Carter Hayes jolted awake to the blaring shriek of his alarm clock.
3:35 a.m.
He slammed his hand on the snooze button without opening his eyes. The sound stopped—just as he was about to enjoy the silence—
The door to his room was kicked open. His mom, toothbrush still in her mouth, screamed around the foam, "Wake up, we'll be late for your evaluation!"
"I'm up, I'm up," he muttered, eyes still squinting shut as he yawned.
By 6:30 a.m., they were parked outside the nearest National Mage Evaluation Center. The line already wrapped around the block—teenagers and parents bundled up in jackets, clutching folders, fidgeting with nervous energy.
"See?" his mom said, handing him his ID and forms. "This is why we left early."
Carter yawned. "Or maybe everyone's just insane."
She gave him that look—the one that shut down arguments before they even started.
He joined the line.
The center didn't open until 8:00 a.m., so Carter and his mom had to stand around for a while.
"Maybe we should've come later," he muttered to himself, already regretting his early wake-up.
Finally, at 8:00 a.m., the doors creaked open, and the line stirred to life. Carter was handed the number 64 and told to remember it.
His leg tapped restlessly as minutes crawled by. An hour later, the speaker buzzed: Number 64, head to Table 7.
"That's us," his mom said, following him with excitement. They approached a tired-looking woman behind the counter who clearly did not want to be there.
She slid a clipboard toward Carter without a word. After filling it out, he was led to a separate room.
They brought him into a glass chamber. Clear liquid began to rise around his body. At first, it was cold. Then it stung—thousands of needles digging into every nerve. He couldn't breathe.
"Don't worry, just relax. This will be over soon," someone said.
Then darkness swallowed everything.
Carter woke with a gasp, drenched, heart pounding. A towel was already wrapped around him.
"Congratulations, Mr. Hayes. We'll be with you shortly," the same bored woman said, her tone as lifeless as before.
He dried off, dressed, and went to find his mom, who looked even more nervous than he felt.
"Number 64," the speaker called again.
The receptionist handed him a single sheet of paper. At the top, bold letters read—
---
STANDARD MAGE EVALUATION TEST
Name: Carter Hayes
Sex: Male
Age: 16
Affinities:
Main Affinity: Fire
Sub Affinities: Water, Light
Application:
90% embodying talent (Prodigy)
10% objectification talent (Dormant)
82% recognition talent (Prodigy)
22% manipulation talent (Struggling)
49% creation talent (Competent)
Please note that evaluations are not always accurate.
---
Carter stared at the page, heart pounding again for a different reason. Three solid scores. Most people barely showed strength in one area.
He was actually a mage. Not officially, but the door was wide open. Magecraft training, specialized jobs—it was all within reach now.
Then, the bang.
Heads snapped toward the entrance.
A man stumbled in—ragged, reeking. Rage burned in his eyes.
He looked to be in his sixties. His long, greasy hair clung to his face. His skin was cracked, almost like glass, and the stench around him made people recoil. But it was the gray circle on his palm that caught Carter's attention.
A beginner mage.
"All my life," the man began, his voice trembling with fury, "they told me I was a Manipulator. I trained. I worked. Every damn day. But nothing."
He stepped closer. People backed away.
"Turns out… I was never a Manipulator. I was an Objectifier. My whole life—wasted. You ruined everything!"
His eyes were wild, spinning in his skull. "I could've had a better life! I could've lived up there with them in their towers! And instead, I've got nothing!"
A woman behind the desk pressed a silent alarm before cautiously approaching him. "Sir, please calm down—"
"Don't you come near me!" he shouted, raising a glowing palm.
She stepped forward anyway.
A burst of fire lit the room.
Screams. Flames. Silence.
When it cleared, her body crumpled to the floor. Her face was gone—just blackened bone remained.
Gasps broke out. People stood frozen, eyes wide.
"I didn't want to!" the man cried. "She made me do it!"
Then came the panic.
People screamed and bolted. The back doors were locked. Flames shot through the room as the man lost control, igniting everything in his path. People were trampled, scorched, crushed under the chaos.
Carter's legs shook. His breath caught.
No one was doing anything. Not the guards. Not the adults.
His body moved before he could think. If no one else would stop this—he had to.
He ran.
His mom grabbed at him. "Don't!" she screamed, voice cracking.
But something in him had already decided. He tore free.
The man saw him coming. Fire lashed out. Carter ducked, rolled, and winced as heat kissed his arm.
He charged. The man shot a flame point-blank.
Pain.
Blinding light.
Then—contact.
Carter tackled him to the ground.
He swung. Again. And again. His fists cracked bone. Blood splattered across his face. The man thrashed weakly beneath him.
He didn't even care how he was still alive.
He didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
Some part of him knew it was over. But he kept punching.
He panted, hands soaked in blood. The mage lay still.
Around him, silence.
Eyes watched him. Not with gratitude—but with fear.
Carter couldn't meet his mom's eyes. He didn't want to see what was there.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
He sat still. Frozen. The stench of burnt flesh in his nose. And his blood-stained hands ever so slightly twitching.
His mom ran to him and pulled him close.
But all he could think was—this was supposed to be a normal day.