In the city of Glada Eyburg, inside the college that is home to the Circle of Magic, among the many classrooms and libraries and laboratories, there are many offices. Tucked away in the furthest left wing, past the Sanctum Pontific, right from the Hall Gesticulate, and two doors down from supply closet 3F, there is a room that is, how to put it, unique. The door is made of ancient, smooth, dark and undecorated Elven Oak, that is embossed only with the name “Procto Practim, High Arcanus” in ornate gold writing that illuminates when you get close.

Inside that office is a peculiar arrangement of odds and ends, baubles and trinkets, including an enchanted frog carved from wood that hops in little circles, a glass bird filled with water that sparkles green, a pair of antlered spectacles, and three separate owl-themed clocks. These items seem to have first filled up the space on top of a large, sturdy desk made of the same wood as the door, before spilling onto the walls and even the floor in some places.

There were two regal, cushioned chairs at the desk. A purple one behind it, and a red one in front. Sitting atop the purple one was an old man with a long white beard and silken blue robe bedazzled with yellow stars, a large pointed hat with a wide brim sat snugly on his head with the same design as the robes. Around his neck was an amulet, a gold circle surrounding a silver crescent moon, and leaning against the left side of his chair was a wooden staff of yet more Elven Oak topped with a brilliantly shining orb, alike a miniature sun. He was staring, a warm and reassuring smile on his face, at the person sitting opposite him.

She was a young woman, sixteen for nearly half a year. She was focused on the paper in front of her, squeezed amongst the vast piles of stuff the man had on his desk. She had red cotton robes with matching hat resting, slightly sagging, atop the back of the chair. She also had an amulet and staff, but both were plain things, the amulet a simple iron octagon and the staff that looked more like a well-crafted walking stick than anything a proper wizard would wield.

They sat together in silence for a few moments, the old man watching supportively and the young woman scribbling away with a quill, and then, unspokenly, as if one of the various mis-aligned ticks or perhaps tocks from clocks all around the office held a certain meaning. The woman stopped writing and set her quill down, sliding both towards the man who took it with a slight widening of his lips. He began reading it, line after line, no hurry apparent in his eyes or mind. They sat like that awhile too, their roles reversed now, with the old man marking things down on the paper and the woman watching attentively, nervously, wincing at every stroke of the quill on her parchment.

On and on this went, each second longer than the last, until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Professor Practim-” she started.

“Procto, please. I keep telling you.” came a sedate voice, readied to correct her.

“Professor Procto,” she corrected, a glance from him implying that wasn’t quite what he meant but oh well he’ll let it go this time, which he’d thought every time she said that. “Is it good?”

Procto Practim, professor of High Arcanus of the Circle of Magic, creator of such spells as ‘Procto’s Practical Footwork’ and ‘Pillar of Principles’, one of the girl’s personal tutors, slowly rolled up the scroll and, at a snail’s pace, placed it gently in a drawer that opened as his hand approached and shut at approximately the same speed he was moving. His warm, placid smile stayed always, and his eyes remained affixed on hers.

He opened his mouth, and she could see thoughts become words in his head and travel to his lips as he did so.

His whole body inhaled. “Alys,” he said, and deflated as if it had taken much effort. Inhale again. “Good is,” deflate. Inhale “an understatement.” deflate.

“Then why were you writing so much?” she asked, almost before he’d finished talking.

“I was,” pause. “Merely noting,” pause. “How good it was.”

“You don’t need to do that professor,” she reprimanded, “You only need to mark down what’s wrong with it.”

“So much negativity,”

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“isn’t good,”

“for most students,”

“I find.”

“Well, I find it helpful.” she huffed. Again they were retreading old ground with this topic. That was what it always felt like to Alys, going over everything again and again, nothing ever changing. Wizards never seemed to just get on with anything, always biding their time and calling it ‘wisdom’. She’d never heard such ridiculousness. If they were truly wise they’d recognize when something needed to HAPPEN every millennium for heaven’s sake.

