Word came with the morning.
A government official was on the road from Cresthill. He would arrive before midday. Aldric heard it from Corbin, who had heard it from one of the Harmon boys, who had heard it from a trader at dawn. By the time Aldric reached the well, half the village already knew.
Officials did not visit Ashford. Traders came through twice a season with salt and iron and news from the cities. Tax collectors came once a year and left quickly. But someone carrying the Emperor's seal — nobody had seen that before.
By midmorning the village had gathered near the meeting hall. Not because anyone called them. That was simply what people in Ashford did when something unusual happened — they drifted to the centre and waited. Tomas stood with his arms folded, watching the road. Maren was beside him. Corbin leaned against the well, pretending not to care.
Aldric stayed near the back.
The official arrived on horseback, alone. He was a thin man in a dark coat with the Emperor's crest on the breast — gold thread that caught the light. He got down from his horse without greeting anyone, tied it to the post outside the meeting hall, and took a leather case from his saddlebag.
He set the case on the stone steps and opened it. Inside was a crystalline orb the size of a fist, sitting in a wooden cradle. It was pale and still, like a stone pulled from a riverbed.
"By order of Emperor Lionard," the official said, loud enough for the crowd but nothing more, "all citizens under the age of sixteen are to be tested for magical aptitude. The test is free. It is not optional."
The villagers did not take it quietly. Several voices rose at once — sharp, confused, overlapping.
"What does this test do?"
"What happens if one of them has it?"
A woman near the front stepped forward. "You can't just ride in here and —"
Tomas had not moved from where he stood, but his arms had dropped to his sides and his jaw was set. Aldric knew that look. It was the same one his father wore when a storm was coming and there was nothing to do but wait.
"This is an imperial decree," the official said. His voice did not rise. It did not need to. "The testing program has been ordered by Emperor Lionard and applies to every settlement in the Aurean Empire. It will proceed."
The square went still. Nobody argued with the Emperor's name. Not in Ashford. Not anywhere.
The official drew a folded sheet from his coat — a list of names, pulled from village records. He placed the orb on a cloth-covered table, opened his ledger beside the list, and called the first name.
One by one, the young ones stepped forward and placed their hand on the Aether Stone. One by one, nothing happened. The stone stayed dark beneath their fingers. The official made a mark in his ledger and called the next name. He did not look up between them. He did not speak beyond what was needed.
The first few tests drew the crowd's full attention — parents leaning forward, neighbours whispering, children watching with wide eyes. By the tenth, the excitement had faded. The stone stayed dark. It always stayed dark. A few of the older villagers drifted back to their work. The younger children lost interest and chased each other behind the meeting hall. Even Corbin had stopped watching, picking at a splinter on the edge of the well.
The parents whose children had been tested stood in small groups, talking quietly. Some looked relieved. Some looked like they hadn't expected anything in the first place. The official kept calling names. The stone kept not glowing.
Aldric watched from the edge of the crowd. His hands were tight at his sides. It wasn't the stone that made him uneasy. It was the man — the coat, the crest, the way he moved through their village like it was just another name on a list. Ashford was everything Aldric had ever known. To this man, it was a stop on the way to somewhere else.
* * *
The line grew shorter. Most of the young ones had already been tested. None of them had made the stone do anything. A few looked relieved. A few looked disappointed. Most just went back to their parents and forgot about it.
Aldric had not moved from the edge of the crowd.
He watched the official work through the remaining names. The man's hand moved across the ledger without pause — mark, call, mark, call. The Aether Stone sat on the table between them all, pale and cold, and Aldric found himself staring at it the way he sometimes stared at the stream. Not thinking. Just looking.
His mother's hand touched his shoulder.
He turned. Maren stood beside him. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Her hand was warm and steady, and the small push she gave him was barely a push at all — just enough to say go on.
Aldric swallowed and stepped forward.
The official glanced up. "Name?"
"Aldric." His voice came out quieter than he wanted.
The official wrote it down. "Hand on the stone."
Aldric looked at the Aether Stone. Up close it was smaller than he expected. Just an orb in a cradle, smooth and pale, no different from a river stone worn down by years of water. He could see the faces of the crowd reflected in its surface — blurred, waiting, already bored.
He placed his hand on it.
The stone lit up.
Not a flicker. Not a faint glow that might have been a trick of the light. It shone — bright and steady, pouring between his fingers and spilling across the table like something that had been held inside and finally let out. The light touched the official's hands, the ledger, the cloth beneath the cradle. It touched the faces of the villagers standing closest. It filled the silence that fell over the square like a held breath.
Aldric didn't move. He couldn't. He stood with his hand on the stone and the light coming through his fingers, and he did not understand what was happening to him.