Entry 46: Luke's Ordeal

Dear Diary,
 
The warmth of sunlight streaming through my window stirred me awake, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I woke up truly rested. My bed, soft and familiar, had never felt so luxurious. Outside, the cheerful song of the birds harmonized with the sound of Lucas’s voice, his melodic singing drifting through the air. It was almost absurdly perfect—like I’d unwittingly hired a Disney princess instead of a farmhand.
 
The delightful scent of freshly baked bread and herbal tea teased my senses as I made my way downstairs, my steps quickening with the promise of breakfast. My stomach growled in anticipation. But when I entered the dining room, the usual lighthearted warmth of the scene was tempered by an unexpected sight: my brother Luke, sitting at the table, a letter in hand and a thoughtful expression on his face.
 
“Morning,” I said, sliding into my seat and helping myself to a slice of bread, still warm and fluffy. The butter melted instantly as I spread it across. But Luke’s gaze lingered on the letter, his grin wide yet strained.
 
“What’s that?” I asked, nodding toward the parchment he clutched.
 
He placed it on the table and pushed it toward me, though he didn’t need to—I could already see the Academy's ornate seal at the top.
 
“It’s from the Wizard’s Academy in Keralon,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “They’ve granted me the right to take the test to graduate.”
 
His words were steady, but I caught the flicker of anxiety in his blue eyes, the slight tremor in his hand as he reached for his tea. I scanned the letter, my brow furrowing as I reached the last line.
 
Failing the test could have lethal repercussions.
 
My stomach churned, the appetite I’d had moments ago evaporating. “Lethal repercussions,” I echoed, looking up at him.
 
Luke shrugged, though his forced nonchalance did little to mask the tension in his shoulders. “Well, you know how they are. They don’t tolerate mediocrity. Either you’re good enough to succeed or…” He trailed off, his grin faltering for a moment.
 
“They get rid of the problem,” I finished grimly.
 
He nodded, trying to brush it off with a chuckle. “Guess they’re all about efficiency.”
 
“Luke, this isn’t funny,” I said, the weight of the situation sinking in. “You’re going to go through with this?”
 
He met my gaze, determination flickering in his eyes despite the fear that lingered there. “Of course I am. I didn’t come this far just to back out now. I’ve worked too hard for this, and you know it.”
 
I wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn’t worth risking his life, but I knew better. Luke wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, especially one that could prove his worth. The Wizard’s Academy didn’t hand out second chances—this was his one shot.
 
Still, as I sat there, the letter lying between us like an unspoken challenge, I couldn’t help but feel a knot of unease settling in my chest. Whatever this test was, it wasn’t just going to test his magic. It was going to test his courage, his resilience—and perhaps his very survival.
 
The letter also stated that Luke was allowed to bring or hire companions to aid him in the trials. Of course, we all immediately agreed to go. There was no way we’d let him face this alone—especially with the stakes being what they were. As soon as breakfast was finished, we set about preparing, gathering supplies and discussing what we might need for a journey to Keralon and whatever tests lay ahead.
 
The Academy’s reception, as we quickly discovered, was as cold and unfriendly as its reputation. The towering marble halls echoed with an air of superiority, and the headmaster, a stern man with sharp features and a perpetual scowl, wasted no time making his disdain for Luke known. It wasn’t subtle—his clipped tone and the disdainful way he looked down his long nose at my brother made it abundantly clear. He wanted Luke to fail.
 
I found myself almost grateful for the headmaster’s lack of pretense; his open hostility put us all on edge and sharpened my focus. If he was this determined to see Luke fail, it meant the tests wouldn’t be fair. They’d be designed to trip him up, to exploit his weaknesses. I silently vowed not to let that happen.
 
The first test confirmed my suspicions.
 
An acolyte, barely older than Luke, led us into a dimly lit room. At its center stood a table with eight objects laid out neatly on its surface. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the air still and heavy as the acolyte gestured toward the table.
 
“Your task,” he said in a monotone voice, “is to determine which of these objects does not belong.”
 
We stepped closer to the table, curiosity and caution warring within me as I examined the items. There was a sword, gleaming and sharp; a sturdy shield; a skull, weathered and hollow-eyed; a crystal ball that seemed to pulse faintly with light; an iron pentagram, etched with strange runes; a mirror, its surface unnaturally reflective; a scale that looked more decorative than functional; and a flute, carved from a dark, unfamiliar wood.
 
The room was silent as we all stared at the objects, each of us drawn to different pieces. The test seemed straightforward on the surface, but I had no doubt there was more to it than met the eye. It was at that moment I realized this wasn’t just a test of logic. It was a test of intuition—and perhaps even something darker.
 
“Which one doesn’t fit?” Luke murmured, glancing at me.
 
I frowned, reaching out to hover my hand over the objects, letting my instincts guide me. “They’re not random,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “Each one has a purpose, a story… but one of them is out of place. Or dangerous.”
 
