Flames of the Great Hall
Goethe Manor's Great Hall exuded an especially majestic aura. It was the sole extravagance in the otherwise frugal Goethe household. A ceiling so dizzyingly high it strained the neck to look up at, elongated arches. Massive pillars and the names of ancestors embroidered in ancient language. Geometric patterns scattering colorful lights from the windows. Chandeliers glowing softly with magic stones, statues as if parts of myths had been transplanted there. It even instilled a sense of the sacred in those who beheld it. The perfect venue for a tournament.
"Since Everett of Boatmer is absent, Carloss of Ripe is the frontrunner. They say he's already surpassed 1st Class in mana level."
"We can't overlook Mark and Hausen either."
Those gathered to observe the tournament engaged in heated discussions about the event. The performances of each house's heirs would shape their family's future.
"Isaac of Goethe is still plagued by mania, isn't he?"
"Even the Count holds no expectations for that boy."
"At least there's the second son, Yonas, but he's just turned nine. They say he hasn't even formed a circle yet."
"The myth of the firstborn's blessing will crumble."
The whispering crowd buzzed. Gossips chattered excitedly. Yonas von Goethe stood his ground, lips pressed tight. In the vast hall, voices echoed off the walls. Even murmurs reached the ears clearly. Yonas steadied his shaking heart while watching the lesser spirits' movements. Within him flowed music audible only to the spirits—not voiced by the mouth or heard by the ear, but sounded and heard by the soul. In response, lesser spirits flocked around him. To those awakened to spirit sight, tiny clusters of light twinkled about him.
"Isn't that Goethe's second young master?"
"Ah, Baron Hausen. It's been too long."
Yonas was stationed at the Great Hall's main entrance—the sole gateway for guests. People streamed in and out through the massive double doors flung wide. The tournament was still some time away. Yonas had to greet each noble who recognized him. Fortunately, the nobles treated the nine-year-old with general goodwill. A cute child conducting himself with such propriety was endearing.
"Young master, instead of standing here, wouldn't it be better to rest in your room and enter at the tournament's hour?"
Paul, the attendant at his side, asked worriedly. A tournament pitted mages against one another. A contest to manifest higher realms, greater difficulties, more unique spells. One must conserve focus. Mana capacity couldn't swell or shrink in a day, but concentration could falter greatly from trifles. Thus, participants typically waited in carriages, entering the Great Hall precisely on time—to avoid needless greetings sapping their attention.
"No. I'm fine."
Yonas shook his head. His gaze drifted to a corner of the Great Hall. They seemed foreign observers, clad in black robes embroidered with exotic patterns. It was Violet and Isaac. No one recognized their veiled faces.
—I need your help.
It was the first request Yonas had ever received from Isaac. He wanted to do this well. Gather the lesser spirits and signal any anomalies in their movements. A simple task. Yet from Isaac's expression and nuance, it was something that must be done. Helping his brother. That alone filled Yonas with joy.
After falling ill from his unique constitution, Isaac had secluded himself for ages. He grew irritable and sharp. He spat curses and hurled objects. Yet Yonas believed. Isaac would return to the brother he knew. He even prayed. It was laughable for a child of a magic lineage to hold faith, but to Yonas, his brother's return mattered more than anything.
Whether his wish had come true, Isaac was gradually returning. Outwardly transformed beyond recognition, still feared and cursed by the servants. But Yonas knew. His brother was back to the man he remembered.
Yonas well understood how crucial this tournament was to the house's affairs. His tutors and attendants had drilled it into him until his ears blistered. But to Yonas, nothing outweighed aiding his brother now.
Time passed. The tournament loomed. Six houses participated, Goethe included. Their prestige, status, and influence varied, but they shared one trait: they perpetuated the lineage of mages. Magic was their pride, tied directly to their houses' survival.
Nothing better as a benchmark for sorting academy students' levels.
The plainly dressed old man mused. Marcel Reich, dean of the Royal Academy's magic faculty. He was fortunate. His sabbatical had coincided with Goethe's irregular tournament.
Yet no collaterals in sight. Only vassals participating?
Intimate with Goethe Count, Reich knew the vassals and collaterals well. But he saw only vassal emblems. No collaterals. Apparently, relations had soured since the Bernsi reforms.
"Today, we are especially honored by the presence of Dean Reich."
Helmut von Goethe, standing on the dais, announced. The Count's voice resounded through the Great Hall. Reich smiled leisurely and took his place beside him.
