Prologue
It was like being trapped in a vault. That impression renewed each time the boy set foot within.
A basement room down a long flight of stairs. The air was less still than it was oppressive; the walls, floor, and ceiling bore the scares of intensive training done here over the years. Each time the boy faced his father’s stony visage, the stress wrung him out.
“…Hah…”
Alvin Godfrey, age fifteen. Taller than average, with upturned brows and eyes that gleamed with a light that suggested he was equally forthright and honest to a fault. No trace of the gravity or intensity so commonly found in mages—even the natural muscles of his build were those of a simple country boy.
“Flamma!”
He chanted a spell, and flames leaped from his wand. The power was unstable, roiling left and right, shrinking and swelling.
“…Ngh…!”
The more he struggled to get it under control, the more blood drained from his face. Judgment had already been passed. No different from any other attempt—and his father let out a sigh.
“…Enough. Stop that, Alvin.”
A cold voice, dismissing his son’s efforts. Out of breath, the boy lowered his wand, facing his father’s disappointment.
“I knew you were defective, but to reach age fifteen with no improvement…”
“…I apologize, Father.”
The boy’s voice betrayed his shame. The father took a step toward him, slapping his cheek without pity.
“…!”
“Do not apologize lightly. You know full well we’re past the stage where that has any meaning. No matter your failings, you will have to attend a school somewhere next year. But at this rate, I cannot imagine you passing any exams.”
With that lament, he turned away, delivering a few more words over his shoulder.
“You’ve drawn up a list of every school in the Union, yes?”
“…I have.”
“Then test at them all, as long as the dates do not overlap. Schools of repute will likely send you packing, but perhaps you’ll get lucky. It is only a small saving grace, but at least you’re not a complete fool. Perhaps you can get enough points on the written exam to slide in somewhere.”
The final hope to which they clung. Only one answer available to him—standing at attention, Godfrey nodded.
“Understood. I’ll get right to it.”
“I hope for good news. Do not make me sigh again.”
The boy bowed to his father and left the room. He stole one last glance at the man’s face but found no expression at all. His father was no longer even registering disappointment.
Not far from the manor where he lived were plain wooden homes between fields of grain. A town built for those without magic—ordinaries.
The population was decent for a place this remote, but the network of waterways that modern shipping revolved around did not yet reach it; the Godfreys were constantly nagging the magic authorities to rectify that. Unfortunately, these efforts had not paid off. Their clan was just over three hundred years old—hardly new, but not quite established. They simply lacked the political clout of the true dynasties.
Godfrey himself was quite fond of the town as it was. The waterways might not reach it, but the river flowed clean, and the trout and carp caught from it were a favorite meal. He often joined the local fishermen on their boats and occasionally caught a glimpse of river fairies swimming in the clear water below. Development would one day put an end to these things; a real shame, he thought.
“Oh, Al!”
“You’re dressed for travel? Where you going?”
Local children spotted Godfrey at the carpet stop in town, baggage on his back, and came running up to him. Smiling at his younger friends, he nodded as cheerily as he could muster.
“I’m off on a tour of magic school exams. Got a lot to take, so it’ll be a while. Won’t get back till next month.”
“Whoa, that’s forever!”
“Come back early! We need more people for kickball!”
“You’re so big; you make a great keeper, Al!”
“Will you bring us presents?!”
A chorus of gripes and pleas. He shook his head at them, and an older woman in an apron came running.
“I’m not too late! Al, are you leaving soon?”
“Ma’am?”
“I brought your lunch! The pie in the big bundle won’t keep, so start with that. Did you pack spare clothes? Don’t fall off the carpet, now! And always double-check the destination when you’re transferring!”
She voiced far more concern than his actual parents had. Rather embarrassed by that, he put his hands up, stopping her.
“Thank you. But I’ll be fine. I planned the travel route myself, including strategies for problems I might face along the way. The exams themselves are far more worrying.”
“Well, good. I do worry! You’re a good boy, but you’ve never really seemed like a mage.”
That hit a sore spot and left Godfrey at a loss for words.
The truth was, most mages didn’t take carpets around. They could just use their own brooms. He did have one with him—but it was for emergencies, in case carpets weren’t an option. He’d fallen off and hurt himself too many times; his father forbade him riding it any real distance.
Nothing he said now would change her impression of him, so he turned her attention toward the future.
“If I attend magic school, I’m sure I’ll change. Expect great things!” he said. “Oh, sorry. It’s that time. Gonna claim a spot on the carpet.”
He saw the carpet coming in for a landing, took the lunch from her, and headed over. He got a few looks for taking a carpet with a broom on his back, but he paid that no attention. As he settled in with his belongings, the woman and the children watched over him.
“I’m off,” he said. “Wish me luck!”
Not long after, the departure time arrived. Godfrey waved as the carpet lifted off. The children waved back, and the carpet soon disappeared across the horizon. The woman’s worried frown never once relaxed.
He reached his first destination after an eight-hour flight. It should have been six hours, but flying carpets were magical creatures—their flight speed varied widely according to their condition. This carpet was getting on in years, and there had been several instances when it started losing altitude, forcing the passengers to pat it encouragingly.
“A mite past our scheduled arrival time, but here we are at Galatea! Thank you for riding; please disembark so we can rest the carpet.”
Unsteadily, Godfrey stepped onto solid ground. The feel of it came as a relief, but his back was as bent as any old-timer’s.
“Two hours is a ‘mite’…? Argh, this thing’s murder on my back.”
For the first time, he felt like he knew why his father was so desperate to get the waterway to their home. But as the pain in his back faded, he looked around—and forgot all other concerns. The bustle of the magicity was a far cry from the rustic village he knew.
The sky was covered in a latticed dome, with paths of light in the air, brooms and carpets carrying people and things here and there. There were structures dangling from the dome like cocoons, shops for those who could fly to them. The ground-level streets were rather raucous, with stands along both sides calling out to the passing crowds. For a hick like him, it felt like a festival—but this was not Godfrey’s first visit, and he knew it was always like this.
“Hello again, Galatea. I think I was…eight when Mother took me here?”
He took a deep breath, refocusing.
The city life was certainly thrilling, but he was here on business. Not to see the sights, but to face a challenge that could determine the course of his very life.
