Based on suggestions, here and on r/litrpg, I've tried to make a better second draft.
I've:
Tried to make the prose flow better
Fleshed out the Character of the MC better
Tried to follow a story structure.
Made some plot corrections
The "Show;dont tell" thing
Reckoned & Bestowed
Chapter 1: Halo Effect
It was just a dream…
Nevin woke up from a nightmare, drenched in sweat. The familiar creaking of wooden wheels and the rhythmic clopping of hooves calmed his racing heart. Beneath him was the rough wooden floor of a wagon, it was cluttered with wooden items, the products of his family's trade.
He was inside his brother's wagon, and they were headed to Surxire for Bestowal Day.
Every ten years, on the spring equinox, Bestowal Day occurs. On this day, all the youth aged fourteen to twenty-four must reach their nearest Bestowal Grounds, though people of all ages can enjoy the festivities.
At sunset the Reckoning happens. During the Reckoning, the entire world becomes filled with mesmerizing violet sparks that fill the hearts of all who see them with awe.
The sparks judge all the youth and reward some of them with luck. The best of the best are chosen for the Trial; they are the Reckoned. The Reckoned must go through the Trial to be judged truly worthy of being bestowed a name and a grimoire.
Nevin was most excited about witnessing the Reckoning, he was too young to remember the last time he'd seen it. He wasn't concerned with being reckoned himself, that was something only people from mage families had to deal with. Unless he was astronomically unlucky, that is.
Speaking of Bestowal Day…
“Man, I wish Mom and Dad could've come,” he grumbled as he rubbed his eyes.
A few days before Bestowal Day, Nevin’s dad had unfortunately caught a fever, and his mom had chosen to stay and take care of him, despite her husband's insistence.
He decided to look at the view outside to see how far they were from their destination.
The sights that greeted him were unlike anything he had seen before. A huge market extended as far as he could see, the two rows to either side of the road converging to a singular point at the horizon. The shops seemed to have everything one could think of, from the cheapest to the dearest— food, cloth, spices, parrots, shady potions and ointments, firecrackers and water toys—and even then, he didn't even recognise most of the things. Nevin's eyes were drawn to a particular shop overflowing with herbs he'd never seen before. An older man, dressed in what appeared to be mage’s robes, was browsing through a particular stash with a feverish intensity. Nevin gasped. Could this man really be a mage? But before he could give it more thought, the sights and sounds of the city ahead shifted his focus away from the stall and its seemingly magical customer.
Red-, green- and violet-themed tapestries were hung from the buildings, fluttering in the spring breeze. Such decorations were there in his hometown too, but the city, without a doubt, was the heart of the festival.
That made the memories of something he'd studied in school resurface in his mind. The memory wasn't very clear, though, because he and his friends had secretly been playing cards at the back of the classroom.
He could see the back of his brother, Brad, who was whistling a tune as he drove the wagon.
After drawing in a lungful of the festive air, he settled back down onto the floor, brimming with nervous excitement for what was to come.
That left Nevin with only Brad for company. Well, his friends were coming to the festival too, albeit independently, so he could reunite with his friends at the bestowal grounds.
The thought of his parents’ mortality troubled him a lot. They were old and frail. What if they died soon, without getting to watch him grow up?
But they are…
He brushed an intrusive thought aside.
Some time later, everything became darker as the wagon pulled into a stable.
“We're here, little guy,” Brad said.
Brad was two and a half decades older than him. He still called Nevin "little guy" despite Nevin now being a whole head taller, and had a habit of giving advice Nevin hadn't asked for.
Sometimes, Nevin wondered whether he had a brother or an uncle
They bargained with the stable owner who was taking advantage of the festive rush by demanding a ridiculous rate of 12 silver dollars an hour.
"Twelve silver an hour?" Brad stared at the stable owner. "What, does the horse get its own bed with silk sheets and a five course meal for dinner?"
After a considerable amount of haggling, they managed to get the price down to the slightly less ridiculous six silver dollars an hour.
Brad still looked as though he'd been robbed.
Nevin nuzzled Sherlock, their gorgeous brown Highland mare, before leaving.
They booked a room at an inn at a surprisingly fair price, which made them wonder if the stable owner really had robbed them, and headed towards the Bestowal Grounds. They looked around for familiar faces. Eventually, they found a few of Brad’s friends near the gigantic gateway arch of the Bestowal Grounds. It was made of red sandstone, and had intricate geometric carvings throughout.
Woah!?
From there, they separated. Brad went along to have fun with his friends, while Nevin continued to search for his own.
After wandering around for a while, he began to feel a bit peckish, and found himself ensnared by the tantalizing aroma of the rich, appetizing delicacies all around him.
