Immortal Foundry

Hayden stood in the cold stone antechamber, the faint murmur of voices leaking through the heavy wooden doors before him. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and wax, and the weight of the events about to occur settled heavily on his chest. His fingers twitched at his sides, betraying the calm he was desperately trying to maintain. The sound of his heartbeat echoed in his ears—louder and more insistent than the quiet, controlled breaths he tried to take.

Today was the day. It was the first step on the path to ascendancy.

He had watched his six older siblings walk through these very doors, each one leaving as a triumphant successor to House Harstan’s legacy, their magical prowess assessed, confirmed, and certified by the Royal Assessor of Terravorn. The future of the noble house rested in their capable hands and they had gone on to perform well in service of their house and kingdom.

Today was supposed to be his day. Hayden, the seventh son, born under the auspicious alignment of stars, the one everyone whispered might become the greatest of them all—a final fulfillment of a legacy seven generations in the making.

Except Hayden didn’t feel great. He didn’t feel powerful. He didn’t have the mystical power of his sister Seraphina or the intelligence of his brother Cailan. They were at the mage stage on the path of ascendancy and he was just…normal. All he felt was the cold seep through the stone floor rising through his boots despite the glowing crystals that bathed the antechamber in a warm light.

Suddenly, the doors creaked, and a pair of knights in gleaming silver armor stepped forward. They were part of his father’s elite guard, ascendants of the adept stage in their own right, their polished armor bearing the crest of House Harstan—a gauntlet clutching a gleaming gemstone. Each knight looked at him, their eyes inscrutable behind their helms.

“Hayden Harstan, seventh son of Garrick Harstan, Count of Crystalspire Keep,” one of the knights announced, his voice steady and formal.

The doors swing inward, revealing the great hall beyond. Crystalspire Keep’s court hall was as imposing as it was magnificent, its vaulted ceilings lined with hanging banners in shades of brown and silver, the colors of House Harstan. Rows of seats flanked the central aisle, where notable figures from the fief had gathered to witness the test. Lords, stewards, and retainers sat alongside advisors, all eyes forward, waiting to see the final son of House Harstan rise to his potential.

It was an old practice—the test. An opportunity for all the important figures of the land to confirm the truth for themselves. The Harstan line was strong and secure and the Count’s grip over the land could be trusted for at least the next generation. With the internal politics of the realm ever present and far reaching, the witnesses were both practical and necessary.

Hayden swallowed hard and stepped forward, the knights falling in behind him as he crossed the threshold. His boots echoed softly on the polished marble floor as he made his way toward the dais where his family sat. The hall was vast, but it felt as though the air was being pressed out of him with each step.

At the far end, seated on a high-backed chair of intricately carved stone and embedded gemstones, was his father, Garrick Harstan—the Count of Crystalspire, member of the Stone Circle, and one of the most powerful gemcrafters in the kingdom. His father was a man of sharp lines, his dark hair streaked with gray at the temples, his posture rigid and commanding. Garrick’s eyes, hard as the gemstones he wielded, rested on Hayden, assessing him silently, as though trying to determine whether his youngest son would be a disappointment or a triumph.

Beside him sat Lady Elira, Hayden’s mother, her warm features softened by her innate compassion. She gave Hayden a small, encouraging smile, though her eyes were lined with the same quiet concern she had worn since the moment Hayden had been born. His brothers and sisters were there too—Aidan, the heir, flanked by Edlric, Seraphine, Thalia, Lucien, and Cailan. Each of them had passed this test with distinction, their magical talents acknowledged by the court and celebrated by the family.

But there was someone else, standing near the dais, who sent a chill down Hayden’s spine.

The Royal Assessor stood tall and lean, his figure draped in deep purple robes embroidered with golden threads that shimmered faintly in the light of the court hall. His skin was pale, almost unnaturally so, as if he spent most of his time hidden away from the sun, and his sharp, angular features lent him an air of authority that was hard to ignore.

His eyes stood out the most to Hayden’s spiraling thoughts. They were a piercing shade of amber, cold and calculating, that made the youth feel as though he were being dissected under the man’s gaze. Those eyes missed nothing, darting between Hayden and the others in the room with a detached, almost clinical interest.

There was an air of detachment about him, as though he had long since grown indifferent to the fates of those he tested. He wasn’t here to care, only to judge on behalf of King Tristan Terrsor His presence meant the results were not only for the benefit of House Harston, but for the kingdom itself. Whatever potential Hayden showed—or failed to show—would be noted at the highest level.

Hayden came to a stop in front of the dais. He clasped his hands behind his back and what he hoped would present a confident scion of the house going through the motions of a test where the result was all but guaranteed. His shaking hand belied the optimistic image.

The assessor stepped forward, his expression impassive. “Hayden Harstan, seventh son of House Harstan,” he intoned, his voice a formal pronouncement of the impending judgment. “Today, we shall determine your aptitude for the path of ascendancy. Are you prepared?”

Hayden’s throat tightened, but he nodded. He thought he caught a flash of annoyance on his father’s face and the youth shuddered.

“Then let us begin.”

The assessor raised his hand, and a small, crystalline gem—about the size of a fist—floated toward Hayden from the depths of the officials' robes. It hovered in front of him, radiating a faint glow. The gem’s core shimmered with shifting hues—deep blues, radiant greens, and flickers of gold—each color representing a different element waiting to resonate with the touch of latent magical talent.

This was an aptitude stone, a magical tool developed by Count Harstan’s own hands and designed to measure the inherent power within an individual. By touching the stone, Hayden’s magical affinity—or lack thereof—would be revealed to all.

If Hayden were lucky, the colors within the stone would shift with the same colors of his house. Brown and silver symbolized an affinity for earth and metal. They were the core elements of gemcrafting and were the reason House Harstan was such a dominant player in the kingdom’s politics.

Hayden’s hands felt like lead as he reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the surface of the stone. For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then, the gemstone pulsed softly, sending a ripple of pearlescent light across its surface. Hayden felt a strange warmth travel up his arm—a sensation like static, prickling his skin.

But the light…flickered. It sputtered like a candle in the wind.

The room, once filled with expectant murmurs, fell deathly silent. The faint glow that emanated from the stone dimmed, then blinked out entirely. Hyden’s heart sank. He tightened his grip on the stone, willing it to light again to show anything—but the gem remained dark, its surface cold and inert.

A hushed murmur spread through the hall. Whispers passed between the notable figures, and Hayden could feel the weight of their judgment like a physical force pressing down on him. His siblings exchanged glances—some puzzled, others concerned. His mother’s smile faltered, replaced by a shadow of worry.

But it was his father’s reaction that cut the deepest. Garrick’s expression didn’t change—he remained as stone-faced as ever—but his eyes, once hilled with a spark of hope, now held nothing but a cold, simmering disappointment.

The assessor stepped forward again, his gaze sharp and unforgiving. He cleared his throat, and his voice echoed through the hall, final and damning.

“There is…no discernible aptitude.”

The man looked back at Hayden’s father, the Count, his voice carrying a trace of pity. “He is not suitable to become an ascendant.”

Hayden felt as though the floor had dropped out from under him. His worst nightmares had come true. He hadn’t been assessed with the potential to become an archmagus like his father or even mage like his siblings. He wasn’t just a failure—he was a mundane. The result was a scandal that would rock the kingdom and weaken his father’s influence in the realm.

A silence, more profound than any he had ever known, stretched across the room.