“What a place to start my exam pilgrimage. It’s great that I can knock this one and Featherston out together, but…”
He glanced up at the sky once more. Glowing letters hovered in midair, pointing to the exam site for Kimberly Magic Academy.
He’d reserved a room at an inn, and that night helped him recover. He rose ready and motivated. Once dressed, he spoke briefly with the proprietor and stepped outside, clapping his cheeks for pep.
“…Okay, I’m ready. Onward!”
“Heeeeeelp!”
Before he could even take a step, there was a scream from behind. He spun around and saw an older woman collapsed on the side of the road. Unable to leave her be, he ran over.
“…What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been robbed! Oh, you’re a mage? Hurry! After him!”
She pointed, and he saw a man running off with a purse under his arm. Realizing what this meant, Godfrey frowned.
“Of all the days… Stop, thief!”
He was already in pursuit. The man had some distance on him, but however inexperienced Godfrey may have been, he was a mage. And one who’d spent quite a lot of time running around in the dirt with the local children. No ordinary thief could outpace him. As the crowds around gawked, he swiftly closed the gap.
“Gah…!”
“Don’t fight me! I’m not trying to hurt you!” Godfrey urged the thief.
He’d pinned the thief down from behind and recovered the purse. Much as he’d have liked to incapacitate the man with a spell, he wasn’t capable of anything that required such finesse. Instead, he just grappled with the man, asked the crowd to take care of the rest, and turned back to the victim, handing her the purse.
“Oh, thank you, thank you! May I ask your na—?”
“Sorry, madam!”
He bobbed his head and turned to run off.
He could not afford to be late. This had taken him away from his destination, but he still had time—
“Help! Somebody, help!”
And again, a cry caught his ear. Godfrey screeched to a halt and peered down a narrow alley.
“…What is it this time?!”
“Ah! Someone stopped! Oh, you’re a mage? Fancy that—so am I!”
Godfrey was greeted with a smile. A slim youth with androgynous features and a distinctive voice—and a wand in their hand, which proved they were a mage. They were on one knee beside a prone woman, the sight of whom made Godfrey gulp. She was white as a sheet, breathing heavily—and the bulge in her belly made it clear why.
“I saw her topple over!” the youth told Godfrey. “I think she’s ready to pop. We have to get to the hospital, but she’s in no state to move.”
“…Do you know how to use anesthetic spells?”
“Of course. And I know where the hospital is.”
“Then I’ll carry her. You follow along, easing her pain. Sorry, but we’ll have to make this quick. I’m short on time!”
Once the spell was cast, he hefted her up and ran off, following the youth’s directions. They stuck close behind. After a moment, they asked, “Wait, are you a Kimberly applicant?”
“Got it in one. It’s a big day, but somehow I keep stumbling across trouble. I’m not exactly built to be an augur, but perhaps I should have applied myself a bit harder.”
“Heh-heh. Well, at least you’re not alone. I’m here for the same thing.”
“Wha—? You are?! Do you really have time for this?!”
“Gosh, pot calling the kettle black! Perhaps you have a point, but I’d rather not abandon her. Even if I passed my exam, I’d feel bad.”
Screams interrupted their discussion:
“Augh!”
“Wargs escaped the transport cart!”
A cart of wargs had toppled over, and dozens of the beasts had escaped. The fleeing crowds had them very agitated. Godfrey’s lips twitched.
“…A third calamity. This is beyond bad luck into am I cursed? territory.”
“I have to agree. But we can’t exactly take the long way around—she’s at her limit.”
The youth was closely watching the pregnant woman’s condition. Godfrey could tell her breathing was growing shallow—and that made his mind up. He had to make a beeline.
“Fine, I’m going through. Keep her safe.”
“…Huh?! Wait—I can’t look after you as well!”
“I’m tough as all get-out. One of my few strengths. I can soak a few bites!”
With that, he plunged into the fray. The wargs targeted him at once. Jaws clamped on to his undefended legs. Feeling those teeth sink into his flesh, Godfrey pressed on, dragging the warg along with him.
“Bite me all you like! I’ll just make you sick!”
“Tonitrus! You’re a wild man…!”
The youth stayed close on his heels, prying the wargs off with lightning and frightening away the next wave. They were unable to stop them all, and a few more bit Godfrey, but he raced right through the scene of the accident. Once the pair escaped the wargs, the hospital was right before them. Dripping blood in his wake, Godfrey burst through the doors and called to the shocked receptionist—an ordinary.
“Pregnant woman! Emergency delivery! Take her, please.”
“G-got it! Um, your name is—?”
“No time for that! The rest is yours!”
He laid the woman down on a bench. He saw her eyes blearily on him and bent down momentarily, cupping her hand in his.
“Sorry I can’t stay. Have a safe delivery.”
With that, he turned and dashed off. The youth caught up to him, breathing heavily.
“Wait! You’re going in that state?”
“Afraid I’m no healer! And there’s no time to avail myself of the hospital here!”
Before he could run off, the youth grabbed his wrist. He turned back to find them bent over, their wand aimed at his wounds—their spell closing them up.
“Well, I can heal. Afraid this does nothing for your clothes, though.”
“…Thanks, but…aren’t we rivals?”
“I’m the one who dragged you into this mess. Don’t worry; I know I can pass.”
They flashed a dazzling smile. Godfrey smiled back, grateful for the help.
Ultimately, the pair did manage to reach the exam site on time—by the skin of their teeth. The monitors looked aghast at Godfrey’s torn clothes, but since he himself was fine, they said nothing. He and the youth split up, found their seats, and began tackling the test sheets.
Spellology, magical history, alchemy. True to the school’s reputation, quite difficult, but lots of essay questions seeking to grasp how the applicants thought. Those late nights studying paid off. Godfrey’s pen moved swiftly and surely, and he completed the test sheet with five minutes to spare.
“That’ll be all. Put your pens down,” the monitor called—and with a spell, they collected all the test sheets, provoking screams from those trying to write one last word.
Godfrey looked relieved. He’d done his part here, at least.
“Practicals are next. They include a simple interview with faculty members, so do not be rude.”
