NATHAIR

In this dream he was free. He was flying without wings, just a human boy above the sheet of white clouds that stretched across Zentrum. The dream would always start and end the same way. It’d start with him doing what he does in his waking life: cleaning. The task was different each time. Sometimes he’d be raking the fallen leaves in the season of Irimas, shovelling pathways in the snows of Zuvimas, dusting all the carpets outside after the ice melts in Dymas, or filling the pool with water during the hot months of Venimas. Any season, any time of day, but always at the same place, the place where he worked and lived as a servant: Serah’Kan Academy. Thankfully, he was not here very long in his dreams. A point would always come during these reveries, usually when someone was either abusing him verbally, physically, or mentally that he would begin to float. Up and up he would go into the sky, until he could no longer make out the professors or students, then the Academy, then the city of Orsus, until the very country of Arokia became some abstract shape imposed upon the land. It was at this point, when far up into the sea of clouds that he would start to really fly. He flew east as he always did, for there was nothing West of the Holy Arokian empire but the Indicum Ocean. Nathair knew about as much as anyone on the subject of the oceans that surrounded the continent of Zentrum, which was that they were far too dangerous for anyone to sail on. As he flew he would pass over the tall mountains situated in the Kingdom of Daggcasur, the home of the short, stout race of people known as dwarves. Passing Daggcasur he would arrive in the Empire of Naveni, where the slender, pointy eared race as elves originated from. In Naveni he could see the eastern coast of Zentrum, where Naveni borders the Aureum Ocean, he could also make out the capital city of Yvyra by its giant golden landmark known as the Mother Tree. From Naveni he would fly towards his final destination in the north, not to Fane, another country where humans had no rights, but to Arfordir in the northeast, where beyond a massive stone wall known as The Northern Gate lay a land ruled by humans. A place free from the grey-skinned orcs of Arokia, where humans live in peace, a snowy land where he would not be a servant or slave, a place he could call home. But it was here where the dream ended, and where right before the “Gate” where he would stop flying and start falling. Down and down he’d fall, the ground expanding out in front of him and just before he’d hit the ground the dream would end and he’d shoot up in bed.

Nathair awoke to that dream again, shooting up out of his sleep, out of his bed until the top of his head collided with the ceiling and fell right back onto his pillow. As Nathair grabbed his head with his hand he heard a thud on his bunk from the one below.

“Nathair, if you're up, quit making a ruckus and get down here! Maybe you think Magister Alirhan’s will go easy on you because it’s your birthday but I can assure you he won’t!” shouted a female voice. He was turning 10 today, he had almost forgotten that. Of course, unlike the children who attended the academy, Nathair’s birthday celebrations would happen secretly, in the room he shared with his fellow servants, and any gift he might be lucky to receive would seem insulting for an academy child to receive on any day of the year. Nathair quickly made his way down the ladder to get dressed and eat as fast as possible. He went over to the mirror where the female voice from earlier was tying her messy brown hair up into a bun. Deira was 16 years old, and although Nathair had no siblings, Deira was always like an older sister to him. He threw on his dirty, white tunic and brown wool pants, tied his back with a leather band and started to run towards the kitchen when Deira suddenly grabbed him by his wavy, black hair.

“I know you’re in a hurry Nathair but if you go out like that you’ll surely get a whackin’. Here.” she said, and deftly re-tied Nathair’s hair which was short in the front and long in the back into a small, neat ponytail. Deira then tucked in his tunic, tightened his pants, and put on his shoes which he had completely disregarded. She kissed his forehead and pushed him gently on his back.

“Thanks,” Nathair said sheepishly. Deira smiled.

“It’s nothing, but tomorrow you’re doing it yourself. Now go eat, quickly now before you’re late.”

Nathair ran to the kitchen, separated from the bunks by an uncomfortable thin, curved corridor, and two creaky oak doors. The kitchen that the servants worked in was much nicer than the ones they cooked in for themselves. The servants' kitchen had one stove, two and a half tables, nine chairs, and thirty mouths to feed. However, this never seemed to be a problem, for when it came to tasks like breakfast everyone would work together like one singular organism. Some people washed, some peeled, some chopped, cooked, diced, cleaned, served, boiled– if something needed doing someone gladly did it. The human servants of Serah’Kan did not have much but they had each other, and as Nathair ran into the kitchen he was waved over to a window by a boy around his age with short curly, dirty blonde hair. The boy held a plate of food and gestured to another on the ledge of the window.

