"Ahhh!" With a sudden gasp, Blackie jolted awake, a cold sheen of sweat beading on her brow as though she had just escaped from a dream so deep it had no bottom. She blinked, her eyes dry and stinging, the back of her throat burning with an unbearable dryness and a faint sweetness—was this the aftertaste of a nightmare's scream, or... something else entirely?
Instinctively, she clenched her fists, her fingers digging into her palms, seeking the sharp sting of pain to anchor herself in reality. Her vision gradually sharpened, but the world around her remained hazy, as if viewed through rippling water. The train station was still there, and she was still slumped in that same chair. The indistinct shouts of the ticket clerk, the distant rumble of engines starting up—everything sounded as though it had been muffled through thick layers of cotton wool.
"I must be sick..." Blackie murmured to herself, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid of waking something, laced with exhaustion and a touch of self-mocking humor. "I... I could have such a terrifying dream."
Just then, the golden light of dusk spilled through the air, as if someone had gently brushed the sky with a soft bristle, gilding the clouds with a delicate edge of gold. She looked up at the sky, and a strange, absurd sense of relief washed over her—the sun was low now, casting long, slanting shadows that stretched like forgotten threads across the ground.
"The man at the testing field was definitely lying." She laughed softly at the air, exhaled deeply, and slowly stood up, patting the dust off her bottom, preparing to leave.
But the moment her foot lifted, it hovered midair as though tethered by an invisible force, refusing to descend. After a brief hesitation, she slowly withdrew her foot, sinking back onto the bench and leaning slightly against the backrest, allowing the fading light of dusk to settle on her tired face. In this moment, she finally allowed herself a pause, a breath.
[Perhaps she wasn't in such a rush to leave after all.]
"Never mind..." she murmured softly, her voice as delicate as a whisper carried by the wind, "I'll wait a bit more."
[Life's turning points are like subway transfers—just need patience to wait for the next train.]
At this moment, the tremulous hum of the rail tracks erupted like a thunderclap.
Cerulean magical trails suddenly emerged from the void—dimensional magic! The rusted emerald train, its surface pitted with age, materialized as if pushed by invisible giant hands. Sixteen windows simultaneously glowed with warm golden halos.
From the sliding doors rolled out a spherical figure, its gleaming forehead tracing a semicircle under the moonlight: "Finally... finally..."
"Finally made it!" A middle-aged man wiped his polished forehead, sprinting toward Blackie with a briefcase tucked under his arm. Ancient parchment scrolls spilled from the case like scattered secrets of antiquity.
"Who are you?" Blackie bent down to pick up the nearest scroll. As her fingertips brushed the edge of the parchment, the crimson gemstone eyes on the fire-sealed owl insignia suddenly rotated. The owl emblem opened its mouth, clamping onto her little finger. Its sharp beak gave her skin a gentle peck, leaving a crescent-shaped mark.
"Ugh—doesn't even hurt..."
She lazily flicked her wrist, letting the "dumb bird" dangle from her fingertip. Her expression was languid, as if being pecked was no more than a trivial mosquito bite.
"Stop that! This is a living anti-counterfeiting charm!" The middle-aged man frantically stuffed the scrolls back into his briefcase while shouting, his flustered state resembling a Thanksgiving turkey being tossed into a spice rack.
"Who—ah, who are you?" Blackie leaned forward, repeating the question with three parts caution and seven parts curiosity.
"Allow me to introduce myself—I'm Alen Miro, a special envoy from the Magic Academy. Call me Professor Miro if you like!"
His voice carried an uncontainable vigor, as bright as if it had just bounced off the sun.
"Sorry I'm late! Haha! All because the school board's old fossils made me prove that the teleportation array in the train toilets won't send people to the septic tank..."
"Are you... here to pick me up?" Blackie hesitated, her gaze flicking between Professor Miro and the still writhing scroll on the ground.
"Exactly! Sorry I didn't greet you before summoning the dimensional train—did I scare you? But this old thing won't stay long. You've already heard it groaning, so just get on. I'll explain everything once we're aboard."
Professor Miro was extremely enthusiastic, gesturing for Blackie to enter the carriage.
"If it were kidnappers, they wouldn't have gone through such trouble," Blackie muttered to herself.
She then followed Professor Miro into the carriage. The metal threshold adorned with dark gold runes rippled as she stepped through, like water disturbed by a breeze. Warm air carrying the scent of cedar brushed past her ears. The carpet beneath her feet suddenly undulated with wave patterns, pushing her unsteadily into a velvet seat.
"Living magic-conductive fibers, ownership recognition reaction." Professor Miro's corpulent body squeezed into the diagonal seat, causing the chair to emit a groan of burden.
Blackie traced the scorching magic runes on the armrest with her thumb. The fine leather surface retained a residual heat. Those dark gold patterns undulated slightly under her fingertips, like the arched spines of sleeping serpents awakening.
"This is whale bone powder used to paint ancient magical scripts, mainly for temperature regulation." Professor Miro rummaged through his briefcase, producing a white paper bag. His plaid vest strained against his beer belly, and his tie hung at a 45-degree angle, looking like a Christmas gift trampled by a child.
"I guess we're here to discuss..." Blackie fiddled with the crystal ball on the oak table in front of her, her tone laced with teasing, "my magic, right?"
At that moment, the Mediterranean man suddenly grabbed her wrist. This man with a receding hairline had eyes that gleamed ominously, like a die-hard otaku who had just unearthed a limited edition figurine from a trash heap: "Did you know? Your magic residue blew up three crystal balls in the alchemy lab! In the end, we had to stabilize the situation using a dragon lizard's stomach sac!"
"This kind of pickup line could scare crying girls in a bar..."