"Those who walk the path of magic, those who will walk it—you are all dear to me. Greetings. I am Marcel Reich, dean of the Royal Academy."
Reich's voice, rich with years, echoed softly through the hall.
"I thank the Count for granting me this honor. An old man like me gets to witness the next generation's buds."
Having reached 4th Class, Reich was the royal court's acknowledged chief mage. Yet he maintained unwavering humility.
"With age, thoughts stale and minds stiffen. Mages are no freer from senescence than knights. I hope your flexible, creative spells teach this old man something."
His words begged instruction, but none took them at face value. He'd taught at the academy for over a decade. Few prodigies would satisfy him. Catch his eye, though, and special admission to the Royal Academy was possible. Among the notables at Goethe's tournament, the five vassal houses fixated on Reich for that reason. Tension and burden for some. Excitement and impatience for others.
I hope you entertain me well.
Reich smiled.
"Begin."
"Felix, eldest of Mark house. Demonstrate."
As Goethe Count spoke, head butler Schrader declared. A boy in ornate tunic ascended the dais. The lady of Mark gripped her hands tighter, more tense than her son.
"He's grown much in a few years."
"One wonders if his magic has advanced too."
Under the crowd's gaze, Felix closed his eyes. Cupping his open palms, blue mana coalesced. Stage 1 mana condensation. Impressive for commoners, but basic for magic house heirs. First-year academy students' prime focus.
"Ho."
Reich murmured admiration. Mana condensation was fundamental. Proficiency varied wildly. A stray thought or lapse scattered it. Yet Felix executed Stage 1 flawlessly.
"Eldru min innann breth thu—"
Whoosh! The blue mana ignited red. Stage 2 elemental conversion. The caster's will infused pure energy crystals, drawing and reshaping nearby elements into desired forms.
"Ooh—!"
"He's truly handling elements now."
Reich stroked his goatee intriguedly. In the academy curriculum, this alone neared mastery. Felix's demo didn't end there.
Roar— The flames blooming over the boy's hands began shaping. A burning bird flapped wings in his grasp.
"A ph-phoenix?"
"An owl. Mark's emblem."
Though palm-sized, the flames formed an owl perfectly.
Exquisite control. Fitting for Mark.
Reich nodded, starting applause. It spread; the crowd joined. Cheers filled the Great Hall—acknowledgment of the boy's diligent talent, respect for Mark house. The lady of Mark rubbed her chest, moved.
"A fierce start."
The first demo exceeded hopes, heightening anticipation. But few contenders met it.
"Grita, eldest daughter of Hausen. Demonstrate."
"Wh-what do I do? Sniff, sniff, waaah—"
Some failed even Stage 1 from nerves.
"I'm going. I won't do it!"
"Young master, you can't here."
Others cowered, intimidated by Felix. Three turns passed thus.
"Tch, children of magic houses..."
"They're just kids."
"Felix was exceptional."
Some houses sent siblings, so turns remained. But expectations waned as they passed.
"Hm."
Reich sighed inwardly. Even he found the tournament dulling.
"Young master Isaac of Goethe cannot attend due to personal reasons. Enet will demonstrate in his stead."
Head butler Schrader's words stirred the Great Hall.
"Enet? Which house?"
"No house mentioned."
"First I've heard the name."
"A proxy in a tournament? Absurd."
"They adopted her perhaps."
Nobles eyed the dais's Enet, deeming her daughter of some minor magic house. Their interest was magic alone. Her background mattered only after a worthy display. In contrast, Goethe servants who knew her gaped.
"Why's she up there?"
"Is that Enet? She looks like a different person..."
Enet wore not her usual maid attire, but an elegant dress accentuating her waist like a noble lady's. The full skirt trailed the floor; her neatly braided hair bore ornaments. The flustered crowd's eyes shifted to the impassive Count at the dais's center. He remained stoically expressionless, as if anticipated.
Enet closed her eyes quietly. She reviewed Isaac's lessons. The past months' teachings. Things she'd clung to in her mind amid shortened sleep and maid duties. Become utterly alone in the infinite realm. Sense bonds with all things. Yearn earnestly for the lacking. Manifest the formed imagery.
Whoosh— Suddenly, flames bloomed from Enet's fingertips.
"...No incantation?"
Observers reeled in shock. No formula, no chant. Yet the blaze dwarfed Felix's—bright enough to seem to illuminate the Great Hall further.
—Find your own flame.
Enet recalled Isaac's words. She had found her flame. Her own hope.