Beside the Mayor’s residence was the council hall that also served as the location for the town’s yearly selection of Acolytes for the Black Tower.

This year was expected to be no different from any other, and the expansive hall of 1,000 feet (0.3 km) was filled with tens of thousands of people, all here to support the six dozen young children both male and female who were chosen for this year’s candidacy.

The oldest here was eighteen, a lanky girl with ponytails, and the youngest was seven, a child still sucking on his thumb in nervousness.

There were both tears of joy and loss on the faces of their parents as they watched the proud faces of their children. For the children, this was the chance of a lifetime, they would become heroes and command powers to shake the heavens and the earth.

The parents knew, however, that when they left, only the successful returned years later as Mages or not at all. ．

Death was one of the greatest possibilities during the Trials for the Black Tower, and the life of an Acolyte and a Mage was far from peaceful, their experiments and battles would be enough to kill most of them along their journey.

Ascending each rank as an Acolyte or a Mage came with risk, and no Mage would be willing to remain at the same level for the rest of their lives, they all chased the elusive hope of becoming an Archmage and living forever.

The hall was spherical and the sittings where the crowd stayed were arrayed around the periphery leaving the center free for whatever activities were to be performed.

A raised platform that was hovering twenty feet in the air held two seated figures, and three standing beside them.

The most recognizable standing figure was the Mayor, Tim Bolfrey, a Rank 2 Mage, and his daughter Livia Bolfrey Rank 2 Acolyte, who was fifteen. She had red hair with a charming girl-next-door look. Her dimples and bright green eyes were inquisitive attesting to her Magus heritage.

The true motivation for a Mage was to seek answers and enter the unknown.

Tim Bolfrey, although a Mayor of the town and also a powerful Mage, was standing, and with a beaming smile on his face, it was apparent he was very satisfied with this position, due to the caliber of people who were beside him.

The Third standing individual was a handsome young man of fifteen with piercing black eyes and hair and he was a peak Acolyte at Rank 3 on the verge of becoming a Rank 1 mage. His name was Daniel Redcliff, a talented Acolyte who was escorting his elder disciple, who was the second of the seated figures on the platform.

This was a Rank 3 Mage, Silas Wisley, a talented Mage, and he was only 400 years old. This exercise was carried out by him on the order of his Master, a glorious Archmage.

However, he was not seated in the Central position; that honor went to Andar’s master, Jonathan Melbrook, the Rank 4 Mage and Mithril Rank Alchemist. With such a pedigree, even if Silas was here under the order of an Archmage he still needed to be respectful.

Jonathan Melbrook had a long white beard that reached his stomach and he was still abnormally fit for a Mage of 2,400 years, but he had wrinkles on his face to show his great age.

He rose and all the minor noises in the crowd went silent. His commanding voice rang through the hall as he addressed the people gathered here, yet his pitch was controlled with unerring accuracy so did not hurt any mortals present here.

A Rank 4 mage was a rare sight, and although he resided in the town, the chance to see him by the common folks was slim to none, and they treasured every opportunity to hear such a great Mage speak.

“We are gathered here to commemorate the passing of these children of glory and wisdom onto the most important journey in their lives. They stand here the seeds of Archmages, and once again we are all reminded about our purpose. The tradition that we partake in has endured…”

His speech continued for the next two minutes, to utter silence and when he was done, there was a minor cheer that was soon taken up by the majority. After living more than a thousand years a Mage was a fountain of endless skills, oratory was one of the minor ones.

He turned and gestured to the Mage responsible for the selection to take up the stand and returned to his seat.

Silas acknowledged him with a cupped fist and he rose, from his Spatial Ring he brought out a black Bead as big as a watermelon. The bead seemed to contain a lightning storm because now and then it would glow a bit as blue lightning danced inside of it.

Silas cleared his throat before speaking, “This is the Spirit Matrix Orb, and it is here to judge your worth. Just because you are all awakened does not mean you would be able to take the Trial to become an Acolyte of the Black Tower, with low talents you would never make it as a Mage even if given all the resources you can handle. This is a detecting device used to measure the Degree of your Spirit Matrix Root.”

He stopped and looked at the crowds checking their responses to his words and nodded silently to himself, these parents had prepared their children well.

Silas focused again on the children who were listening to his words with bated breath. Their fist were clenched hard as they prayed for their Spirit Matrix to reach an acceptable grade.

Silas continued speaking, “There are seven grades to every Awakened Spirit Matrix, and grade one is the lowest, while grade seven is the highest. To be accepted, your Spirit Matrix must be in grade two and above, any lower and you are doomed to become a Rank one Acolyte for the rest of your life.”