Ellie sat at the small wooden table in her quarters, tracing the edges of the thick, cream-colored envelope that had been delivered earlier. The wax seal bore the crest of Lorthraine’s Mage Academy—a stylized eye wreathed in curling vines—and even though she hadn’t opened it yet, she could feel the weight of its contents pressing against her. The Academy's reputation was ironclad; even in a kingdom where magic had become more art than science, its scholars were held in awe.

She exhaled slowly, running her thumb along the wax, feeling the small imperfections that hinted it had been sealed by a human hand rather than a spell. ‘They probably expect me to know that sort of thing,’ she thought bitterly. ‘Another test I’ll fail.’

Her thoughts flitted back to the parade, to the cheers of the crowd, and her stomach twisted. She had barely escaped that public ordeal, retreating into the palace's shadows as soon as she could. And now this—a summons to Lorthraine’s Mage Academy, like being drawn back into the spotlight when all she wanted was to disappear into the dark.

“Just get it over with,” she muttered to herself, sliding her finger under the edge and breaking the seal. The wax cracked with a brittle snap, and she unfolded the parchment within.

> To Ellie Liddell, Slayer of the Great Terror of the Dreadmoor Pass—

> The Academy extends its deepest respects and admiration. By order of the Acting Archmage, you are invited to our hallowed halls as a guest lecturer, to share your knowledge and experiences regarding the ancient art of draconic magic and combat. This honor is rarely bestowed, and it is our hope that your presence will enrich our understanding of your unique methods.

> Your attendance is requested at your earliest convenience. Kindly send your acceptance by the enclosed enchanted quill.

> In service of knowledge,

> Archmage Alastor Achron (Acting)

Ellie stared at the flowing script, the words slipping around her mind like water over a stone. A guest lecturer? She could hardly imagine anything more absurd. The most she knew of magic was how to flinch when it burned her.

She read the letter again, hoping it might transform into something more reasonable if she stared at it long enough, but the words remained stubbornly unchanged. She tossed the parchment onto the table, ignoring the quill that seemed to hum faintly as it waited beside it.

“Guest lecturer,” she scoffed under her breath, as if saying it aloud might make the invitation dissolve. She couldn’t teach anything—certainly not to people who spent their lives cloistered among ancient tomes and weaving delicate enchantments. If the scholars knew how she’d actually defeated the dragon, they’d laugh her out of the room.

Yet, under the irritation, there was a nagging, uncomfortable curiosity. The Academy. Ellie had heard of it since she was a child—a place where spells weren’t stumbled upon but crafted, where the mysteries of the world were unraveled thread by thread. To see it with her own eyes, to step into its labyrinthine halls... she might have considered it a marvel, had the circumstances been different.

But the thought of facing more expectant faces, more whispers about how she didn’t quite live up to the stories—she couldn’t bear it. Ellie crumpled the letter in her hand, as if crushing it might banish the weight it carried. The enchanted quill rattled against the table, as though it knew she was considering disobedience.

She looked at it and muttered, “Well, you can wait forever, for all I care.”

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

Just as she was preparing to shove the letter into a drawer and forget about it, a sharp knock sounded at her door. She startled, her hand clutching the scrunched parchment tighter. Outside, a guard’s voice called, “Lady Ellie, you have a visitor.”

Ellie’s chest tightened. The capital's nobles had already made their curiosity plain enough—every passing courtier wanted to speak with her, to hear the 'real' story of her adventures. But when she opened the door, it wasn’t a noble that stood there, but a woman dressed in a deep blue robe, the edges trimmed with silver thread that glittered even in the dim light of the corridor.

The woman inclined her head. Her face was lined with the faintest trace of a smile, but her eyes—sharp, piercing—didn’t seem accustomed to warmth. “Ellie Liddell,” she said, her voice smooth as river stones. “I am Mariel, a member of the Mage Academy’s council. May I come in?”

Ellie blinked, then stepped aside, caught off guard by the abruptness of the visit. Mariel moved into the room with the precision of a cat—elegant, controlled. She cast a glance around, her gaze settling briefly on the crumpled letter before meeting Ellie’s eyes.

“You have received our invitation, I see.” The corners of Mariel’s mouth twitched. “I was sent to ensure you understood the significance of this honor.”

Ellie tried to keep her tone even. “I understood it well enough. I’m just not sure I’m... qualified.”

Mariel’s smile grew a fraction. “Humility is an admirable trait, but unnecessary in this case. Your deeds speak for themselves.”

Ellie bit back a retort. Instead, she shrugged and gestured toward the crumpled parchment. “What you seem to think you know about my ‘deeds’ isn’t quite accurate. I’d rather not stand in front of your mages and pretend otherwise.”

Mariel’s expression remained placid, but her eyes glinted with something like amusement. “There are always truths hidden within legends, Ellie. Our Academy is adept at separating one from the other. What matters is that you come. There is much we could learn from you, and I suspect much you might learn as well.” She gestured delicately toward the quill, which now hovered slightly above the table, almost pleadingly.

Ellie’s mouth twisted, frustration brimming. “And if I refuse?”

Mariel spread her hands, a graceful motion. “Oh, you could. But it would be... unfortunate. An affront to the Academy’s generosity, a slight that may be hard to smooth over. People might start to wonder why the kingdom’s hero would refuse such a generous invitation. They might question the stories they have come to believe.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes. The underlying threat was as delicate as a silk thread but no less real. She took a step back, feeling the corner of the table press against her hip. “You’re not giving me much of a choice, are you?”

Mariel’s smile never wavered. “I find that people are happiest when they believe they have chosen freely.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable, like a fog that wouldn’t lift. Ellie felt the pressure of it, pressing against her temples. She turned her head away, letting her gaze drift to the narrow window that looked out over the city. Below, the capital buzzed with life, a tapestry of lights and shadows that seemed far simpler from this height.

“Fine,” Ellie said at last, her voice resigned. “I’ll go.”

Mariel dipped her head in a small bow, as though she’d just been granted a great favor. “I will inform the Archmage of your acceptance. Our carriage will arrive in two days' time to take you to the Academy.”

And just like that, she turned and glided out the door, leaving the room feeling colder than before. Ellie watched her go, a heaviness settling in her chest that was all too familiar. She glanced back at the enchanted quill, which stilled as if it, too, was waiting for her next move.

Ellie sighed and reached out, pressing the quill to the parchment with a heavy hand. The ink flowed on its own, forming a graceful swirl beneath her touch: Accepted.

The quill snapped itself upright, gleaming with a faint, satisfied glow, then fell still.