"I knew it!" Marcus exclaimed excitedly as he opened the door to see a tall man standing in the street wearing an ornate velvety purple robe with the Academy's insignia richly embroidered on the chest. He recognized him immediately because he saw him almost every time he wandered the streets of the Old Town. A large golden A crossed by a small v and four lines around: the large A representing the Tower of Hope, the small v representing the book or knowledge, and the dashes representing the ever-present Dust that the Masters of the Academy have learned to control.

"Knew specifically what, young man?" the messenger wondered, looking at Marcus in confusion.

"Well, that I'll be selected for the Academy," Marcus smirked, looking the man in the eye. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"

“Um,” stammered the messenger, trying to think of a suitable answer. He did not expect such a welcome. "Well… not really," he finally answered evasively.

"What?" asked by now horrified and completely confused Marcus. Everything fits. A few weeks ago, he had completed his basic education, he had already turned seventeen, and he had heard that within a few months, candidates for study were being personally selected by the local lodge. Marcus expected that if they came, it would be sooner rather than later. Their village was basically on the border of the Old Town, where the Academy was situated and which was constantly expanding.

The messenger's appearance also spoke volumes about where he came from, and even Marcus's school results made it clear that he could be a potential candidate for the Academy. Or so he thought.

"Well, actually... Look, are you going to let me in, or are we going to discuss it between the doors? We are starting to attract the crowd," the messenger started fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Yes, yes, sure," Marcus muttered, peering out into the street. As expected, the neighbors were indeed leaning out of their windows. A couple of people on the street also stopped and discreetly tried to listen to their conversation. After all, it was unusual for someone from the Academy to show up in the village, and it was even less unusual for him to visit someone.

"Please, come in," Marcus said, feeling like a complete idiot. This was not how he imagined the meeting.

"My name is Antonio Saverin, by the way, and I'm indeed from the Academy," a man named Antonio interjected a bit offhandedly. He sat down in a chair at the dining table, dusted off his clothes, and looked at Marcus.

“Will you please call your parents? I would like to discuss something with them.”

"Yes, of course," Marcus nodded his head, the joy draining from him more and more. What could he possibly want if they are not here for an invitation to study? Perhaps not because of the few mischief he and his friends made near the academic grounds. Cold sweat was starting to break out on his forehead. But in the back of his mind, he consoled himself that the Academy had more important things to do than punishing a few boys for trying in vain to climb the walls of the university.

"Mom, Dad! We have a visitor here. Mr. Saverin would like to speak with you.”

"Mr. Saverin can wait a moment. We have a full pub here."

Marcus' father was obviously in no mood to chat with some stranger in the middle of the evening rush hour. The men were returning from the fields and forests and were very thirsty and impatient.

"But he's from the Academy!"

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

There was a bashing of dishes from the kitchen and then silence. In a moment, a gray-haired man ran up, casually wiping his hands with an old rag. Marcus' father always looked like he really cared about the appearance of a typical innkeeper. A brown apron hung around his neck, hiding his large belly, and the linen shirt had the sleeves rolled up over his arms, which were as massive as two logs. His face was covered in unkempt stubble with a prominent mustache, and a look of surprise sat on his wrinkled, usually pub glum face.

At his heels was a petite woman who was certainly very beautiful in her youth, but age and hard work in the kitchen had left their mark on her eyes and hair. Nevertheless, she came running with a friendly smile on her face, in which you could see strong emotion and pride.

"So the time has come, Marcus. I always knew you were special!” exclaimed the mother enthusiastically, offering her hand to the guest.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Saverin. You have no idea how much we hoped you would choose our son!”

Mr. Saverin politely shook hands with both parents and looked at Marcus and his mother with a small smirk. "I see that impetuosity runs in your family."

"What do you mean?" The father frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. A typical dad, Marcus thought.

"You have a bit of a tendency to get ahead of events."

"You are saying you're not here to accept our son into school?" The mother was surprised and sat down.