Obeying instructions, the applicants split into groups, moving down the hall. Another group went in ahead of his, and Godfrey put his hands on his chest, taking deep breaths. This was going to be his make-or-break moment, his greatest fear.
“Next group, head in.”
The monitor held the door open for them. Five other examinees entered with Godfrey. Crystals for each were placed on a long table at the center of the room, and two instructors sat behind desks at the back. One was a pleasant-looking man in a white cape, while the other was a dignified old woman in a dark robe. The man flashed a smile at them.
“Welcome. My name is Luther Garland, and I’ll be evaluating your practical exams. With me is Instructor Frances Gilchrist. Line up here.”
These names made every applicant gulp, Godfrey included. Their reputations preceded them. One so proficient in sword arts they called him the Blade Master; the other a supreme witch, alive for more than a thousand years. Both were heroes of the Gnostic fronts, and employing them proved the power of Kimberly as an institute.
“No need to stress it. We’re not asking anything difficult here. We’re simply measuring your fundamentals. Trying too hard may work against you.”
Clearly trying to help them feel at ease. Godfrey had known this in advance, but it proved no comfort. Simply measuring his fundamentals? That meant anyone who did not meet that standard would fail, without any recourse.
“Let’s begin with the stability of your output. Place your wand on a crystal and pour mana into it. As strong as you can, while maintaining the flow for a full minute.”
“““““Yes, sir!”””””
All examinees stepped up to the crystals and began. Godfrey aimed his own wand and started infusing his crystal with mana.
“…!”
The crystal soon lit up. The more mana applied, the brighter they got; the steadier the flow, the more consistent that light was. There was some variation in the brightness, but the other examinees were all solidly consistent. Godfrey’s alone was blinking furiously, never stabilizing.
“Hmm…?”
“…”
That drew the instructors’ attention. The longer it went on, the worse Godfrey’s complexion became. It was hard to imagine that he was merely applying mana to a crystal. He wore a desperate scowl, his whole body shaking like he was attempting to seal away some mighty force.
“Okay, enough,” Garland demanded. “Mr. Godfrey, you’re rather pale. Are you unwell?”
“…No…I’m…perfectly healthy,” Godfrey gasped, his breath ragged.
All applicants lowered their wands. The others were giving him dubious looks, but he was past noticing.
“Right,” Garland said, watching him closely. “We could let you take the rest of the exam later, if you like?”
“I appreciate the concern…but I’m good to go.”
More time would not improve his performance. All too aware of this, Godfrey chose to power through.
“Very well.” Garland nodded. “Next task—we’re measuring your individual elements. Beginning with fire—”
Thirty minutes later, Godfrey still stood—but exhaustion piled on exhaustion, and he looked ready to collapse.
“…Hah…hah…hah…!”
Sweat dripping from nearly every pore, he was unable to catch his breath. The other students were past worrying about him; they looked downright unnerved.
After a pause, Garland announced, “That’s all we have. Results will be sent to your homes, so you may leave. Thanks for coming.”
With that last formality, the examinees filed out. Godfrey staggered after them, forgetting to close the door. Garland waved his wand at it, and once it closed, he glanced at his colleague.
“…What did you make of him, Instructor Gilchrist?”
“Appalling beyond words. It’s been years since an examinee infuriated me so.”
Her brow had not betrayed a hint of this during the exam or now. Garland looked sympathetic.
“I felt much the same. We’re in agreement, then?”
“You hardly need to ask. Handle him accordingly.”
Their opinions required no debate. Garland nodded once and ushered in the next batch of applicants.
This was but the first trial of many. Godfrey repeated much the same performance at every other exam site.
“B-boy, are you quite all right? You look half dead!”
“Cease this farce at once. This is a serious exam!”
“Oof… Mr. Godfrey, enough. You may leave. You’re distracting the other applicants.”
Strictly speaking, it was not the same. Only Kimberly had allowed him to complete the practicals; at every other school, the administrator sent him packing halfway through.
Some were concerned, some annoyed, some incensed, but Godfrey was nothing if not persistent and did his level best at every site.
“Last one… Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”
His eighteenth exam had taken him all the way to Daitsch. As he left the venue, he stood in the street outside, sighing dramatically.
There were other magic schools in the Union…but many exam dates overlapped. He’d taken as many as he physically could. His pilgrimage had ended without a single success—and left him dragging his heels back to the carpet stop.
“What do I tell my father? What happens if none of them take me? Do we work connections and find some village mage who’ll accept me as a student?”
Godfrey folded his arms, considering those questions. He’d heard of a few cases like his. There were schools that allowed in even poor performers, but his father had refused to consider that notion. They were beneath the minimum level the Godfreys’ reputation demanded. Three hundred years was hardly long by mage dynasty standards, which made them even more conscious of anything that could encourage contempt.
“But I can’t just…not be a mage. He would never allow a total failure… Though I’d happily live out my life working a field if I had to.”
Muttering to himself, he settled in at the edge of the carpet. The fatigue of his long journey catching up to him, he fell asleep as soon as the carpet wafted off across the sunset sky.
At the end of the carpet ride, he boarded a ship that took the waterways across the border. More boats and carpets awaited him—a journey far more grueling than his initial ride to Galatea. At last, he reached his home.
“I’m back, Father. All I can say is—”
He had nothing to be proud of. He came in the door despondent, but found his father’s eyes gleaming.
“Well done, Alvin!”
“Huh?”
Godfrey froze, unsure what this meant. His father was being positively effusive.
“For the first time, you’ve impressed me! I thought going for numbers stood a small chance of success, but I never imagined it would be here! How’d you pull it off? Did the stress of it allow you to pull off a miracle? Why did you never manage it before?!”
His father was slapping his shoulders, but Godfrey just looked perplexed. He’d rarely seen the man in this good a mood, and he had no clue what brought this on. He was afraid there’d been some terrible misunderstanding—and was already worried about how his father would take the bad news.
“I don’t care how you did it. Either way, this spring you’re a Kimberly student. Rejoice, Alvin! You’ve finally got a shot at contributing to our family name.”
Finally, the dots connected. There was a letter in his father’s hand, and he saw the official acceptance at the top of it. The first school he’d tested for and the first to send results—and thus, his father’s joy. Blissfully ignorant of how his son had actually performed.