“Milo! You’re the best!” Nathair said as he moved through the noisy crowded kitchen over to his friend. As Nathair hoisted himself up onto the window ledge Milo handed him his plate.

“Well, it is your birthday after all,” Milo smiled, “and besides, I don’t like to wake you when you’re having that dream.” Nathair looked down at the wooden plate he’d been handed. It had placed upon it mashed potatoes, fried ham, steamed greens, 1 boiled egg and 2 pieces of slightly burnt toast– he couldn’t ask for a better breakfast. Nathair thanked Milo again and began greedily shovelling the food into his mouth, trying his best to talk and listen to Milo while he ate.

“Soh you chan tal when,” Nathair swallowed, “you can tell when I’m having that dream?” Milo nodded while washing down his breakfast with some green tea.

“Everyone can. You mutter incomprehensibly and squirm about in bed. It’s funny, you say how pleasant those dreams are for you but from the outside they look rather painful.” Nathair pondered this while shoving the entire boiled egg into his mouth, and looking out the window. It was Dymas, which was always apparent in Arokia when the sky blossom trees began to turn their famous light blue. The dark brown trees were quite boring the rest of the year: in Venimas their leaves were green, in Irimas they were yellow, and in Zuvimas there were no leaves at all, just the knotted, ebony skeleton emerging from the ground and spreading out like skyward roots of lightning. But Dymas was different. During this season the petals blossomed into a beautiful shade of blue, and it always felt to Nathair when he was standing among them, that he was up in the sky like in his dreams. The sky blossom trees were about the only beautiful thing that Arok, the deity of the Arokians, ever created.

“By the way, come find me after you’ve finished for today, I’ve got a surprise for you.” said Milo, licking the last remnants of breakfast off his fingers. Nathair’s head snapped towards him.

“You got me a present?” Nathair asked excitedly. Milo shrugged and gave a smirk.

“Maybeee. You’ll have to wait and see. We better get going now, my Magister is such a jerk I’m sure he’ll beat me even if I am on time. Is yours bad?” Milo asked, hopping down onto the ground. Nathair followed.

“Mine? Magister Alirhan is mean but at least he’s not Arokian,” Nathair said as the two of them quickly washed their plates and hurried out of the kitchen and towards the upstairs of the academy. “I heard at the Arokian academies, if a human touches an Arokian they lose that hand. And if they hurt an Arokian, they die.”

Milo shook his head. “No way, then who would do all the work? I think at worst they just thrash them, besides it’s not like a human could even hurt an Arokian anyway.”

Milo had a point, Nathair thought, Arokians were very different from humans biologically, in fact he’d heard they were different even from other types of orcs. Whereas most orcs reach adulthood at the age of 14, Arokians reach adulthood at the age of 7. On top of that they’re supposed to be stronger, faster, and tougher than any other race in all of Zentrum. Of course, growing up quickly doesn’t stop for Arokians once they become adults, that’s why their average lifespan is only 30 years, the shortest of any race.

“Yeah you’re probably right,” Nathair agreed. The two continued up the stone staircase that led from the bowels of Serah’Kan up to where the “real” academy was. At the top they stood in line behind a few other people to sign their name and number into a logbook, otherwise the guards wouldn’t let them through. Nathair did his best to avoid looking at the guards. Serah’Kan was one of Arokias few academies for the non-Arokian races that were allowed to live in Arokia: namely the Daggcasurians and the Naveniens, but other variants of orc, dwarf, and elf could be seen as well. The reason being, while other races mature at a similar enough rate to be taught together, Arokians do not, and as such academic institutions are divided into the short, intensive Arokian schools and the longer, but still intensive non-Arokian schools. As such, most of the people here at Serah’Kan were non-Arokian– except for the guards. Nathair signed his name, number, and the time into the logbook and then turned to the guards. They both stood above 6 and a half feet in height, and both glowered down at him with dull red eyes, and long wide bottom canines that protruded beyond their bottom lips. One of them opened the door, and simply said “Move” in a deep, gravelly voice. Although not thankful for many things, Nathair was happy that the only language he did know was Arokian– it reassured him at the very least that he would not have any communication issues with the guards. Nathair stepped through without delay into the upstairs of the academy.