"No, I'm not," Saverin replied curtly.

The room was as quiet as a grave. In the distance they could hear the sounds of cutlery and tankards clattering together from behind the kitchen, which led to Marcus's parents' local pub.

"Then why are you here?" asked Marcus' mother, glancing nervously from her son to the messenger and back again. "Did he do something again?! I will..."

"No, no, no, nothing like that," smiled Mr. Saverin and continued. "I am here to invite your son to the Academy admissions." he added dramatically. The father rolled his eyes. But at that moment, a giant weight was lifted off of Marcus’ mind. He wasn't wrong after all. Everything was exactly as he had hoped. Almost everything.

"And please, what exactly does that mean? I thought that the members were approached directly and moved to the premises of the academy until they finish their studies," questioned Marcus.

"Yes, I understand that at first glance it may appear so to the uninitiated..." the lodge ambassador mused and took a mug of tea from the table, which his mother had prepared in the meantime, along with a bowl of homemade cookies. Marcus honestly didn't even notice that his mom was cooking, but it happened often. Sometimes it occurred to him that perhaps she must also be a witch. She could set the table for everyone and pour beer in the pub without interrupting anyone's conversation, and the guests greatly admired this talent of hers. Marcus had the impression that this was one of the main reasons why their pub was so popular.

”... but in reality, the chosen potential student has to go through a series of trials and tests to see if he even is a suitable candidate for mastering the magic of Dust. After all, you didn't think that we would accept everyone just because they pay attention at school." Mr. Saverin continued patiently.

"Well, I always thought there had to be something more to it," Marcus thought aloud and sat down at the table.

"And what do the tests entail so that I can prepare for them?" he continued to ask, excitement starting to seep through him again. He loved challenges, and if he has to prove in some tests that he really has what it takes to study at the Academy, he will do his best to prepare. He knew his future was at stake and he wasn't going to let the chance slip through his fingers.

“But, dear boy,” Mr. Saverin shook his head with a slightly amused smile, “you could spend your whole life preparing for these and it wouldn't be of any use to you. Don't worry and let yourself be surprised - the fact that I'm here means you've already done enough. Well, for now at least.”

He thought for a moment and continued: "Joining the Academy is just the beginning... But I hope that's clear to you," he added after a while, and his gaze fell on Marcus, who suddenly realized the seriousness of the whole situation, which made his head spin. After all, he just got an opportunity that only a few people get. In their village, he would be the first to enter the Academy in at least fifty years, let alone complete it.

He therefore took great care to make his next words sound as humble as possible: “Yes, sir, I greatly appreciate this unique chance and believe that I will do everything to convince you and the entire Academy that I am a suitable candidate. I swear this to you.” He looked firmly at Mr. Saverin, who smiled slightly and nodded.

"I see I was not wrong about you." He studied Marcus for a moment, then cleared his throat and pulled a tube from his bag. He unscrewed the lid and spread the parchment on the table along with a long ceremonial quill and a bottle of ink.

"To give it the official stamp," he said somewhat spasmodically, and Marcus saw his mother look at her husband with emotion. Marcus noticed with surprise that his father looked almost as soft as his mother, though he tried to mask it with his still furrowed brows.

“Marcus Leneth, on behalf of the Supreme Lodge of the Old City Academy, the source of magical advancement and knowledge, the independent royal tribunal, and the last line of defense of the city Triumvirate, you have been assessed based on thorough and impartial criteria as a potential candidate for study in our circles. By signing this form, you agree to undergo examinations and tests that will determine your future recognition, which, if you acquire it, will consist of immediate admission to the boarding school, where you will have a guaranteed stay until your studies are completed - be it successfully or unsuccessfully. All injuries related to entrance exams and studies will from now on be dealt with only on campus and their origin will not be prosecuted by the jurisdiction of any city or kingdom,” Antonio Saverin added and the kitchen fell silent again.