Before Godfrey could recover, his father grew grim, looking him in the eye.
“But do not forget this—you are attending with the Godfrey name on your shoulders. You’ll be no match for the older students, but do not disgrace yourself before your peers. Apply yourself like your life depends on it, grasping anything you can. Not that Kimberly is a school you can survive, otherwise.”
The boy had yet to catch up with the facts, and already his father was making harsher demands. All ideas he’d entertained on the carpet home went down the drain.
“If you cannot manage that, there is no need for you to return here alive. An inept son is one who never existed in the first place. I shall forget your name and face.”
The father’s fingers tightened on his son’s shoulder. The look in the man’s eyes was that of a parent clinging to their last hope. And that made it all too clear to the boy—it didn’t matter if there were other paths in life. This man could not abide any further disappointments from his own flesh and blood.
“Let me be very clear, Alvin. You will become a proper mage at Kimberly. If you do not, then make sure you die there.”
Every escape route crumbled beneath the weight of these words. All Godfrey could do was nod. This settled things—with no other choice, his path took him straight to the sorcerer’s hell.
Godfrey retained few memories of the frenzied prep before admission. He knew his parents had tried to cram every bit of knowledge and technique into him that they could, but this time flew past without ever feeling real to him. The things that most stuck with him: the tears of the local children when he went to say good-bye and the worried look on the kind lady’s face.
And then he found himself in that hellscape. Two mountains east of Galatea, at the end of the Flower Road—the institute of learning at the pinnacle of the world’s sorcery. A towering building with walls all around it, as ominous as it was ostentatious. A spire rising skyward like an upheld sword. He’d heard it looked more like a fortress than a school—but that was not the impression Godfrey received. This was a bottomless abyss. He and every other student passing through those gates were tumbling in.
“Let me first ask—why are you here?”
The hall where the orientation was held. At the podium, a witch’s voice, like a dagger. Jade eyes raking the crowd of fresh faces. A long dress that went from blue to black like plunging into the ocean’s depths. Two athames crossed behind her hips. Alarmingly beautiful, but that beauty as extreme as the harshest winters at the edges of the world. It felt like her very presence lowered the temperature in the room and left the first-years shivering.
“Will you use your time here to make friends and become a better mage? Are you here to earn the cred ‘Kimberly graduate’ provides, fueling your future pursuit of sorcery?” she asked. “I hope that it is neither. Those notions are so dismally cavalier.”
Nailing this point home without mercy, the witch slammed her hand on the lectern.
“This is where you earn results! If you cannot succeed at Kimberly, do not dare dream of a life beyond these walls!” she bellowed. “This is the optimal environment. The outside world is filled with compromises, but here there is very little that will block your research. There is no shortage of pioneering predecessors or competition to encourage your own advances. Learn, search, and succeed. If you perish along the way, so be it. This administration has always accounted for that possibility.”
Everyone entering Kimberly knew this much in advance. Death, madness, disappearance—no matter the outcome, 20 percent of those here would be consumed by the spell. But this moment served as a harsh reminder: This was no exaggeration, but a fact, a future that awaited them all. They knew this to be true—each gesture this witch made told them so. Told them she would loathe that statistic’s decline far more than she ever would its increase.
“Your life and death are in your own hands. That is the first motto I can provide. And know this, too. Accomplishing nothing, achieving nothing, merely surviving seven years here, in this school—there is no greater shame imaginable.”
There was a weighty silence as all carved the laws of this hellscape into their minds.
“I’ll leave you with that,” she said, scanning the rows of faces. “If there are no questions, we will proceed to the banquet.”
She waved a wand, and the hall began rearranging itself like the pieces of a puzzle. Chunks of floor became chairs, scooping up students; tables thrust out from the walls; and a dazzling buffet of piping hot food appeared from thin air.
“Whoa…!”
“Huh…?!”
The ceiling parted, and older students descended on brooms, filling the first-years’ glasses with grape juice from on high. The scene turned to one of merriment, melting the hearts frozen by the witch’s speech.
“Hmm.”
As this change took place, Godfrey sat in a corner, arms folded, lost in thought.
“Isn’t the headmistress terrifying? Hard to believe she only just assumed the position.”
A friendly voice in his ear. Godfrey looked up and found a slim first-year with an engaging smile. The androgynous voice and face jogged his memory—he’d met this youth before, on the exam day. They’d helped him get that pregnant lady to the hospital.
“You’re… So you passed, too?”
“I did! A pleasure to meet you again. We didn’t even get a chance to trade names, did we? Time we fixed that. I’m Carlos Whitrow. Not a fan of parties? You’re clearly not having fun.”
“…That’s not why. I’m Alvin Godfrey. I’m glad you came over to me, Mr. Whitrow—or…is it Ms.?”
“Just call me Carlos. I am technically male, but that’s neither here nor there. How about I call you Al?”
Carlos settled down on a chair next to him. Godfrey turned to face them.
“That’s fine, Carlos. It’s not that I hate parties—I just don’t know why I’m here. Honestly, my practicals were a disaster. I have no clue why they accepted me.”
“You don’t say? Well, you’re here now, so consider that a blessing. There’s plenty of time to make up for your shortcomings.”
Carlos was putting a positive spin on things. A gesture of kindness that helped Godfrey relax.
“True enough. Okay, let’s look forward to that.”
Realizing how hungry he was, he tackled the buffet, piling food onto his plate. He and Carlos sat together, eating—until his gaze was drawn to a group at a table nearby.
“Quite a crowd. Someone famous?”
“Oh, that would be Mr. Echevalria’s entourage. They’re a big-name family, and everyone wants to make an impression on their scion. People here care a lot about their futures.”
“Huh… You’re not going to join them? I could go with you.”
“Mm, that’s not quite my scene. I’ll introduce myself sooner or later, but not today. As if joining the herd would accomplish much.”
Carlos shrugged, then looked around and rose to their feet.
“I spy a few wallflowers. Shall we, Al?”
“…I see you’re a busybody.”
“And yet, you’re joining me. We’re birds of a feather!”
Godfrey couldn’t argue there. He stood up. He still had no clue what this place had in store for him, but at the very least, he’d met the right person.
