We were on our way to the Triolo. Built upon a tall meander in the river, the largest structure of the Triolo, the cathedral, dwarfed even the city's keep. From a single glance I could tell worship was not the only thing its architects had in mind. It's entrance was eastward facing marked by two tall spires. On it's western side overlooking the river was an even greater stone tower providing a high vantage point of the surrounding lands..

The cathedral was the most prominent structure of the site. A site which had been treated like a disowned child nobody wanted to bring up. A ditch to its foundations surrounded the cathedral and its tower. The only entrance had its drawbridge raised, disallowing visitors. Such measures were a relic of a time when it served as a quarantine zone during the Hexan plague.

After the Hexan plague the local governance washed their hands of the entire site. It was claimed by religious figures to be cursed ground and by historians as the ender of empires. The Hexan plague, the visiting northern duke who died during his visit after the northern gatehouse collapsed on him, the first great harbour fire of Kasper, and to name one more, the east coast famine. In some of these cases, great wars were started. The world heaved a collective sigh of relief when the local authority of Kasper declared it would never EVER use the Triolo for anything ever again.

And then the world winced as the Capital declared it was going to fund an academic institute geared towards the study of magic and magical phenomena on that very location. Nice move. Dicks.

Strategically, the Triolo could be considered a significant local and national fortification. A set of exterior walls extended over the wide River Teifi and kept the site neatly contained in one district. A little exploring later and you'd come across rooms and areas which clearly served a military purpose. Armouries, barracks, training grounds, all abandoned. Section had been converted for the use of the academy.

It controlled access up river and down to the sea. From a strategic point of view it was just a ridiculous idea to leave abandoned. Which would make it all the more frustrating when the next unfortunate “accident”/fire/plague/famine occurred.

Little to no maintenance had been done on the fortifications for years and yet nothing had ever showed signs of collapsing. Wild theories suggest that the Triolo was an example of ancient magical architecture. Scholars for whatever reason say this was as likely as goblin janitors spiriting their way into the site under cover of night and fixing everything.

I didn't know much about goblins and wouldn't claim to. They may be saying the theory is entirely possible. What I am fairly certain of though is that there is a reason why nobody has demolished the cursed structure. Probably because they've tried before. More than likely they all died horrible and miserable deaths that sparked a world war, plague, and region spanning famine all at once.

New texts were being unearthed that made references to this structure from ages past. In extreme cases, it had survived three empires which it had been directly or indirectly tied to the downfall of, and a mythical age of monsters.

I wasn't sure what I believed about monsters. Rumours existed that they hid in the extreme environments of the world in isolated places. I, a humble talking cat, was on the fence about the existence of magical creatures. They could well be made up tales to frighten children.

The long and short of it, nobody had anything nice to say about the Triolo and everyone was fairly certain the capital had deigned it a suitable place for an academic institution out of ignorance or a morbid desire to sow unnatural chaos in the world.

“It's so chilly...” The shadow of the unmanned stone gatehouse passed overhead. My hairs stood on end but the feeling passed as quickly as it came.

I would have found it funny to see a hall monitor at the gate making sure students arrived on time and properly dressed. However the faculty were quite lax. It was almost as though they understood they weren't the greatest academy around and so they shouldn't act like it.

Students could join up to three subject courses here at the academy. They were given free reign to join in on any lecture whether relevant or not. There were also homeroom classes mostly attended by new students. As the years went by, strategies had been developed to avoid these ranging from giving excuses like “Sorry I can't come in, my [insert number here] cousin has died” to complex conspiracies to delay teachers a long enough time for the rest of the students to argue the class wasn't going to be held.

The more mature the student became the more informal the relationship between them and the academy turned. Presumably at some point the student would be slowly and unknowingly shifted into a teaching position, continuing a cycle that had been practised for centuries. An odd idea considering the academy was only about fifty years old.

Hannah was too much of a stickler to miss a class, optional or not. She'd crawl through fields of broken glass to not miss anything. It was the sort of enviable determination we all wanted if it wasn't such a hassle.

We passed by other students on the campus. There was no standard uniform so I could tell what walk of life they came from by how they were dressed, which in most cases could be vaguely described as 'smart yet casual'.

The teachers and scholars were at times the worst dressed. Their unkempt hair and dirty glasses gave them an almost harassed mad look to them. Alternatively one or two would be dressed as though they had just wrapped up business advising a king.

They were the hardest to read. With so much valuable knowledge in one head it was probably no wonder they liked to conjure subtle walls between themselves and world.

Nobody made any comment on Hannah as she walked through the halls with a cat poking out of her stuffed shoulder bag. I felt like if I didn't poke my head out for fresh air I'd be sick.

Motion sickness is a trick of the mind, I tried to tell myself. All you have to do is not believe in it and it'll go away.

She knew where she was going and didn't need to ask directions. She had after all been there twice before. There was a chance the same people would be there to grade her as last time. Although because of how the examiners dressed, it was hard to tell.