The moment we all leaned in, scrutinizing the items on the table and debating their connections to the eight schools of magic, I felt the headmaster’s influence creeping in again. The sword for Evocation, the shield for Abjuration, the skull for Necromancy, and so on—every item had an obvious tie. We fell into a heated discussion, Alistan insisting the scale for Divination seemed out of place, while Gael argued that the flute for Enchantment didn’t fit the pattern. But something about this whole setup felt wrong. We were overthinking it, spiraling down a path the headmaster wanted us to take.
 
Taking a step back, I let the pieces settle in my mind. And then it hit me. The answer wasn’t any of the objects. The test was a trick, a trap wrapped in simplicity. The item that didn’t belong to the others wasn’t on the table. It was the table itself.
 
“The table,” I said aloud, the words slicing through our overanalyzing. “The test wasn’t about the objects—it was about seeing through the misdirection. The table doesn’t belong.”
 
Luke’s eyes lit up with understanding, and he nodded. “Of course. That’s exactly the kind of twisted logic the headmaster would pull.”
 
When he confidently gave the answer to the acolyte, there was a long pause. The room held its breath, and then the acolyte inclined his head. “Correct.”
 
Relief rippled through us, but it was short-lived. The acolyte wasted no time leading us to the next challenge. We followed him down a narrow corridor that ended in a small chamber with a glowing teleportation circle etched into the floor. Without a word, the acolyte activated the circle, and the room dissolved into light.
 
We found ourselves in a much larger, dimly lit chamber. Shadows danced across the stone walls, and the air felt thick with latent magic. On the far side of the chamber was a dark hallway, its mouth like a void, swallowing the flickering light. The teleportation circle behind us sputtered and went dark.
 
The acolyte, standing just at the edge of the room, finally spoke. “Your next test is to reactivate the teleportation circle in order to leave.”
 
And with that, he stepped back into the shadows, vanishing as though he’d never been there.
 
I glanced around the chamber, noting faint runes etched into the floor and walls, some glowing faintly, others entirely dormant. The room exuded power, but it was chaotic and fractured.
 
“Great,” Alistan muttered, drawing his sword instinctively. “We’re trapped in here, and he didn’t even bother to tell us how we’re supposed to do this.”
 
“This is a puzzle,” I said, already studying the runes. “We just have to figure out how to connect the pieces.”
 
Dadroz’s sharp eyes and quick reflexes had kept us safe so far, but his discovery of the faint tremors in the hallway only deepened the mystery of the trial ahead. With no other clues to guide us, we pressed on, determined to uncover the secrets hidden within the labyrinthine complex.
 
The next chamber we entered was vast, its stone walls decorated with intricate carvings that glowed faintly in the dim light. Four statues stood tall in each corner of the room, each uniquely adorned: one with a brazier flickering with dying embers, another surrounded by lush, green plants, a third built into a wooden lattice, and the last standing atop a burbling fountain of crystal-clear water. Three other hallways branched out from the chamber, though one was sealed off by a sturdy metal gate.
 
As Dadroz, ever cautious, approached the statue surrounded by plants, the ground beneath him rumbled violently. Without warning, a towering earth elemental emerged from the floor, its rocky form gleaming with a faint, protective aura. Before we could react, the air shimmered, and three more elementals materialized—fire, water, and air—each standing near its corresponding statue.
 
"Brace yourselves!" Alistan shouted, raising his shield as the elementals advanced.
 
Gael, quick on the draw, loosed a flurry of arrows toward the earth elemental, but they ricocheted harmlessly off an invisible barrier. “They’ve got shields!” he shouted, frustration evident in his voice.
 
Luke, studying the scene with sharp eyes, quickly deduced the nature of the shields. “They’re protected by opposing elements!” he called out. “Fire cancels water, water beats fire, and so on!”
 
Acting on instinct, Luke grabbed a flask of water from his satchel and hurled it at the fire elemental. The glass shattered on impact, drenching the creature in liquid. The fiery aura around it sputtered and died, leaving the elemental vulnerable. But before Luke could celebrate his success, the fire elemental retaliated with a devastating blow, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious.
 
“Luke!” I shouted, rushing to his side. As I worked to stabilize him, the others sprang into action, adjusting their tactics.
 
The battle, though chaotic, revealed the solution hidden in the elementals’ strengths and weaknesses: opposing forces canceled each other out. Once we understood the key, taking out the fire and water elementals became a matter of execution, not mystery—though the effort left us bruised and winded. Each elemental’s destruction left behind a gleaming gem, pulsing faintly with magical energy, which seemed to hint at the next step in the puzzle.
 
But the air and earth elementals proved far more troublesome. Their shields defied our immediate attempts, and time was running short. The earth elemental, in particular, felt like an immovable force, shrugging off every attack we threw its way.
 