After orientation, they were led to the dorms—and fortunately, Godfrey and Carlos turned out to be roommates. Allegedly, the school revised the room assignments after observing interactions at the banquet—a fact that made Godfrey grateful to Kimberly for the first time.
The next morning, he set foot in the school building and found it even larger than he’d imagined, yet somehow stiflingly claustrophobic. The marble floors were so cold that touching them made him shiver. Elaborate wall reliefs spoke to just how thick those walls were—and attempting to read the magical data encoded into them made him dizzy at the sheer volume. The very layout of the corridors was far from the orderly approach standard architecture employed; first-years unaccustomed to it frequently found themselves not only lost but also punch-drunk on the sheer complexity.
Older students gave them smiles in passing, as if to say You don’t know the half of it. Clearly mindful of their own early experiences.
The first-years picked their way to the classroom, but the room itself was no real departure from those of other schools. Students sitting at desks fanned out around a lectern, everyone waiting anxiously and expectantly for the lecture to begin. At last, the door opened. In came the witch from the exam site—an elderly lady, back straight as a rod.
“I am Frances Gilchrist, spellology instructor,” she began. “It galls me to teach anyone with those metal things hanging on their hips, but what I teach is exactly as it has always been. What is magic, what are spells, and how should a mage handle each? You shall all emerge with a firm understanding of the true nature of these things.”
Few mages alive had lived as long as her, and even Godfrey knew full well the value of her direct tutelage. But the doubts in his mind overcame that impulse. His entrance exams had been catastrophic, and the witch before him likely knew why they had not worked against him.
Still, he did not plan to start with a personal question on day one. With his innate dedication, he listened to Gilchrist’s overview of the subject. The nature of spellcraft, a diatribe against the need for athames, the overall progression of their lessons. When she finished this speech, she moved to the next phase.
“That’s enough for the preamble. For the rest of this class, we’ll be focusing on stable output for the respective elements. Let me remind you—this is the most fundamental of fundamentals, and this is the one and only time we will ever deal with it in this class. Once you learn the approach, you are expected to practice it on your own time. Each class, we will learn something new. Those who fail to make it theirs will fall further and further behind.”
Her words were like a clap on their backs. Each student faced the crystal before them. Godfrey took a deep breath and raised his white wand.
“……Okay.”
“Al, are you all right? You’re shaking like a leaf.”
Carlos was already concerned. Godfrey tried to shake off his fears. He opened his mouth to cast—
“Stop. Lower your hands, Mr. Godfrey.”
A voice from the lectern. He looked up, surprised.
“You are not yet ready for that,” the witch intoned. “Move to the next room, catch your breath, close your eyes, and focus on observing your internal mana circulation. As you do, slowly chant spells.”
He hadn’t even done anything, and already he was being assigned remedial work.
When he failed to move, she added, “Don’t worry about shifting elements—stick to fire. I’ll be the judge of your improvement and when you can return here. Any arguments?”
Her gaze shot through him. Godfrey clammed up and hung his head, fingers clenching around his wand. He was but a student and could not argue this.
“…No, ma’am…”
“Then get a move on. Remember, time you waste comes back to haunt you.”
Godfrey glumly left the room. The other students whispered behind his back.
“…Sent out on his first day?”
“Legit? He didn’t even do shit yet!”
“How’d he mess up already?”
“Apparently he did!”
“How’d he pass the exam, then?”
“I know, right? I mean, this is Kimberly!”
Carlos heard all that scorn. Unable to bear it, they raised their hand.
“Instructor, when I finish my task, may I join him?”
“Suit yourself. But do not offer advice. That’s an order.”
Carlos made quick work of their own assignment and slipped into the next room. They found Godfrey looking white as a sheet, struggling mightily, so out of breath his incantations were full of false starts. It was obvious his condition was only deteriorating.
“Aha,” Carlos said, folding their arms. “Not every day you find a mage that awkward.”
“Disappointed?” Godfrey asked with a sad smile, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Carlos shrugged, shaking their head. “I’ve never felt that way about a friend, and I have no intention of doing so. But if I may express an opinion—it’s a mystery. I simply don’t know how you got like this. I’m not being mean; it’s just a question of the process.”
“My father said the same thing. Although he was being mean.”
Godfrey chuckled. Carlos came over and patted his shoulders.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Al. It’s the first day! Panic won’t help. Trust our instructor and examine your own circulation. If she told you to focus on that, it’s likely the source of your issues.”
“Yeah, I know. Just…I’ve never been good at looking inside. ‘Feel the mana flowing through you’—but I never once have. Can you?”
“More or less, yes. I’m afraid I can say no more. She told me not to offer advice. Besides, everyone senses it differently. Ignoring that and having you copy what I do could make things worse.”
Carlos gave him a rueful smile, but Godfrey just nodded, raising his wand.
“Then this is my task to overcome. No time to whine; gotta give it all I got. You can go on back, Carlos.”
“Thanks, but I’m gonna watch awhile. Don’t worry; I finished my end already.”
“…Sorry.”
“For what? Stick to gratitude, here.”
Carlos did not let him apologize. Godfrey flashed them a smile and chanted an incantation.
In a school for mages, there were few classes that did not employ spells. Thus, Godfrey’s difficulties didn’t end with spellology.
“Darius Grenville, in charge of alchemy. Let me give the overview.”
The man at the lectern was still in his prime and spoke with arrogance. Overbearing in a very different way from Gilchrist’s dignity, he was certainly making his students stiffen up.
“If you, in your ignorance and incompetence, set yourselves on fire or take out your own eyes, I shall not even notice. I will care only when and if it interferes with class progress. I shall offer corrections to failure once and only once. Fail twice, and I shall eject you from the room on the spot. Do not forget that.”
With that bracing warning, Darius locked his eyes onto one face.
“You, however, are the exception, Mr. Godfrey.”
“…Meaning?” Godfrey frowned.
Darius pointed at the door.
“Get out, right now. There is not a single device in this room I am willing to let you handle in your condition. I’ll prepare notes on what we cover, so at least attempt to shore up your knowledge with them. When I deem you ready to join the class, I’ll let you know.”
A buzz ran through the room. The class had barely started, and once again Godfrey had been kicked out. He found this hard to accept. Well aware of all the eyes on him, he balled his hands into fists, attempting an argument.
