures had not been pointless after all. Maybe they were part of a puzzle she was only now beginning to unravel.
She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing a slow breath through her nose. The realization was exhilarating, but also terrifying. If it turned out to be true, then everything she had been taught—every strict lesson from Aldric, every comment from her peers about her weakness—might not be the whole story. More importantly, it meant there could be a way forward that no one else had seen, a path hidden in plain sight that might help her overcome her crippling limitations.
The thought sent a jolt of energy through her exhausted limbs, banishing some of the heaviness that had been pressing down on her for so long. She opened her eyes, gaze sweeping across the scattered diagrams and half-finished incantations. It was as if she were seeing them for the first time, each shape and line alive with possibility. Her throat felt tight, not just with fear of being wrong, but with the fledgling hope of being right.
Maybe her failures were not just failures, she thought, her mind racing. Maybe they were a path to an entirely new understanding of magic. What if all the nights spent trembling in the training hall had been pointing her toward something bigger than a single spark of light, something that encompassed every flicker and trace of incantation she had ever struggled to cast?
Her lips parted, and though she spoke no words, her spirit felt like it was on the verge of shouting an answer to the darkness. She hunched over her notes again, determination flashing in her eyes, this new perspective fueling her desire to make sense of it all. She had been searching for a reason behind her repeated failures for so long, and now, at last, she felt the faintest hint of a guidepost. Whether it would lead her to triumph or disappointment, she did not know. But the possibility that it could change everything set her pulse racing with a renewed sense of purpose.
She kept working until the candle guttered out, its final flickers dancing against the walls before vanishing altogether and leaving her in complete darkness. The sudden lack of light wrapped around her like a heavy cloak, but even as she blinked and forced her tired eyes to adjust, the spark in her mind glowed brighter than it had in weeks. Her body was so drained that her limbs felt almost numb, yet her thoughts were alive with possibility.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she sensed a stirring of genuine hope. A tentative warmth spread through her chest, battling the chill of the night air and the lingering bitterness of her failures. She was still trembling from exhaustion and too shaken to fully trust this newfound optimism, but the realization that there might be a reason for her struggles, a hidden purpose in all her repeated attempts, kept her heart beating with a steady, renewed vigor.
It was a fragile hope, one that could easily shatter if she discovered she was mistaken. Still, the idea that her failures could be part of something larger, that there might be another way to approach magic, breathed life into her tired spirit. In the enveloping gloom, she hugged her arms around herself, drawing strength from the notion that she was on the verge of uncovering something no one else had seen. And with that small, steady pulse of courage lighting her thoughts, she leaned back against the wall, letting the darkness cradle her as she finally closed her eyes. A faint smile curved her lips, small and uncertain, but real, as she realized this was the most hopeful she had felt in a very long time.
