We returned to the office, where I felt magic was the strongest. Elise, a real chatterbox, had spoken of how Adrian Thane had ruthlessly climbed the ranks of the Academy and even the government. He’d been appointed as a direct advisor to multiple Lords. He’d reached the elite echelons of society and even had spies working for him. She sounded fascinated by this man’s life, even though he sounded like a real blockhead, to be honest. Someone I’d probably do business with. She kept talking while I felt around the room for energies, closing my eyes, seeing all sorts of colours. I never knew what I was really doing, but it worked. It had taken some time to understand what all the colours meant and how to interact with them, but I was a professional now, and it wasn’t some concealment spell that would stop me.

“And what’s your story?” Elise asked. It surprised me, and I realised I hadn’t listened to her for the past few ticks. “Let me guess! Orphan boy turned criminal.” She said as if she read the headlines of the Perlgate Mail.

“That’s pretty much it,” I said, too focused on my task to say something else.

She noticed my hand levitating above the ground.

“What are you doing?” she asked, then watched me do.

Concealment spells come in shades of green. It didn’t take long before I connected with the source of the spell: the wall separating this room and the one where I found Elise. I focused, and the colours in my mind came to life. I opened my eyes to dancing lights around me, flickering with hues of green and white. I placed my hand on the wall, channelling the energy around me, reversing it, and within no time, the lights popped and disappeared, and before me was a wooden door.

I looked at Elise to check if she’d seen what I’d done.

She peered at me with a cautious glare.

“You’re a mage,” she mumbled, incredulous, like she’d made up her mind about me long ago and realised how wrong she’d been.

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But that wasn’t the conclusion I thought she’d make.

“Spellbreaker,” I corrected.

She shook her head. “Is that what you call it? Has no one ever told you?”

“Told me what?”

“We don’t call it ‘spellbreaking,’ that means nothing. In Arcana terms, what you just did is called ‘dispelling’.”

What was she telling me exactly? She must have seen my confusion because she added: “Welcome to the School of Abjuration, my friend! You just revealed to us a secret door. Let’s go!”

~

I was silent on our way down the dark stairway behind the wooden door. Elise was explaining to me all the ins and outs of Abjuration magic. She asked me questions about my abilities, how I’d managed to hone them without guidance for the past twenty-six years, how I’d never thought I could have magic. She asked me where I came from, who I was.

I had very little to tell her. Not because I didn’t want to but because I had no answers. And at this point, I also had questions myself.

I didn’t come from anywhere. Orphan boy turned criminal. If what she said was true, and I had magic in my blood, then who was I? What was I supposed to be?

My years as a contractor and experience had taught me that it was best not to ask questions. So I’d stop, for now. I’d stop because I could already feel a sense of distress welling up from that part of me I kept buried deep. The part of me that was angry at the world for abandoning me. The part of me that was lonely and yearned for somewhere I could belong.

We reached the bottom of the stairs. The air felt heavy, and there was definitely odd energy in this confined space. Elise used her wand to cast light so we could see, moving the wand through the air to chase the shadows away.

We were in a square room with shelves lined with dusty tomes and ancient scrolls, but the most impressive item was the portrait hanging on the wall before us. A proud wizard wearing the Academy’s medal like a badge of honour, his eyes seemingly locked onto us. Elise looked at the portrait, then at me, then back at the portrait.

“You sure do look alike,” she said.

I couldn’t deny it, nor could I ignore that I now knew who the young wizard from the portrait upstairs had reminded me of. Not someone I’d met in the street, not anyone I knew in Perlgate, but the person I saw in the mirror every. single. day.