“…I haven’t even touched my wand—”
“And letting you would be a waste of time. As is this exchange. Have you not already disappointed me enough?” Darius said, his tone utterly dismissive.
Carlos tried to get a word in, but Godfrey waved them off. He stood up and left the room without another word. Once the doors had closed behind him, Darius resumed class as if nothing had happened.
“Good. Let’s begin. Light your cauldrons. Your first brew will be—”
Likewise, Godfrey spent the first few days at Kimberly unable to participate in the bulk of his classes.
“…Rahhh!”
He put that frustration into a swing of his athame. The class was in rows, practicing their forms.
“It’s eating you up…,” Carlos said. “Not that I blame you. Most classes won’t even let you hold a wand!”
“Sword arts is the one exception. At least they work me hard enough to drive all other thoughts out of my mind.”
Even as he spoke, he was diligently repeating the motion.
Modern mages knew the advantages of a short blade at ranges too close to chant a spell; thus, they carried a white wand for pure casting and an athame—a metal blade designed to channel magic—for fighting. Sword arts was the collective term for all close-quarters techniques, and a mage’s skill with them was valued not just at Kimberly, but throughout the magical world.
At this point, the man who’d ordered these drills approached. Tall and making that white cape work for him—Luther Garland, the other instructor from the exam site.
“I can see the frustration in your swing. Struggling, Mr. Godfrey?”
“Instructor Garland… I hate to admit it, but yes.” Godfrey stopped swinging and turned to face the man. “If I may ask—you were there for my practicals. What are your thoughts on how I came to be admitted here at all?”
“You’re wondering if there was some mistake? There was not. I personally pushed for your admission, and I’ll add that Instructor Gilchrist was your fiercest advocate. She was adamant we could not allow you to attend any other school.”
That revelation came as quite a shock. He found it hard to connect to the witch who’d sent him out of the room on day one. As he struggled to reconcile the two, Garland looked him in the eye.
“Her teaching methods are strict. But there is always a reason for them. That’s all I can share at this stage. I’m afraid that may prove small comfort.”
“…No, it is encouraging.”
Godfrey managed a nod—and a furious roar went up behind Garland. The sword arts master turned to see two students, blades locked, nigh grappling.
“Ah…that’s gonna be a fight in a minute. Can’t let it be,” said Garland. “Hang in there, Mr. Godfrey. You may be in for a difficult time, but remember this—we’re expecting great things in your future.”
With that, Garland walked away. Chewing on those words—like a single drop of rain in a desert—Godfrey resumed his drills.
When classes ended for the day, Godfrey and Carlos had dinner in the hall meant for the lower forms, commonly known as the Fellowship. While frictions among students were a routine part of life at Kimberly, there was an unwritten rule that mealtimes served as a buffer—and it was rare for anyone to outwardly sling blades or spells around. This was the one place outside their dorm rooms where anyone could relax.
“Mm, that’s good! This herring is grilled to perfection,” Carlos said, savoring their fish.
Godfrey nodded. “The quality of the food is one of the few things at Kimberly I thoroughly approve of. And you can have as much as you want, which I really need. I’ve always had a bottomless pit for a stomach no matter how active I am.”
True to his word, he was clearing one heaping plate after another. But as he ate, passing students were smirking and lobbing jeers over his shoulder.
“Yo, glutton!”
“Wasting more food? Show some respect!”
They were so blatant, his brow creased. Getting sent to another room in most classes had definitely earned him a reputation in his year—for the worse. Kimberly valued freedom and success, so anyone obviously inferior was a prime target for contempt.
But Carlos was never one to let a friend get treated that way. They put their fork down and glared at the speakers.
“He’s not taking it off your plates, is he? Let the man eat in peace.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Help yourself!”
The students shrugged and moved on. Carlos turned back to their friend, smiling warmly.
“Don’t pay them any attention, Al. You heard Instructor Garland. The school has great hopes for you. You’ve got his seal of approval, so feel free to eat with gusto.”
“I plan to. If they won’t let me touch my wand, the least they can do is let me pig out.”
Godfrey’s fork hand sped up. Not exactly the effect Carlos had been hoping for, but they poured him a new cup of tea, lest he choke on his dinner.
“There you are, Mr. Godfrey. Other room.”
Eight days since the start of term, and this was how Gilchrist greeted him. For the first time, he stayed put.
“What is it? You have your instructions.”
“But not a reason for them.”
Behind him, he heard Carlos gulp. Not about to let the witch’s formidability discourage him, Godfrey voiced his burning question.
“I’ve heard you advocated for my admission. I assume your goal was not to make me the laughingstock of the school. Yet, you offer no guidance, merely banish me to another room. Is there truly a merit to this approach? Can I get a convincing reason for it?”
He was glaring right at her—and she held his gaze for a moment.
“…It took you five whole classes,” Gilchrist said with a sigh. She stepped closer to her student, not breaking eye contact. “Let me make one thing clear, Mr. Godfrey. Do you believe this is a school where you will be taught the right answer?”
“…?”
Godfrey was unsure what she meant by this. His head spun.
“There are baby birds who cannot break their own shells,” the witch added. “At hatcheries, these are largely left alone—there’s a superstition that if human hands assist them, they will never grow up strong. But in actual fact, many of those chicks could thrive. Helping them hatch is simply not cost-effective; inability to break their shells does not correlate to defects in the chicks themselves.” Then she said, “But let me remind you of this—this is Kimberly, and you are a mage.”
Godfrey stopped breathing. Before his very eyes, Gilchrist issued a decree.
“We’ve allowed you to enter our halls with your shell still on. I’m the one who tapped that shell and took stock of the chick within. But if you are disinclined to break that shell yourself, I have no intention of peeling it for you.”
“ !”
This hit him like a bolt of lightning. Yet, she was still not done.
“Let me answer my own question. We do not dole out answers—you find them yourselves. Wherever you fledglings are headed, the faculty here will merely provide hints. In light of that, your achievements are your own. And I’ll add—that attitude is the bare minimum expected of a mage. You first thought that doing what I said would get you somewhere, but then you rid yourself of that notion and stood up to me. That alone, I respect. Nonetheless, proceed to the next room. Use your own head and figure out what it is you must accomplish there.”