If you had lived in the basement of the academy your entire life you would never be able to guess what the upstairs looked like. The main building of Serah’Kan was made out of limestone, it featured hundreds of windows, carved doric pillars, dark mahogany doors, stained glass depicting images and symbols of Arok, it had a blue tiled roof, long blue tapestries with filigrees of silver and gold. The courtyard in front and around the building contained trimmed hedges, statues of marble and bronze, sky blossom trees, and a few acres of land on all sides surrounded by a long, tall stone wall topped with a point iron fence. It was a marvel, and was considered to be one of the finest non-Arokian structures in Arokia. But none of this was of any importance to Nathair as he speedwalked to aid his assigned professor. As he reached the doors to the office he double checked the metal sign next to the door. It read: Magister Alirhan, Professor of Arokian and non-Arokian History. Nathair gave a few polite knocks and when he had heard the faint “Enter” from the other side of the door, he did just that.

Magister Alirhan’s hexagonal office was the same as it always was. Tall dark shelves full of differently coloured books, journals, and scrolls, some so high up as to be only accessible by the sliding wall ladders. There were several windows with the top stained blue, and of course there was Magister Alirhan behind his large wooden desk. Magister Alirhan was a Navenien with long straight black hair, held back by several fancy silver hair clips and blade-shaped ears that all elves possessed. However, being Navenien Alirhan's ears were longer and more slender than usual. He wore robes the colours of the school: blue, silver ,gold; and had a well kept, oiled moustache. There was also another man who Nathair had never seen before. A Navenien man like Alirhan, this one with long, straight, braided blonde hair, a short, braided beard, and similar robes. The man regarded Nathair with a small smile, and eyes of a similar colour to sky blossoms– only lighter. Magister Alirhan pulled out a small timekeeping device from his cloak, clicked his tongue and flashed his eyes towards Nathair.

“You’re late Nathair,” he said. Nathair eyed the ornate black and silver cane with a lion's head on it leaning against the desk and winced. “As much as it would please me to reprimand you, I’m afraid you won’t be in my service today.” Magister Alirhan shifted his glance over the stranger sitting across from him. “You’ll be assigned to our new professor.” Nathair looked at the stranger, and couldn’t help but stare into the blueness of his eyes. “This is Magister Galdur, Professor of Biology and–”

“Magic.” Magister Galdur said.

KEISARA

Keisara was anxious. It was his first day at this new school, in fact, it was his first time ever attending a school. Up to this point in his life Keisara had been homeschooled by his father, but now, since he was 10 this year, his father signed him up to attend Serah’Kan academy. Keisara was sure that no one would want to be his friend, seeing as currently, he had no friends. Keisara sat on a stone bench in the courtyard of the academy, looking up at the light blue sea of the sky blossom canopy. He continually combed his long, straight, platinum blonde hair with his delicate fingers, as he waited for his father to return to him. This was also his father’s first day at the academy as a professor, but he had told Keisara that while he was working he couldn’t be looking after him.

“You’ll have to figure things out for yourself now, which is why you need to make friends. The world is less scary with friends, you’ll see.” his father had said to him. But Keisara was not so sure, what if no one wanted to be his friend? Then he’d be all alone and the world would be even more terrifying. His heart beated faster, his breath became quickened, he felt like he was going to cry but before he did he heard his name being called.

“Keisara! Come here! I need your help unpacking things.” called his father. Keisara calmed as best as he could and jogged over, and noticed as he did a young boy next to his father– a human boy.

“Magister Galdur, who is that?” asked Nathair to the tall Navenien man. Magister Galdur smiled as Keisara approached, his pace diminishing as he neared.

“This, Nathair, is my son Keisara. This is his first day here at the academy. Keisara, this is Nathair, he’ll be helping me with my affairs.” Keisara started to extend a hand in greeting, but stopped in surprise by Nathair’s sudden bow.

“Apologies my Lord, I should have known, my name is Nathair, I am but a humble servant of this institution,” spoke Nathair as eloquently as he could. Keisara looked to the boy, and then to his father.

“It’s all right Nathair, it’s quite alright,” said Magister Galdur, “No need to be so formal to Keisara, you’re about the same age it seems hm?” Nathair slowly raised himself from his bow.

