Whispers of Magic

Chapter: 2 Immoralis

Amid the lively bustle of the city, we approach a gathering crowd, the animated conversations and laughter creating a charged atmosphere. As we draw closer, the crowd divides between those in ivory robes and white hair—the ritual participants—and those with color-tinted hair showcasing their alignments, the survivors of rituals past. The hum of voices becomes distinct, blending into a harmonious sound. Small snippets of conversation waft through the air. "I'm so ready for the Manifestation Ritual!" a girl exclaims. "I hope to be a healer like my father," a young male adds.

The adrenaline from the fight with Garrick finally leaves my body and my steps stutter, trepidation returning. Seraphine is the only family I have; she is 11 months younger than me, and becoming a Sentinel is all I work for to keep her safe. But today, during this ritual, I won't be able to.

My thoughts turn to our parents. Mother died protecting me and Aurelia. Father, losing his life partner, became a shell of himself and gave up on life. They were once leaders of our community, guiding us with wisdom and grace. Now, all that remains are memories and the echoes of their magic.

The fact that everything could change and be taken away from me, out of my control, leaves me feeling shaky. Seraphine exchanges what she thinks is a knowing glance, offering reassurance.

"It will be alright," she assures, embodying her carefree optimism. "You humiliated Garrick so thoroughly in your match and without using magic. Get through the next few hours; I'm certain you'll be chosen as a Sentinel. How could you not!"

"If it wasn't a Sentinel requirement, I wouldn't even want to have magic. Everyone besides me looks forward to manifesting their alignment," I retort as we continue moving forward. The sun casts a warm glow over the city, and the air is filled with excitement and anticipation, a stark contrast to what is playing through my mind. "I just proved again that being dependent on magic alone is bad, yet it feels like magic is all anyone cares for."

"Wielding magic is a part of our culture, Elessida; obviously people are going to care about it," responds Seraphina, completely missing my point.

"Damn this ceremony," I mutter. "Why do we have to find our alignments before a crowd? It's already dangerous. Why does it have to be such a spectacle?"

Navigating through the diverse assembly, our strides are purposeful yet inconspicuous. The vibrant mosaic of elven attire surrounds us, each robe and cloak a unique expression of individuality. Only those participating in the ceremony have to wear the uniform ivory.

"You really have no clue what your alignment might be?" questions Seraphine.

"I haven't seen or felt compelled by anything," I mutter, wringing my hands in frustration. "At least if I had an inkling of what my alignment is, I could better prepare for today mentally. Have you felt anything?"

"Again, there is no reason to worry so much," chides Seraphine, gracefully skirting around different vendor stalls as we pass through the bustling market, ignoring my question. The enticing aroma of street food mingles with the distant strains of melodic music. "The world Arcanum needs balance and harmony. You always stress out over things of no consequence. The day will be over soon enough, and we can get on with our lives. You can continue to be pessimistic after we get our alignments," her face taut with annoyance.

I force myself to step away from my own thoughts and nod in agreement with what she is saying. It isn't fair of me to project all of my doubts onto her when, prior to this conversation, she was very much excited about the Arcane Manifestation Celebration.

Taking a quick glance at her, I breathe a sigh of relief as she bounces on the toes of her feet, not letting me ruin her positive energy. Her eyes widen as she takes in the sea of ivory cloth ahead of us. We are almost at the entrance of the city center where the ceremony will take place. The grandeur of the elven architecture towers over us, adorned with intricate symbols and carvings. The scent of food coming from the market stalls makes my stomach grumble. I should have eaten when I woke up this morning, but my nerves wouldn't allow it.