The academy didn't provide licences. Students were recommended to the right authorities when the time came. In Hannah's case she had recommended herself and the academy didn't care enough to say otherwise.

“Oh Hannah, there you are. You're right on time!” The first person to respond to her arrival was her own personal tutor, Jean Gravefire. She looked her charge up and down and nodded with cheeriness which felt a little too forced. “Are you feeling nervous?”

Hannah waved casually in greeting then shrugged in answer. “Third time's the charm.”

Jean's eyes continued searching Hannah up and down before they stopped on her shoulder bag. She stared right past me. Her expression was in stark contrast from the giddy air she about her had just a moment ago. A blip on the persona she'd adopted.

“That's the spirit. Winners have to lose, otherwise they wouldn't be able to spot a win.”

Something about that didn't sit right in my head. It was a very lousy worded way of saying winners win by learning from their defeats. Which was a thinly veiled way of saying 'you will learn the harsh realities of the world from your imminent defeat' to Hannah.

Hannah just laughed awkwardly. “I understand what you said but that could have been put better.” It was a sort of double-edged encouragement. The kind that says losing again is okay. She forced a smile.

For Hannah, that simply must not have been the case. No Armageddon would descend from the skies if she did lose but it was a point of pride. Losing a junior exam for the third time would be inexcusable.

“Anyway, are you ready?” Jean smiled as she rested her hand on the thick wooden door behind her.

“You don't have to be there. I'll be fine on my own you know?”

“Yeah of course. Hand holding is for toddlers after all and you're not one for starters.”

They were both familiar with each other enough to be casual. Some tutors weren't like that. Some teachers preferred the professionalism. Usually having a personal tutor was an opportunity to break down that wall of formality.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Jean pushed the door open and Hannah entered after her. Not much later Jean left after wishing Hannah good luck and tolling her that she was free most of her day today in case the two needed to talk afterwards.

Hannah watched her tutor go and shook her head, exasperated. She knelt down and let me out of her shoulder bag.

“Much thank.” I whispered.

“She's sure is two-faced.” The barely subdued scowl on her face spoke more for how she felt in that conversation than her fleeting comment.

I agreed. Jean's attempts to subtly brace Hannah for failure had come off as snide.

I, a cursed cat, am arguably two-faced. Ettins, giants with more than one head, are literally two faced. Everyone had a bit of two face in them really. More so I, whose face was not really my own. Of course, being a cat at the moment and not a human, I'm obviously above any criticisms of from other humans. I mean, who would argue with someone as small as little old me?

Kick their condescending backsides right back at them, I wanted to say. Sadly the window passed as I was lost in musings on my infallibility. It would have cheered Hannah right up.

Most people assumed I was some sort of familiar or intelligent pet to Hannah here but none knew that I could talk. Me and Hannah both would prefer it to stay that way. Besides, what more could a witch ask for than a magical black cat? If it began talking in public though, that would be a big no no. That might warrant a bonfire.

Either way, this was an academic institute geared towards the study of magic. The fact that I could talk was a mandate for dissection in the name of science.

The room we entered was conical and spacious with a tall ceiling. Artwork covered from the floor to the roof. Hannah moved closer to the centre where two figures clad from top to toe in white waited.

Even their faces were partially covered in white cloth beneath their hoods. It gave them a rather cold and emotionally detached appearance which matched their curt greeting and stares. Hannah and the two examiners went through the motions of acknowledging each other. The exam was about to start in earnest.

The enigmatic Order of Ice as they were called. They were in charge of proving the qualifications of magic users. More than likely they were the go to authority on matters of magic around the nation.

One of the examiners stood with a metal tablet which they held close like a clipboard, whilst another stood next to a table with an assortment of different items. Whilst plenty in variety, each item looked mundane and otherwise out of place in a magic exam.

An egg was lifted off the table by the examiner who then placed it on the floor in the centre of the room. I looked over each item on the table from afar and rated them in term of weirdness. Without context, the presence of the egg scored quite high among its competitors.

“Move the egg without touching it.” The examiner with tablet commanded. I had a vague idea that this examiner might be female but their form and voice were incredibly androgynous.

The way the examiners seemed to cooperate without a murmur or even a sign of acknowledgement to each other was unsettling. What was even more chilling was their icy blue eyes which glinted as though they were constantly catching the light.

Rarely would anybody spot members of the Order out in public. They showed up at ceremonies and exams they officiated but beyond that they were mostly absent from public life.

They looked almost like warrior monks. More than likely they knew how to fight like ones too.

Move the egg without touching it. I suspected it wasn't in the spirit of a magic exam to kneel down and blow the egg into rolling. Personally I would consider that fair game. It wouldn't have been my fault they didn't specify.

Hannah paused for a moment before sorting through her bag for her scroll of her choice. She unrolled it and placed it flat against the cold floor. In a swift motion she produced an ink brush in her hand that likely had been concealed up her sleeve knowing her.