“It-t appears so, Magister, yet all servants must treat the students and staff with the highest respect. It would not be befitting of either of us if I were to address you or Keisara so casually,” explained Nathair as he looked down upon the ground. Magister Galdur looked up and meditated upon this for a moment before looking back down.

“Nathair you must do as I command, yes?” asked Magister Galdur. Nathair nodded.

“Of course sir, I will perform whatever task you set upon me to the very best of my abilities.” responded Nathair. The Magister smiled.

“Good!” he said, slapping Nathair on the back, “I command you to be Keisara’s friend!” With that, the Magister turned and continued back into the building. Keisara, who had forgotten to un-extend his hand, stood in place staring at Nathair, unsure of what to do. Nathair hesitantly grabbed Keisara’s hand and shook it gently, forcing an uncomfortable smile.

“N-nice to meet you, Lor- Keisara. I’m Nathair.”

“...I’m Keisara,” was all Keisara was able to produce before his throat closed up again and he could no longer speak. Nathair seemed to sense Keisara’s nervous energy, and without speaking gently began to guide him by his hand towards the direction the Magister had gone. Once they had both entered inside, Nathair quickly let go of Keisara’s hand and looked about anxiously.

The two followed Magister Galdur through the ornate halls of Serah’Kan, where already servants were about, dusting and mopping before the students arrived. Keisara noticed all the servants bowed to the Magister as he passed, and avoided making any contact with Keisara at all. As they walked Keisara got a better look at Nathair. His hair was longer and tied up in the back, and shaved short on the sides, however hair from the top of his head fell down around in oily black curls. He had olive skin, dark brown eyes, and was a bit shorter than Keisara, which was typical for humans. This was the first time Keisara had been this close to a human around his age, their ears were so round, and their features much less slender, elves had much less fat in their bodies in general, so their features were sharper and more pronounced. Magister Galdur unlocked his office and the three of them stepped inside. The office was much the same as Magister Alirhan’s in design, although notably Magister Galdur’s office contained an additional room, likely a lab for research and experiments. The shelves and tables of the office were empty, however the floor was chock full of crates, boxes, and bags full of various books, tools, and instruments for study. Magister Galdur turned around and clapped his hands together.

“Well we’ve only got a few hours boys so let’s get to work!” the Magister said. Nathair rolled up his sleeves and Keisara looked at his father quizzically.

“A few hours? Wouldn’t it be much faster to use mag-” Keisara stopped mid sentence when his father turned to him and held up a finger to his mouth.

“Not here Keisara. Never here.” said Magister Galdur, and with those final words spoken the three of them spent the next two hours putting away as much as they could as quickly as they could– all by hand.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The large bronze bell atop Serah’Kan academy rang, signalling that students had 15 minutes to get to class. Keisara waved goodbye to his father, and gave Nathair a short, courteous nod before making his way to his homeroom. Most of the students here at Serah’Kan knew each other and attended a different academy in the area that instructed children of a lower age. Keisara knew no one, and that fact was ever so apparent to him as he walked along the hallways filled now with a dizzying number of students. More and more voices drowned out Keisara’s own thoughts, and when he started feeling nauseous he stepped into the first open classroom he saw hoping it was the right one. It was not. The room Keisara had stepped into was 3B, a third year class, and although the students were not much older than Keisara, he felt miniscule compared to them all. Someone called out to him but before they could finish he blindly darted out of the classroom and thud–! Keisara fell backwards onto the ground. He had hit something. He slowly got up, rubbing his back and saw that the something was a someone. A girl with auburn hair was standing above him, staring down at him with an eyebrow raised. Despite being shorter in height than Keisara, Keisara was the only one knocked to the ground; it felt like he had run into a wall.

“Are you alright?” she said, extending a hand towards him, “You took quite a tumble.” Keisara blinked, cleared his throat and took her hand.

“Uhm… Yes I’m okay… Sorry,” he said. The girl smiled and pulled him up to his feet.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m Lyra by the way. What’s your name? What class are you in?”

“I’m… uhm… Keisara. I’m in class… 1D… I think.” Lyra tried her best to make eye contact with Keisara while he spoke but Keisara was an expert at avoiding it. Once Keisara mentioned he was in class 1D, Lyra's eyes and smile widened.

“That’s my class! Oh dear we’re nowhere near it now we better hurry there together– come on!” said Lyra, grabbing Keisara’s hand and dragging him through the academy halls towards the classroom.