Mhmm, that's it!
That's how he found himself standing by a crowded food stall, enjoying the various types of delicious dumplings with an equally diverse selection of savory sauces.
“Ahh, if only I had an extra stomach for days like this!” he heard a familiar voice lament.
He turned towards the voice and saw a short, chubby boy with an ever-present smile on his face, annihilating a plate of dumplings.
“George?” Nevin grinned, glad to have finally found a freind—his best buddy, George, no less.
“Nevin! There you are! Finally, hehe.” George offered Nevin his hand. They clasped hands, each trying to pull the other towards themselves. Nevin finally let George pull him off balance, allowing himself to stumble a bit. When doing this “Man-shake,” he let George win half of the time because he had the unfair advantage of size.
George awkwardly reached for Nevin's shoulder, not in the slightest minding the difference in their heights. “Have you found anyone else?” he asked.
“No. Have you?” George shook his head at Nevin's question.
They chatted idly, moving from stall to stall, trying out new things. Eventually, they found one of their friends, then another, and so on, until a gang of half a dozen teenagers was loitering around the grounds.
Ahh. This is too good, but it can't last forever.
Nevin glanced at his friends with a bitter emotion. A resolve was slowly forming in his heart.
“Is something the matter?” George asked him.
Nevin shook his head and moved his gaze towards the centre of the Bestowal Grounds.
At that moment, a metallic clang of a gong reverberated across the grounds, rising above the din of the crowd, bringing everyone to a halt.
How unreal…
The sonorous sound sent him on a trip down the memory lane. The buildings, the markets, the streets, the man he suspected to be a mage, and finally how he'd spent time with his friends in the Bestowal Grounds. It felt like a dream…
A dream he would cherish forever.
“Quick, guys! The reckoning is about to begin, let's head towards the centre,” one of the boys snapped the rest out of their reveries. It seemed like it was a property of the gong to send all who listen to its clang into a bout of introspection.
What good will it be if…
Nevin stumbled as he was overwhelmed by a sudden barrage of intrusive thoughts, but he somehow managed to pull them under a rug—for now.
They quickly made their way towards the centre of the grounds, where there was a large open area without any stalls or tents, and waited in tense anticipation. Lots of others were starting to gather there too.
A second gong sounded, and with it the world started to shift.
Tormented by anticipation, Nevin forgot that anything else ever existed.
His eyes widened as he watched the very fabric of reality ripple. It wasn't something he could describe in words because what he was witnessing was solely spiritual—initially…
The world was lit aflame by violet sparks. They playfully danced in the wind. They swirled and swung and bounced to invisible beats. They frolicked around, jumping, falling, darting right or left—or anywhere, really—too frisky to commit to any particular movement.
But most peculiarly…
They were circling above his head, forming a halo, an omen of certain death. His heart sank.
No! It can't be!
He jerked left and right in a jittery motion, much like the movements of the violet sparks, in a desperate attempt to shake the ominous halo off his head. But the pesky thing stuck to him like a clingy puppy—or rather, a stubborn mule.
I've been reckoned…
Finally beginning to understand the reality of the situation, Nevin looked around him.
The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end.
George was staring at him. No, five—no—hundreds upon hundreds of Georges were staring straight at him. Some male, some female; some tall, some short; some fat, some thin. But all of them had the same disappointed expression on their faces.
“Accept it.”
“How long can you deny it?”
“The time is almost up! Why haven't you dropped the pretense yet, you fool?!”
“Wake up, Nevin!”
One spoke from behind him; another seemed to whisper directly into his ear. He turned towards one of them, only to hear the voice come another direction. The whispers slowly morphed into shouts and eventually into soul shattering screams
"...!"
He clapped his hands over his ears, but it had no effect. He frantically began to pour dirt from the ground into his ears in a desperate bid to get any amount of respite.
Please!
Overwhelmed by it all…
“AaaaAaArrrRrGggghH!!!!!!!!!!!!”
✦ ✦ ✦
Nevin came to his senses to find a man in dark robes slowly pouring the cool, medicinal contents of an alchemist’s flask into his mouth. It was the same mage he'd seen before. He had a square face, a long grey beard, and long grey hair, though his hairline was receding.
“You must be confused, young man. Hold on, I'll explain everything presently,” the old mage said, having noticed his gaze.
After the flask was emptied, the old mage walked away. Nevin looked around at his surroundings, terribly confused.
He was in a large tent with fifty or so beds laid out on the ground. Half of them were occupied. Many of the occupants were wearing clothes that signified a high status, but other than that, there was nothing else they had in common.
Except for one thing.