Blackie recoiled as if electrocuted, momentarily at a loss for words. Yet somehow, the man's enthusiasm didn't make her feel repulsed, and this wasn't even the worst opening line she'd ever heard—at least it was better than the time in the cafeteria when someone asked, "Hey, is your zodiac Capricorn?" and then pressed a compass to her forehead to measure magnetic fields.
The Mediterranean man suddenly smacked his shiny forehead, shaking three stubborn strands of silver hair: "Forgive my impatience!" He dumped a half-meter-long sheepskin scroll from a paper bag, its yellowed surface revealing intricate black patterns.
"This is your magic resonance map. Look at these perfect resonance wave patterns! Although it almost tore the roof off, your magic affinity..." His voice was abruptly interrupted by the girl.
"By the way, if I've always had this kind of magic, why have I never felt it myself?" Blackie's fingertips lightly brushed a whirlpool-like black spot on the map—those wild, unrestrained lines seemed to materialize repressed emotions, pouring out all her frustrations and resentments.
"Excellent question! We spent several nights in the lab, and finally concluded—" Professor Miro slapped the magic resonance map flat on the table, "Your magic is as thick as honey! You can only access it through intense training or high-risk situations. Otherwise, it remains dormant in daily life!"
"Ah, so I'm just a sleepy bug, huh?" Blackie quipped.
"Do you know about pigments? When you mix all colors together, what color do you usually get?"
"Uh... black, I guess?"
"Exactly! But when you pour all spell pigments into a crucible—guess what you get?"
"Definitely not rainbow ponies," Blackie teased.
"Chaos! The abyss!" Professor Miro suddenly slammed his palms on the oak table, making the crystal balls roll around on the velvet cloth. He leaned forward, his voice growing more excited: "Your magic made all our detection instruments light up like Christmas trees!"
"Christmas trees are better than rainbow ponies at least..." Blackie followed his jumping thoughts with her own nonsense.
"Better than Christmas trees! Your magic can resonate with almost all elements—elements, that is! It can even react to other categories of magic. This means you might have the ability to learn almost all known spells! This is the first case in history!"
"Do you mean... no one has ever been like me?"
"Exactly! Your magic is a brand new type! After an emergency meeting of the Academic Council, we've decided to name this new magic—"
"Whatever it is, it can't be worse than 'Blackie.'"
"The Blackist!" Professor Miro exclaimed excitedly.
"Stop! Stop!" Blackie placed her fingertip against his forehead, which was about to touch hers, "What did you just say your magic is called?"
"Blackist—a magic messenger infused with the primal darkness!" Professor Miro excitedly waved his arms.
"In my hometown, 'Blackist' refers to those who like to cause trouble," Blackie covered her face.
"That doesn't matter! What's important is... You could possibly be—"
He suddenly straightened, placing both hands on Blackie's shoulders and speaking gravely, "You could possibly be The One."
"The One?"
"Exactly! The One! The first-ever omnimancer in history! If you join our academy now, you'll receive personal guidance from legendary mages!" Professor Miro said, thumping his chest proudly, "For example, someone like me—a top-tier mentor!"
The entire compartment erupted with golden streamers in celebration. Blackie calmly plucked a glittering sequin stuck to her collarbone, her lips curling into a faint smile. "Back in my hometown, those words sound like a cult organization trying to recruit you."
Professor Miro seized the opportunity, slamming the enrollment contract onto the wooden table. The parchment's corner still clung to a tiny piece of pizza cheese. "Just sign here, and you'll have a private dorm in our top-tier magic academy!"
"You just said 'cult organization'..."
"Pay no attention to the details! Once you sign, you'll be one of us!" He thrust a leaky peacock-feather quill into the girl's palm. "Friendly reminder—by enrolling now, you'll also receive a surprise gift handpicked by the academy!"
Professor Miro suddenly fell silent. Then, from nowhere, he produced a mini crystal ball. Inside, a miniature dragon lizard was frantically spinning, spewing rainbows...
Blackie swatted the crystal ball away as it nearly knocked her in the face, fixing Professor Miro's oily red face with a look of dazed resignation. After a brief silence of nearly two seconds, she let out a soft laugh. "Then I'll sign up."
"Perfect!" Professor Miro clapped his thighs gleefully. "I've already filled out all the forms for you—just a signature!" He scratched his head, hesitating, then sneakily glanced at the girl studying the documents.
"By the way... are you still going to be called 'Blackie'?"
"When a stray cat finds a home, it doesn't need to be called 'trash-picking' anymore," the girl said with a hint of resignation.
"If you'd prefer, you could choose a different name. This file is completely new." Professor Miro's tone remained carefully measured, his respect for sensitive topics evident in his restraint.
The girl lowered her gaze, watching the barren plains sweep past the window. On the glass, the reflection of the girl called "Blackie" was slowly fading.
"Then I'll be called Vane."
"Vane? Why?" Professor Miro asked, his curiosity piqued.
"No reason at all! I just like the name," the girl grinned, her right cheek dimpling with her prominent canine teeth. Her expression was childlike and vivid, like a cherry blossom meeting dew-kissed peach petals.
Professor Miro stared at her smile, stunned. This girl, who had seemed quiet and distant, now radiated the brilliance of an entire spring.
"Ha! That's great too! What's your surname?" Professor Miro quickly recovered, eager to continue.
"Taking my mother's surname, Ellis. I'll be called... Ellis Vane..." The girl reached for the quill, her pen trailing stardust across the twilight.
Elen Miro watched the figure at the parchment. This girl, who had grown alone in the shadows for eighteen years, now stood like a dying candle, leaving her first true mark on the blank contract—Ellis Vane.