NATHAIR

10 minutes after Keisara left, Magister Galdur took his leave as well.

“Finish up here Nathair, then come join me in class 1B. That will be our homeroom for the year,” said Magister Galdur, straightening his tie in the mirror.

“Our homeroom? What do you mean?” asked Nathair. Magister Galdur looked at Nathair through the looking-glass.

“What I mean is that when you have nowhere else to be, you will be there. Magister Alirhan assured me that you would assist me in any way possible, and you can not properly assist me if you are running about the academy like a basilisk with its head cut off,” explained the Magister, turning around and facing Nathair. “Well, I must be off now, until later Nathair.” As the Magister began to turn the handle of the door Nathair spoke up.

“Wait! Magister Galdur”, the boy said. The Magister stopped and turned his head. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” said Galdur. Nathair hesitated, then finally spoke.

“Why– why are you being so– nice– to me? I’m human, you know?” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Galdur's expression shifted from irritated to solemn. Letting go of the handle, he knelt down and gave Nathair an apologetic smile.

“I know, child. I know that Humans are an Unpure race, that because they were not created in the image of any god, and because their blood is so diluted and mixed that they are considered to be a race ‘as far as possible from the Gods’, to quote a colleague of mine. I know that to be considered ‘Pure’ you must be an orc, dwarf, or elf, those who were created in the image of the Treframsta, the three prime deities that created mankind: Arok, Oforander, and Ramaht.”

“If you know that, then why not treat me like filth?” said Nathair, “Everyone else does, you have every right.” Galdur sighed, and looked Nathair in the eyes.

“Having the right to do something does not make that thing right,” said Galdur quietly, “I believe people should be judged on their actions, and not on the words that Gods have supposedly spoken. Even if the rest of the people in Arokia would disagree– but let’s keep all that between us, understand?” Nathair nodded. He knew that Magister Galdur could lose his job– maybe even his life if the wrong people heard him say what he just said. The Magister patted Nathair’s arm, stood up, and left Nathair alone in his office. Nathair looked about the room, figured he’d be done in another 30 minutes, and set back to putting away Magister Galdur’s things, all the while mulling over the words that were spoken to him.

No shelf remained empty after Nathair had finished putting away all of Galdur’s things. The window ledges were piled up with books and oddities as well after he had run out of space on the shelves. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Nathair then began to stack up the empty crates and boxes, and folded up the empty bags and satchels. It was as he was tidying up that it happened, the noise of rustling paper and something hitting the ground. Nathair turned around, still folding up one of the bags, and noticed a book on the floor. He placed the bag down with the others and walked over to the fallen object. The cover was black leather, the edges frayed, and the small ribbon that held it closed was undone. Nathair picked up the book and examined the sides. No words were written on the cover. Looking up at the shelf, nothing noticeable had changed either, so he was not sure which part it came from. Deciding to just put it on the window ledge, he walked over, casually flitting through the pages of the book while doing so. He stopped walking almost immediately. This was unlike any book he had ever seen. The text he recognized, but could not understand. It was written in Navenien, a language he knew by its elegant, flowing script, but one which he never learned to read, write or speak– this however was not what froze him in wonderment. It was that which he did not recognize, the strange runic language written in lines and inside of shapes like circles, ovals, triangles, squares. There were diagrams of bodies and body parts, of fauna, flora, and monsters. There were things that looked like equations, recipes, and poems. Nathair had no idea what he was looking at, but at the same time he knew exactly what it was.

“Godsplague–” he whispered to himself. He glanced around the office to make sure he was still alone, and when he felt as though no one would enter he looked back to the book in his hands– and tucked it into the waistband of his pants under his shirt. Nathair’s heart was pounding as he left the office and headed for class 1C. He figured that Magister Galdur surely would not notice one single book missing, right? The Magister would likely assume that he must have lost or forgotten it somewhere. But why, why did he take it? Nathair knew he couldn’t read Navenien, he knew that would be killed for learning this kind of magic, and he knew that he’d be searched by the guards when he returned down to the servants quarters. Nathair felt as if something, or someone had compelled him to take it, but he knew those excuses would fall flat against the Magisters.