She crossed her arms and sunk back in the plush chair, frowning.

More repetition, more silence, more thinking, more ‘wisdom’, as Alys put it. She was stewing in thought, getting more and more annoyed as the words in her head went in a circle. ‘I’m not most students’ first, then ‘most students are out doing practical work at my age’, to ‘I’m better than them, I should be out there’, and resting on ‘Today’s the day I finally put my foot down and get out of here.’ But she’d thought that before, and yet here she sat, across from Procto who was examining an iron ring that felt weightless which she swore she’d seen him inspecting the last time she was here.

“Well,” she said finally, standing. “If you’ve got no more feedback for me, I’ll be off to my quarters.” she set her hat on her head and snatched her staff rather aggressively, turning to the door and beginning to walk out.

“Good day,” Procto began, as she stepped out and pushed the door closed, a small mote of sound escaping through the last crack before it did so “Alys”.

She turned and began to head through the winding hallways towards the women’s dorms, taking a total of two rights and five lefts without ever getting turned around. As she walked, head held high and staff firmly leading her steps, she heard the whispers of students around her, cutting off just as she glanced at them.

They were always whispering like that, as she was popular in a sense. She was the only student to be apprenticed to the headmaster personally, after all. Such was her raw talent with the art of spellcraft. And what an art it was. Drawing mana from the world and the body into an amulet, focusing it through the staff and imprinting a desired effect on it with the mind’s eye. It took a lot of focus and attention to not go awry and fizzle, or worse yet, destroy staff or spellcaster. Alys had mana to match three wizards and plenty in the way of focus, so it’s no wonder she was the star of the Circle. She took pride in it, even if it was hard at times.

‘At times’ meaning usually, of course. The only people who tried to make friends were either put-off by her pompous demeanor or only suffering through it to try and get her help for something or other. Quickly she’d learned to avoid the types of people she thought were only going to take advantage of her, but for better or worse, she assumed that of almost everybody. As such, she had only a few acquaintances in school who she would work with if classes demanded a group.

Absentmindedly, distracted by the hushed tones and what work she had to spend the rest of the day on, she’d made it to her destination; a small private room located six steps from the entrance to the dorm wing, ensuring she was always first to class.

Entering, the room was not what you’d expect of a typical person’s bedspace, it was more akin to an office than a personal room. The extra size granted to her for being the lone occupant let her fill the space with more stuff than most other residents, and so she’d piled the place high with books. There weren’t very many personal effects. A few spare robes and hats that looked identical to the one she wore tucked away in a closet by the door, a desk with quill and paper, books neatly ordered alphabetically, and a simple bed with grey covers.

She set her hat down on the back of the chair and leaned her staff to her left before taking a seat, appearing just as she did earlier in Professor Proctim’s office only without all the clutter.

As she sat, she examined some of the books around her, deciding what work to start on first. She’d just finished her High Arcanus essay, so she could take a break from that for at least the rest of the day. Her practical spellcraft could use improvement, she thought, but students are only allowed to practice in sanctioned rooms so as to avoid any accidents. She knew she was good enough not to cause an explosion or anything, but she’d rather not get in trouble for it. Literature? But she’d already worked ahead on that one and it wasn’t even due till the end of the week.

Though she sat still and straight, her eyes moved about the books in her room as she considered what to do. Finally, she glanced at one of the drawers of her desk. A quick game can’t hurt, she thought, and opened it up, revealing a small box. She took it out and opened it on the side of her desk, setting up a board and forty pieces, twenty on either side.

This game was called Tower. The aim of it was to use your pieces of differing sizes to capture your enemies pieces and use them to construct a tower, the tallest tower being the winner. The fun came from strategically capturing the pieces you needed from your opponent and carefully stacking the tower, taking risks in construction to try and balance height and stability. It had been a favourite of hers since she was a child, and though it was designed for two players, she typically played on her own, which she did now.

She sat in her dry room full of books, staring at the board and considering her opening move.