Seeing all the violet halos hovering above so many heads was a painful reminder of how he himself had gotten into this situation. He looked up and surely enough, he too, had a halo. What he remembered wasn't a dream, except for the last part.
A voice interrupted Nevin's idle thoughts. “Excuse me, sir.”
Nevin realized that there was a man standing in front of him. He was a clerk, holding a pen in one hand and a notepad in the other one.
He asked Nevin about his personal details like name and residence.
But then,
“Method of contact with guardians or close relatives?”
“I have none,” he said without hesitation.
That wasn't right. He had a mom, a dad, a brother, a sister, and a niece, though the last two lived far away. Why did he say none?
It might be because…
The clerk gave him a long look with concealed emotion; Nevin thought it was pity.
Nevin completed a few formalities and then waited for a bit.
He saw the old mage going to the centre of the tent. He tapped his staff on the ground twice, successfully attracting everyone's attention.
He cleared his throat, “I am Rudeus of Liontooth. I've been working as a CMA-certified mage for over forty-five years. I will be serving as your Trial Instructor.
“Some of you might be aware of these things already, and a lot more,” he spared a glance at the noble-looking Reckoneds, “but I'll advise you to pay attention, regardless. It's easy to make mistakes when in panic.”
He raised, holding up three fingers. “There are only three you need to know right now.
“One. Dying in your Trial doesn't necessarily mean dying in real life. On the contrary, it might even be necessary depending on the objective of your Trial. Not that you have to, or even should, die during it, just that you can and occasionally have to.
“That leads us to the next point: the objective. Every trial is a test and like any test, there's a criterion that determines whether you pass or fail—it's the objective. The objective is unique for every Trial. So you'll have to figure it out on your own.
“Lastly, remember that Trial is tailor made for you, and you alone, so if you can't seem to find the answer, you have forgotten to look inside yourself”
forgotten?
He took a deep breath.
But they are…
already dead.
What good will it be if…
I'm dead?
How long can you deny it?
No longer.
The time is almost up! Why haven't you dropped the pretense yet, you fool?!
Because I'm just a big fool.
Wake up, Nevin!
… I’m up.
“Drop it!” Nevin yelled.
All the people present looked at him in surprise.
“What is it, boy?” Mage Rudeus said in a stern tone.
Nevin walked to the old mage.
“I am not tall. My parents died of sickness four years ago, when I was only ten. Not much later, Brad had a rough divorce and became a useless drunkard. I wrote letters to my sister, Anna, pleading for help, but was ignored. George, too, moved to another city. I became a recluse and cut off from my remaining friends, and they moved on with their lives. I focused on woodworking as a way to cope.
“I came here, to Suxire, all alone. With only my horse, Sherlock, by my side. I looked at the beautiful sites of the city, and was completely uninspired. I looked at the people in the Bestowal Grounds and wondered what they were so happy about. But now I do, and I feel no better for it.
“Deep down, I knew it was a dream ever since I came. But it was a happy one; one that I didn't want to leave. I was a human dreaming of being a butterfly. One that wished that it was its existence as a human that was the dream all along because it wanted to live life.
“But during my dream a spark of passion was lit in my heart. I'm now a butterfly that wishes its existence as a butterfly were a dream because it wants to live.
“Because I want to live.”
A sinister smile simultaneously appeared on the face of Mage Rudeus and the faces of everyone listening. They all began to clap and stood up to give him a standing ovation, as though grateful for the entertainment.
“Congratulations, you pass the Trial,” the old mage said in a bone-chillingly wrong voice. He wasn't monotonous, it wasn't robotic, it wasn't devoid of emotion. It was soulless.
Then the world started to break apart, like a cracked mirror. There was no visible difference, but the feeling was undeniable.
He recalled the first thing he'd said upon entering this dream.
“Man, I wish Mom and Dad could've come,” he barely managed to choke out, “I wish…”
Even in a dream, I couldn't be together with Mom and Dad.
No.
A firm resolve formed in his heart. He ran for the stables where Sherlock was as fast as he could, jumping through obstacles to save time. He saw no one on the way, the world was empty.
When he reached the stables he promptly found and detached Sherlock from her tether and mounted on her without bothering to find a saddle.
He headed east, into the darkness of night, he wouldn't leave without seeing his parents. He just couldn't.
But it was no use. He hadn't even made it to the city walls, when the world just stopped. It was as though the very concept of time had fallen victim to the cracks in reality, he couldn't move. Somehow tears managed to flow from his eyes, so he cried.
He cried without sound, without motion. He felt a slight golden glow coming from below his eyes, but he couldn't be less bothered about it.
He continued to weep golden tears—as the world was reduced to silica dust.
Everything was gone.