He arrived at a set of dark double doors, where above on the lintel two golden symbols read ‘1C’. One door was slightly ajar, and through the opening Nathair could hear Magister Galdur’s voice. Nathair carefully opened the door as little as he needed to slip through, and moving quietly passed the threshold and entered into the classroom. The term ‘classroom’ did not properly describe these rooms. The classrooms at Serah’Kan more closely resemble classical lecture halls, where the professor stood at the bottom of the conical auditorium in front of blackboards and an ornate writing desk. Ascending rows of curved benches and long-continous desks, divided up into three sections filled up the other portion of the space. The rows were filled with at least 50 children around Nathair’s age, all of them wearing the blue and white uniforms of the academy. Nathair did not look long however, for even staring at the students was punishable. He moved to the far corner of the room where he stood with his hands behind his back, and waited for Magister Galdur to call upon him.

Nathair knew he would not have to wait long. It had been about 20 minutes since homeroom started, and in another 10 minutes the bell would ring again to end homeroom, and signal the start of class schedule. The schedule for the students was equally important to the servants, and so they were made to memorize it. Closing his eyes Nathair could easily picture the schedule sheet he had studied:

0700 - Students arrive at the academy.

0715 - The first bell rings, signalling 15 minutes until homeroom.

0730 - Homeroom begins, students in homerooms share class schedules, classes differ each day.

0800 - The second bell rings, signalling 15 minutes until first class.

0815 - First class begins.

1000 - The third bell rings, signalling 15 minutes until second class.

1015 - Second class begins.

1200 - The fourth bell rings, signalling the start of the lunch break.

1300 - The fifth bell rings, signalling the end of lunch and 15 minutes until third class.

1315 - Third class begins.

1500 - The sixth bell rings, signalling the end of the school day.

The second bell rang, and throughout the academy, children packed up their notebooks with their newly copied down schedules and made their way towards their first classes of the day. Galdur summoned Nathair, and asked him to make some tea at the small station in the corner of the room. Nathair lit the small oil burner using flint and firesteel, and poured some water into a kettle from a jug. As the water boiled he filled a teapot with the ingredients that Galdur had requested: 1 tbsp of finely ground sableroot, 1 tsp of Midas tree sap, the peel of a sunfruit, and 2 tbsp of fresh ambrosia. The tea smelled very sweet, much sweeter than Nathair would have found pleasurable. He poured the boiling water over the ingredients, and after letting it steep for a few minutes, poured out the golden red liquid into a delicate ceramic cup, and carried it over to Galdur’s desk on a small plate. The Magister saw him place it on the desk, but did not thank or even look at him. It seemed to Nathair that any kindness the Magister showed to him in private, would not be shown in public. This was more of a relief for Nathair than anything, for he knew how to act around people who disliked his presence. He bowed, and returned back to his corner.

Students filled into the classroom, and Nathair noticed Keisara entering among them, walking alongside a Daggcasurian girl with orange hair who seemed to be chatting his ear off. He watched the two of them sit down together in the centre of the lecture hall. There was a general air of excitement as students continued to take their seats. The ambience of chatter grew and grew until the 15 minutes from the bell had passed, when the Magister began to speak.

“Good morning students of Serah’Kan! This will be my first time teaching at this academy, and I am very happy to be your Magister this year for your studies of Biology and Magic!” At that last word the students began to whisper among each other excitedly, until one student, the Daggcasurian girl with auburn hair raised her hand. Galdur pointed to her and said, “Yes, stand up dear– tell me what is your name, and what is your question?” The girl stood up straight , unflustered by the attention that was now upon her, and spoke in a loud, clear voice.

“Lyra Olcender. My question, Magister, is about what you will be teaching us. I believed it was against the law to learn and practice magic in Arokia?” Lyra stood standing after finishing her question, and stared intently at the Magister. Her face contained the seriousness and hardness that came from being a dwarf, made softer by the roundness of being a child. Galdur smiled and adjusted his spectacles.

“Olcender, eh? A very prestigious family of bankers, I use one of your banks myself, you must tell your parents I send my thanks,” said the Magister, Lyra blushed slightly at this and nodded, smiling, “As for your question you are correct– partially. It is against the law to learn some kinds of magic, and for a long time it was even against the law to learn about that kind of magic. However, Serah’Kan made the case that society will be better off if they are educated about these topics instead. And so, with the approval of the government now acquired, I will be teaching you about all magic– but you will not be learning magic in this class.” Disappointed whispers floated around the class as the Magister finished and Lyra sat back in her seat. Another hand was raised, this time from a tall, handsome Navien boy with short, black hair. The Magister pointed and repeated to him what he had asked Lyra to do. The boy stood up.

