Salad Dressing

“Salad Dressing”

I watched the boy stumble into the rain-slicked courtyard, and I knew with absolute, professional certainty that the upcoming Trial of the Sunken Spire would kill him. He was seventeen, possessed the magical aptitude of a wet matchstick, and spent more time healing injured mice than practicing his incantations; he was a sentimental fool destined to be swallowed whole by the labyrinth's ancient terrors. I poured myself another cup of bitter tea, refusing to look him in the eye as he picked up his wooden staff, because a master does not mourn a student who is already a ghost.

The heavy stone doors of the Sunken Spire ground open, exhaling a breath of ancient, damp rot, and Wang Chen stepped across the threshold with his robes already tight against his round belly. The trial is a necessary ritual for the school, and the students that enter are always prepared, but accidents do happen.

Far above, nesting in the crumbling, vertical maze of rafters and high ledges, the chattering shriek of the winged monkeys echoed down—a sound that usually signaled a swift plunge of a student to the labyrinth floor. I leaned against the observation crystal ball, waiting for the panic to set in, waiting for the boy to realize that his clumsy frame and slow reflexes made him the perfect target for a pack of airborne bullies looking to push him into the air next to a bridge or off a ladder A shadow detached itself from the high rafters, dropping like a stone toward Wang Chen with leathery wings pinned back and talons bared. The screeching beast slammed directly into the boy’s shoulders with enough momentum to hurl an ox off the precipice, but instead of a death plunge, a dull, metallic thud resonated through the observation crystal. Wang Chen hadn't conjured fire or brandished his staff; he had simply locked his knees and muttered Stone Skin, a rudimentary, exhaustable spell that spiked his body mass to that of a boulder. The monkey shrieked in confusion, straining against a boy suddenly too heavy to budge, while I gripped the edge of the viewing table so hard my knuckles turned white. It was an absurd, defensive stalemate, but as three more shadows dropped from the darkness above, the air grew thick with suspense; the boy couldn't hold that crushing weight forever, and the labyrinth was only just beginning to wake up.

With a sudden gasp, Wang Chen dropped the spell, reverting to flesh and bone just as he plunged his hand into his satchel to scatter a handful of dried sweet roots at the beasts' feet. The greedy monkeys instantly abandoned the fight, scrambling for the treats and leaving the path clear, a baffling display of pacifism that left me staring in silence. But my relief was short-lived as Wang Chen stepped into the damp cavern of the second gauntlet, where a towering cave troll lurked, its massive club scraping against the stone. Every apprentice before him had used Fireball to sear the beast’s flesh, but the boy merely raised his palms, his eyes soft with a strange compassion that made my stomach twist with anxiety. Instead of throwing the flame, he cast Control Fire, pulling a blaze from a nearby torch and weaving it into a massive, roaring wall of heat that advanced like a living shield. It never touched the troll, yet the sheer, blinding wall of light sent the monster howling back into its dark cave, entirely unhurt. I slowly let go of the viewing table, a completely unfamiliar warmth blooming in my chest as I realized the boy wasn't failing; he was rewriting the trials entirely.

At the very heart of the center spire, the ground erupted as the horrid, man-eating plant burst from the soil, its thorned tendrils snapping out with blinding speed to wrap around Wang Chen's thick waist. Before the boy could even raise his staff, the massive bulbous maw clamped shut, swallowing him whole in a single, sickening gulp. I closed my eyes, a heavy wave of grim vindication washing over me; I had known from the start that his soft-hearted naivety would be his undoing, and I turned toward the heavy oak exit of the viewing room, unable to watch the aftermath. But a violent explosion of wet, hacking coughs from the viewing crystal made me freeze. I spun around to see the giant plant monster thrashing in agony, violently convulsing until it spewed Wang Chen back out onto the stone floor in a puddle of green slime. The boy was gasping for air but grinning, holding up an empty glass flask that had contained nothing more than household vinegar—a substance so fiercely acidic to magical flora that the beast was now curled into a shivering, pathetic ball. I stood completely paralyzed in the center of the room, my jaw slack and my cynical mind entirely shattered, staring at a boy who had just conquered the deadliest trial in the academy with a salad dressing.

When the heavy stone exit doors finally groaned open, Wang Chen trudged out into the sunlight, covered from head to toe in pungent green slime but bearing the golden token of completion. I stepped out of the shadows to meet him, my usual stern mask completely melting away into a look of profound disbelief. "I watched you the entire time," I admitted, my voice shaking slightly as I handed him a clean drying cloth. "I was certain you were a ghost the moment you stepped inside, yet you survived the most infamous gauntlet in the school’s history, using nothing but wits, kindness, and simple magic." I looked down at his sticky robes, a genuine, hearty smile breaking across my face for the first time in decades as I accepted the grandest lesson of my teaching career: never underestimate any wizard, no matter how portly he looks. Wang Chen beamed, offering me a sticky, victorious salute, and the two of us have laughed about the contest for many years since.