In front of him stood a chair--stiff, unwelcoming with worn armrests.

  He sat rigidly, his gaze locking onto the magistrates before him. All four sat atop their elevated seats, clad in silk garments bearing the insignia of the city hall. Their conical hats, adorned with elaborate braided cords, bore the wear of time—frayed edges protruding. The one in the centre, wore the tallest hat with a cord longer than the rest most be the most senior in rank.

  "Applicant number 49?" this man looked at him with dull eyes.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Alright." He flicked his wrist lazily, and a rune-inscribed stone tablet materialized in front of the beggar.

  "Solve this glyph," the examiner yawned.

  The beggar squinted at the tablet, turning it over in his hands, then flipping it back to its original position.

  "This is irrelevant," he said flatly. "What does some sorting spell have to do with lighting streetlamps?"

  "Impudence!" snapped the examiner on the far left. "Illuminating the city requires logic, intelligence, and the ability to memorize complex instructions."

  "...And the adaptability to handle all manner of unpredictable situations," the examiner on the far right joined in. "Did you even read the description of the role?"

  "Fine," the beggar said briskly. He grabbed the rune stone again, staring at it, shaking it, flipping it once more.

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  "Arcane Sorting and Management System?" He knew he had seen it before. Somewhere. He infused his fingertip with a faint trace of thauma, ready to inscribe an answer—only to hesitate. Several times, he lifted his hand, reconsidered, then lowered it again. On one occasion, he did scribble something.

  But before he could finish, the examiner on the far right interjected, aghast.

  "There is a pen and parchment right next to you! What, by the gods, are you doing to that sacred instrument?"

  The beggar stopped. "Sacred? Instrument?". His voice filled with a slight amusement, "It’s a rock with one sentence on it."

  "This year's candidates are truly a peculiar mix," another examiner murmured. "That instrument was a gift from the great Athena herself. Have you no common sense?"

  The beggar exhaled slowly, then slowly rubbed his half-formed answer off the tablet.

  He picked up the pen and parchment instead. His hand moved quickly, jotting down every fragment of knowledge he had managed to retain. None of it seemed relevant. But at his current state of mind, everything he had memorised sounded the same.

  "Are you finished yet?" The lead examiner, who had been on the verge of dozing off, suddenly straightened. "It has been some time."

  "Yes, we must move on," one of the lackeys chimed in nervously. "You will have to stop now."

  With a sigh, the beggar put down his pen and parchment.