“Amadeus Mireille,” the boy said enunciating every syllable, his head held high, “What I want to know is this, you say ‘magic’ but what I’ve always been told is that Miracles, the magic the given to clerics and paladins by the Gods is what real magic is, and that the other kind–” Amadeus paused, and looked to Magister Galdur for permission, for which the Magister nodded for him to continue, “and that the other kind of magic called– Godsplague– should not be put into the same category. It should not even be called magic.” Amadeus quickly sat back down after students began to murmur following his use of the word for that forbidden magic. Galdur nodded and stroked his braided beard.

“You are quite knowledgeable Mr. Mireille, although I suppose that a member of the family who manufactured all of the academy’s excellent robes must be quite educated themselves,” said Magister Galdur, walking over to the blackboard and picking up a piece of chalk. “Since you are all so eager to learn it seems, I suppose we can start off the lesson by answering young Amadeus’s question. Indeed it might feel improper to call both Miracles and Godsplague ‘magic’, since one is a boon given to people by the Gods, and the other is a bane that harms them, hence the name Godsplague.” Galdur wrote both words on the board, and then continued his lecture. “However, given that both Miracles and Godsplague can both produce the same magical results, scholars consider them both to be categorised as ‘magic’. Furthermore, while Godsplague is forbidden to be practiced in Arokia and is punishable by death, in other countries such as Arfordir, and Naveni, Godsplague can be used freely thanks to their Free Magic Acts.”

Although Nathair had no requirement to note any of this down, he tried his very best to remember every word that Galdur spoke: he was enraptured. Galdur continued his lecture and answered questions as they popped up:

“What came first: Godsplague or Miracles?” asked

Jariah Cayce, a Lodenien with skin like the night sky and hair the colour of moonlight.

“Ah Ms. Cayce, of Cayce’s Cures & Concoctions I presume? Well the answer to your question is not so clearly cut I’m afraid. The debate on which came first is heavily argued, although most evidence points towards Godsplague. Godsplague, as we understand, is documented having existed during the Dark Ages of Zentrum, that is the era before the New Dawn, and we believe that it was developed by the Dwarves due to the fact that the symbols used in Godsplague are very similar to older Dwarvish runes– although no far so records supporting this have been found in Daggcasur.” The Magister continued answering questions and lecturing throughout the class. At one point he instructed Nathair to hand out the class textbook A Memoir of Magic by Atticus Fell. As usual the students regarded him with disdain and disgust, most of them brushing off their books after he handed it to them. As he was descending the steps to move onto the next row he tripped over the foot of Amadeus and tumbled down the stairs dropping the books he was carrying.

“Watch where you’re walking, mutt” said Amadeus, barely concealing a sly grin. Stifled laughter made its way around the classroom as Nathair quickly felt the back of his pants to make sure the book he had stolen was still there– it was. Relieved, he slowly stood up and gathered the dropped books. No one made a move to help him– this was normal, and he was used to it. Nathair did not feel any anger towards Amadeus, or towards Galdur for not stepping in. This was just his fate, the role he was forced to play. He continued to hand out books as Galdur prattled on about magic when he arrived at where Keisara and Lyra were seated. He handed them their textbooks and was about to walk away when Keisara softly spoke to him.

“A-Are you alright?” he asked. Nathair looked at him and then looked around nervously. He wondered if this was a joke, but something about Keisara’s demeanour made him dismiss that thought. He gave a small smile and nodded his head. Lyra’s slate grey eyes darted between Keisara and then Nathair, before she furtively reached into her bag and pulled out what looked like a handkerchief, placing it at the edge of her desk.

“You‘ve got a gash on your eyebrow, here take this,” she whispered while looking forward at Galdur. Nathair was astonished, and looked at the auburn-haired dwarven girl. She was cute. He blushed, nodded, quickly took the handkerchief and continued handing out the textbooks. When he had finished he sat back down in the corner and pulled out the cloth he was given. It was light, with golden embroidery around the edges and something sewn in Dwarvish into the bottom right corner. As he pulled it up to dab at his gash he got a whiff of its scent: sunflowers. This was too nice to wipe up blood, he thought, and decided to just keep it as it is.