Desperation bred creativity, though. With a flick of my hand and a whispered incantation, I turned the towering earth elemental into a harmless, bewildered turtle. “That’ll keep it out of the fight,” I said, breathing hard. “Now focus on the air elemental!”
 
I urged everyone to split up and search the hallways for anything that could serve as a countermeasure. Gael darted down one passage, quick as a shadow, with the air elemental in hot pursuit. Luke bolted into another, returning moments later clutching a flask of acid he’d found in a dusty alcove. With no hesitation, he hurled it at the air elemental, the acid sizzling as it broke through the shimmering shield. The elemental howled in fury, its form flickering wildly.
 
Meanwhile, Gael called out from the chamber he had discovered, his voice barely audible over the echoing sounds of a repeating sonic blast. “Bring the turtle!” he shouted. It was a strange request, but I trusted him.
 
We carried the earth elemental-turned-turtle into the chamber. The relentless sonic waves that shook the walls broke through its magical shield, and as the turtle shifted back into its elemental form, we struck it down for good.
 
With all four elementals defeated and their corresponding gems in hand, we returned to the central chamber. Placing each gem into its rightful socket on the statues, we watched as a soft, golden glow spread through the room. The teleportation circle reactivated with a faint hum, signaling the end of the trial.
 
We had passed the second test, but the cost of victory was clear to all of us. Luke glanced at me, his face pale and drawn, and I could see the weight of realization settling on him. He wouldn’t have survived this test on his own, and we both knew it.
 
More troubling, though, was the glaring truth the fight had revealed: we were woefully unprepared for challenges that demanded a diverse array of strategies. “We need to reevaluate everything,” I said, breaking the heavy silence. “Gear, spells, tactics—all of it. If we don’t, we won’t make it through the next test.”
 
Luke nodded grimly. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I’ll study, plan better. I promise.”
 
We made a unanimous decision to leave the rest of the underground dungeon untouched. It had served its purpose for the trial, and none of us wanted to waste time chasing after traps or hidden dangers that wouldn’t bring us closer to the goal.
 
The acolyte, ever the silent specter, was waiting when we returned to the now-active teleportation circle. Without a word, he gestured for us to follow and led us back through the winding halls of the Academy. Every step felt heavier, every door we passed a reminder of the hostility lurking in this place. When we reached the headmaster’s office, his expression was nothing short of sour.
 
The room reeked of frustration, and the tension was thick enough to choke on. The headmaster barely concealed his displeasure as he sat rigid behind his desk, hands clasped tightly. His sneer was a dagger aimed directly at Luke.
 
“Well,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain, “it seems you’ve managed to scrape through the first two tests. Against all odds.” He made a show of shuffling some papers, pretending to be indifferent. “Your performance is... adequate.”
 
I saw Luke’s jaw tighten, the way his shoulders stiffened at the insult. Before he could respond, I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.
 
“‘Adequate’?” I echoed, my tone sharp and unapologetic. “That’s an interesting choice of words for someone whose carefully laid traps and tests have just been bested. Perhaps you’d like to explain to me how exactly you justify stacking the odds against one of your own students?”
 
The headmaster’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t interrupt. I kept going, fueled by the indignation that had been simmering since the moment we’d entered this place.
 
“Luke earned his place here, and you know it. No amount of sneering or underhanded tricks will change that.” I turned to glance at my brother, whose lips were twitching into a barely-contained grin. “You can’t dim his light, no matter how hard you try.”
 
For a moment, I thought the headmaster might explode. His face turned an alarming shade of red, and he grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before finally pushing a leather tube across the desk toward Luke.
 
“This,” he spat, “contains your diploma. However, the final test is to open it. If you think you’ve earned it, that is.” He leaned back, his smirk returning as though he’d already won.
 
Luke didn’t hesitate. With a flick of his wrist and a calm murmur, he dispelled the warding magic encasing the tube. The faint shimmer surrounding it dissolved into the air like smoke, and he opened it with ease.
 
The look on the headmaster’s face was priceless. His smug grin vanished as Luke triumphantly pulled out the diploma—the final prize that marked his reinstatement as a full-fledged member of the Academy.
 
“Well, that was underwhelming,” Luke said with a wry smile, carefully rolling up the parchment.
 
I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound breaking the tension in the room. The headmaster, defeated and humiliated, simply waved us off with a dismissive hand.
 
But the victory wasn’t just in the diploma. It was in the knowledge that Luke had reclaimed his place here, despite the odds stacked against him. As we left the office, my brother looked at me with gratitude shining in his eyes.
 
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
 
“Always,” I replied.
 
And as we stepped out into the sunlight, one thing became clear: the battle may have been won, but this was just the beginning. With access to the Academy’s library and resources once again, Luke’s journey—and ours—was far from over.