“…”
Without another word, Godfrey turned on his heel and left the room. The elderly witch allowed herself a sigh, then returned to the lectern.
“Such a handful… Textbooks, please. It’s high time we got underway.”
“That was way past strict. How’re you holding up, Al? Things getting you down?”
Carlos caught up with him after class, but Godfrey shook them off with a smile.
“No—that helped. She said what I needed to hear. Deep down, I’d convinced myself I had to do what my instructors said. I’ve been doing just that since my father started showing me the ropes.”
He’d done some self-reflection. That didn’t mean he’d worked through everything, but at the very least, he’d reached one conclusion.
“But one of those instructors told me to knock that off. Which means there’s no good reason for me to keep doing the same thing. I’m gonna start trying new things. Not just an attitude adjustment—I’m going to change up the very way I live.”
“You take things to heart and think them through. I do like that about you.”
Carlos smiled. Godfrey nodded emphatically, and at a fork in the hall, he turned the other way.
“Alchemy’s up next, but I’m skipping. It’d be a waste of time to show myself, only to be ejected from the room. See you at sword arts, Carlos.”
“Point taken. I’ll be there, Al.”
They waved each other off. To Carlos’s eyes, Godfrey looked more motivated than ever.
Two classes later, it was time for sword arts. Today, Godfrey’s issues were not the source of strife.
Two first-years ordered to spar had their blades aimed at each other. The dark-skinned girl advanced, swinging—but the boy she faced backed off, using chantless spatial magic to generate electric shocks that struck her cheeks.
“…Heh-heh…”
“…”
Yet, he offered no follow-up. He clearly had no intention of engaging her properly; he was just causing her pain without any meaning to it. By the third repetition, she’d figured out his goal.
“…Gah—”
And in the blink of an eye, her roundhouse kick struck his thigh. The impact knocked him off his feet and racked him with pain. As the initial wave subsided, he worked out what had happened and began cursing at her.
“B-bitch! What the hell? Kicks are against the rules!”
“Are they? Sorry. I must’ve missed that.”
The dark-skinned girl was unfazed. The furious boy turned to Garland, but he merely offered lip service.
“…Ms. Ingwe, I won’t forbid you from using your family’s techniques, but this class is focused on the fundamentals. I’d appreciate you bearing that in mind.”
“Pardon the slip. I got distracted by the buzzing of a fly.”
Without a trace of guilt, she gave her opponent a scathing look. A quiet power that made the boy run off, teary-eyed.
Watching this all play out from the sidelines, Godfrey murmured, “…Let’s go with her.”
“Mm? Al?” Carlos blinked at him, but Godfrey was already moving.
He went straight up to the girl and stood before her.
“Ms. Ingwe, can we talk?”
“…What about?”
“My name is Alvin Godfrey. I’m interested in your techniques. Can I ask you to teach me?”
He got right to the point. It was his first time speaking to her, but he’d certainly known who she was. Lesedi Ingwe—her hawklike eyes and taut muscles drew the eye, but she was a lone wolf, associating with no one. And that dark skin meant her heritage came from another continent.
“What kind of a fool shares their cards that easy? Why even ask? You know full well this stuff is unorthodox.”
“I’m done caring about proprieties. To me, your approach seems entirely pragmatic.”
“…Hmph. I’ll give you that, but you’ve got no eye for character. You saw that fight—that’s who I am.”
She jerked a thumb at the boy she’d kicked. Godfrey nodded.
“That’s why I picked you.”
“Mm?”
“He was nagging you with his spatial magic, yes? You got annoyed and kicked him for it. Clearly, he was in the wrong. Had he taken the fight seriously, you’d have stuck to the fundamentals.”
Godfrey was simply stating his observations. But this earned him a flicker of a smile.
“…Okay, consider me intrigued.”
He had her attention now. Lesedi turned to face him, athame in hand.
“I never intended to hide what I do. If you want to see my techniques, I’ll show ’em to you. But I won’t be walking you through it. Best I can do is kick you over—feel free to steal what you can.”
“All right. Exactly what I wanted.”
Grinning, Godfrey raised his own blade. He carefully watched for her first move, but an instant later, the sole of her shoe was in his face.
He certainly got the kicking he’d wanted. Carlos had to help him to a common room. The girl had kicked him so much he was unrecognizable.
“So many bruises! Are you sure we don’t need a doctor?”
“…No time to waste on healing. What use is there in caring what I look like? They’ll laugh at me no matter how clear my complexion is.”
Speaking through swollen lips, he leaned back in his seat. Carlos shook their head and aimed their wand at the bruises.
“…Hng…”
“They’re bothering me, so I’m attending to them. I rather like this forthright visage.”
Unable to turn down a friend’s generosity, Godfrey sat still and let them work.
“Al,” Carlos said. “They might be laughing now, but that won’t last long.”
“…Let’s hope not. Do you see a break in these clouds?”
“Just a hunch, I’m afraid. But since the moment we first met, I’ve found it hard to believe you’re just all thumbs.”
They finished healing and put their wand away. The expression on Godfrey’s face was dauntless once more, and Carlos looked pleased.
“You should never dismiss a mage’s hunches,” they said. “You’re going to surprise everyone. In the way they least expect. I can’t wait to find out how.”
“…Well, if you say so, I’ll take you at your word.”
“Do that. You won’t regret it!”
Carlos put a hand on their hip, smirking. Godfrey couldn’t help but smile back. His friend’s words proved a greater balm than any healing spell.
Once he stopped waiting for the teachers to help, Godfrey gradually began to turn his thoughts inward. First, he accepted the fact that he couldn’t do what everyone else could; then he stopped trying to force himself into the molds of those who could. He was now trying everything he could think of to find a mold that was right for him.
This involved a lot of trial and error, but not without thought.
He did have mana. There were multiple methods for measuring the mana within, but at rest, his was no worse than that of other mages his age. His issues arose when attempting to do anything with that mana—which focused his search for a solution.