After class ended and was emptied of all but Nathair and Galdur, the Magister approached him and inspected his gash. His light blue eyes scanned his head for any signs of damage before he stood up straight and patted Nathair on the head.

“Apologies for not stepping in. The students– well I don’t need to tell you how high in societal standing the families that attend this academy are, certainly much higher than mine,” Galdur sighed, and seemed he was going to continue before Nathair interrupted him.

“It’s really alright Magister. Trust me, I’ve had worse” said Nathair, dabbing the blood up with his sleeve. The Magister hummed and stroked his beard in deliberation.

“Hmm… Well in any case, why don’t you use these 15 minutes to clean up in your quarters. In the meantime I’m just going to get some fresh air before my next class.” Nathair bowed and ducked out of the classroom. He walked towards the entrance to his quarters, glancing about at the various paintings, statues and trophies that lined Serah’Kan’s walls until eventually he could see the doorway where the Arokian guards stood. As he got in line he watched as one by one they quickly and efficiently searched each servant to make sure they hadn’t taken anything from the academy. The line got shorter and shorter, and all the while Nathair felt like he was forgetting something important.

“Heya buddy, how goes it?” spoke a familiar voice behind him. Nathair turned around to see Milo’s smiling face covered with dust and soot poking out from behind a large basket of sheets. Nathair always felt Milo had mouse or squirrel like qualities with his big eyes and messy hair– features that were exaggerated when he was dirty like this.

“It’s going. Had a fall.” Nathair said while raising his eyebrows. Milo exhaled and nodded in understandment. “Just need to wash this cut before getting back. How about you?”

“Gotta wash and dry these tablecloths before lunch. Guess somebody had breakfast and made a big mess. What a pain. Although…” Milo said patting the bottom of the basket with his hand, “It does make it easier to sneak your gift past the guards hehe.”

Nathair gave Milo a reprimanding look and was about to scold him when he remembered was was tucked into his waistband. The book.

“Next!” declared the Arokian standing at the door. The woman ahead of Nathair in line stepped forard, offering up no resistance or argument. I need to act fast, thought Nathair, but I need to help Milo too! The guards will definitely search his basket– what is he thinking! While facing Milo he made his decision. Nathair pulled out book, pressing it tight to his chest before shoving his hand into the basket to make a passage to the bottom. He then slipped the book down into the bottom of the basket where it collided with something else hidden down there. Milo furrowed his brow and looked at Nathair.

“What are you-”, before Milo could finish Nathair interrupted in a hushed voice.

“Milo. Go ahead of me. No matter what is about to happen, you need to get that book under my mattress without anyone seeing.” Nathair then moved himself behind Milo and pushed him ahead. “Now go.” Milo seemed to hesitate for a moment, but followed Nathair’s instructions as one of the guards announced “Next!” Nathair’s head and heart pounded like someone inside him was trying to escape but he kept his cool as he watched the guards frisk Milo. Wait, wait, wait, he repeated in his head. As soon as the guards were satisfied with Milo, that’s when he’d make his move. He watched their eyes. They looked at Milo as if he had already done something wrong– no, that’s how they always look at us. One guards eyes drifted away in boredom seemingly as the frisk proved fruitless, and the other looked toward the basket. Now! Nathair darted forward quickly at the crouched Arokian who had just finished searching Milo. He tried to remember the movements and words Deira had taught him, “Remember to try and go through them! Imagine they’re of water!” Nathair twisted his body at an angled, planted his left foot forward, grabbed the collar of the guards uniform with his left hand, and pulled his right hand all the way behind his head in a fist all in one instant. If Nathair could think right now, his head would be full of doubt and worry about the future of his actions, but for him in this moment there was no thought or future. There was only the present and only action. The next instant after the first Nathair held tight with his left hand and launched his right hand forward in a beside his head directly into the Arokian’s face. The punch hurt his hand so badly Nathair was sure that he had hurt himself more than he had hurt the guard, but in the instant after he only had one thought screaming in his mind: Run. Using the momentum of his punch Nathair released the guards collar and sprinted the hardest he ever had. Ever step he took he put every bit of strength into slamming his foot into the ground to push him as far as he could. It felt as though his body was acting on its own. He weaved past students, scrambled around corners and up a flight of stairs. He could hear footsteps behind him getting louder and louder as he vaulted out of a second floor window onto the grounds of the courtyard twenty feet below.