Was he having trouble visualizing it? It was hardly unusual for mages to struggle with consistency when their mental images were half-baked. But generally speaking, unstable or not, it did take shape; in his case, the results were always far inferior to what he had in mind. This was the nut he couldn’t crack. The spell’s effects did not measure up to the mana he poured in—the energy equation didn’t balance.
Godfrey pondered this for a while. Where was the lost mana going?
No one else was siphoning it away. This was all happening inside his own body. If anyone was doing this, it was Godfrey—and if he could not perceive it, it must have been an unconscious action.
So he changed the question: Where was he putting that mana?
A few mornings later, Godfrey encountered a strange sight at the entrance to the school building.
“Coming through! Get in my way, and I’ll step on your ass!”
Vanessa Aldiss, the magical biology instructor, was leading a massive beast past the crowd of students. The chain in her hand linked to the collar of a massive boar—a phaea. She hooked it up to a mooring post awfully near the front door, then glared at the students nearby.
“For the fourth-year class. Gonna leave it parked here, but don’t bug it. It can blow you all to hell and back! If that’s what you want, knock yourselves out.”
With that, she stalked off into the building, white coat streaming in her wake. The beast left behind was over twenty feet tall, and the students gave it a wide berth, Godfrey and Carlos among them.
“She brought another big one…,” Carlos noted. “Glad that’s not for our class.”
“Putting first-years up against that would just be feeding it,” said Godfrey. “And the scary thing about Kimberly—we can’t say that won’t happen.”
Busy talking, both failed to notice a student behind them, drawing his wand with a malicious grin.
“…Extruditor.”
A spell, cast quietly. Carlos’s ears caught it, and their eyes went wide.
“Al, look out!”
“Hng?!”
Two hands shoved Godfrey aside. The spell aimed at him hit Carlos instead—and sent them flying forward.
“Carlos!”
“…Ngh…!”
Carlos rolled across the ground, hitting their back hard. When they looked up, they found an enraged phaea right in front of them. The student who’d cast the spell blanched.
“Sh-shit! That kid’s so light, they got sent packing…”
“Someone, help!”
“How?! You do something!”
The first-years were just pushing the problem on one another, no one taking a step forward. Meanwhile, the beast was inching toward Carlos, the fangs in its lower jaw gleaming.
“…Oh dear. I promise I won’t taste good…”
Carlos smiled, trying to show they weren’t hostile. This was lost on the phaea. Vanessa had controlled it with force—it had an agenda against humankind. Sensing the violent intent, Carlos drew their blade, hand shaking.
“…You’re not inclined to listen, then…?”
The moment they stood up, it would attack. Instead, they fended it off with their athame, but that meant they couldn’t scramble away. At best, they were buying time for a teacher to get there, but that seemed unlikely.
Then a boy stepped between them and the beast. Naturally, it was Godfrey.
“ ?! Don’t, Al! Get out of here! I’ll figure something out—”
“Not happening!” Godfrey snapped. He raised his athame, glaring down the growling beast. “Keep your filthy snout off my friend, monster.”
As he spoke, he told himself this: The situation is simple. Your friend’s in trouble. The threat to their life stands before you. No chance of a retreat or help from elsewhere; no option but to fight back. To make that happen, you need a spell.
Is that not enough? What reason is there to hesitate? None.
Send it all forward. Logic, instinct, conscious or unconscious—right here, right now, obey my will!
“Flamma!”
“I appreciate your reasoning, but is it not a bit harsh?”
Elsewhere in the building, Garland was facing a witch far older than him. The meaning of his words was not lost on her.
“…Mr. Godfrey, you mean?”
“Yes. He’s working hard, and it’s a shame to see that not pay off. It hurts to look at.”
There was no use hiding how he felt. But Gilchrist never even looked at him.
“He’s been like this awhile,” she said. “The whole time he was learning at home, before he ever came here.”
“…I imagine, yes. His teacher blew it and compounded that over the years.”
“Likely a mistake at the very outset. The output of his first spell was unexpectedly powerful—and the mage teaching him assumed he lacked control. So they taught him to stifle it. Unaware that was the worst thing they could do.”
With her analysis clear, the witch turned to face Garland.
“You noticed yourself. That boy’s potential output is by far the greatest in his school year. It will only grow stronger—few on campus will be able to match him at all. And yet the bulk of that prodigious talent is being wasted on trying to restrain his own magic. How would any spell begin to function? The vast energy an incantation moves is being forced right back into him in equal measure. What emerges from his wand is merely the overflow from that titanic struggle.”
Garland nodded in agreement. He’d spotted the potential lurking beneath that problem at the exam site. That was why he’d pushed for the boy’s enrollment with Gilchrist. But he took issue with her approach to the solution.
“I could coax him through it,” she admitted. “That would resolve the immediate issue. It would be every bit as effective as you’re hoping. However—would that truly be his salvation?”
“…From all these years of strife?”
“Precisely. All this time with no success, being treated with contempt, being looked down upon, choking down his own frustrations. The bulk of his life has been like that. If my advice resolved the issue, that would be my doing, not his. Perhaps he’d be delighted! Perhaps he’d feel saved. But would that really mean anything?”
This rang true, and Garland dropped his protest.
“All that time, wasted on a futile pursuit. All that labor. Enough to make anyone clasp a hand to their eyes. He must reclaim that on his own. Know that he has saved himself, carved open his own path forward. Only then will he truly be—”
Before she could finish, a boom drowned her out. Garland flew out of the classroom and found the students in the hall abuzz.
“Wh-what was that noise?”
“An explosion? Where?”
Gilchrist snorted. She’d felt the mana wave on her skin and knew the cause.
“…He finally broke his shell. Such a slow learner.”
In an instant, a wave of heat turned the area around the school entrance ash gray.
“…Al…”
The bewildered students could only gape. Carlos’s jaw hung open. Their friend had protected them with a fire spell—and the flames it made had reduced the beast to a heap of cinders.
“…I guess I worked it out,” Godfrey muttered, not turning around.
The flames had been far out of his control and charred his arm to the elbow, but the look on his face suggested it all made sense now. The years of hardship and suffering were behind him; he’d made that power his own.
Godfrey chewed on this outcome for a few seconds, then turned to Carlos, athame still clutched in his burned hand. He flashed a smile.
“Worth trusting your friends, Carlos. You sure called this one.”
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