The scroll itself had a diligently drawn pattern of interconnecting black lines. Hannah inked her thumb with her brush and pressed it at the base of the parchment upon the circle which the design stemmed from.

Quietly she muttered, “Iksum.” She pushed her thumb in on the circle in the direction of the egg and the egg rocked and rolled towards the examiners feet under the influence of an abrupt breeze of wind.

Hannah was quick to take her thumb away from the parchment, shaking her hand with a wince of pain. The ink had evaporated in an instant and the paper was reduced to flakes of blackened ash.

This wasn't typical for magic users. Anybody who expected to pass a junior licence would do so without the crutches of practice scrolls. They were named so because they were an outdated way of getting a grasp of using magic. Eventually students should be able to do it innately.

Hannah however was magically lame. She couldn't innately use magic no matter how much time she used for practice. It wasn't that her ability to weave spells wasn't dextrous enough, the ability simple wasn't there. Magic was only possible for her using the practice scrolls. They substituted the necessary ability to be able weave spells by being pre-prepared spell patents. And they were home made.

Turned to a crisp in an effort to make Hannah's will manifest, these scrolls were woefully inadequate and crude. The entire practice was outdated. Beginners now used boxes called Lighthouses to improve their spell weaving dexterity. They were safer, didn't burn up, but weren't appropriate for Hannah since they didn't manifest any effect on the environment what so ever.

Without spell dexterity she couldn't create patents with which to caste spells. Patents were like a mould to shape magic. Anything more complex and she would require spell dexterity. She couldn't solve her problem by borrowing a patented wand or staff.

No, this was to be Hannah's answer. Good or bad, the development of her practice scrolls was what she clung onto as her solution.

The examiner stared at the egg rolled at her feet dispassionately. The second examiner produced another object from the selection on the table.

This time he placed down a perfectly cut cube of ice in the centre of the room.

“Shatter this cube.”

Hannah didn't move. She simply stared at the block of ice. From behind I couldn't exactly see what was on her face.

Shatter the cube. She might have had one or two spells capable of exerting a force stronger than the one she sued to roll the egg, but probably not strong enough for this.

Her practice scrolls were all plagiarised. She more or less copied existing design and began crudely changing and making new scrolls with whatever parchment and ink she had at home. I knew quite a bit of reading scholarly articles was involved and a lot of frustrated cursing about stingy libraries.

Pushing things and changing temperature were some of things she could do. That was about the only effects her scrolls had. They were unsophisticated. Something to be expected of the support wheels given to magic users before they invented the Lighthouse. Probably to stop beginners accidentally burning down their house.

I wondered if the examiners would judge Hannah's use of these practice scrolls. Were they judging her right now? Did they see through why she needed them? But if a bike only has a front wheel and no back wheels, taking off those learning wheels will mean it'll go nowhere.

Hannah needed those scrolls. But nobody will say you've learnt how to ride your bike until those extra supports have come off.

Hannah pinched the back of her hand tightly. Somewhere deep in my gut this echoed as a bad omen.

She placed down two new scrolls next to the cube. Inking up both her thumbs, then placed them at the base of each paper. Her chest rose and fell as she took a few steady breaths before finally, “Iksum.”

Frost spread like spilt water across the floor from the right scroll. The frost didn't stop until it covered the ankles of the examiner some feet away. She just glanced down quietly but sensed it wasn't over yet.

Hannah gets the worst of it. The tips of her hair looked silvered like she'd just been rolling in snow. The parchment had ironically burnt up leaving only the one beneath her left thumb.

“I-iksum.” This time the parchment had the opposite effect. Even from where I sat in the corner I felt the touch of heat across my cheeks.

The frost disappeared as fast as it came, leaving nothing but a thin residue of steam rising from the surface of the floor.

And once again Hannah was worst hit. Breathing heavily, she struggled to stifle her gasps of pain in a vain attempt to keep the appearance of composure. No matter how she tried to hide it though, she was unfit to continue.

Clink.

And then the cube collapsed. Not because it had melted, but because the two polar shifts in temperature had both contracted and expanded it too fast for it to keep structural integrity. The internal pressure expanding from its core resulted in several neat cracks through its body.

The corners of Hannah's lips drew up weakly. How she could take pride in this result I didn't know. She didn't rise from her position. Perhaps she couldn't.

The examiner lowered her tablet and began to walk calmly towards Hannah. She pulled from a pouch a small vial and knelt down next to her.

“Drink.” She commanded as she held out the uncorked vial. As I approached I could smell its rancid odour. Hannah shook her head perhaps out of denial at what drinking the vial would represent.

To accept help would mean she was in need of help. That alone must have meant a fail.

The exam was over and nobody would call that a display of professional skill. Hannah's determination however, had been proven as it had time and time again.

I bounded over to Hannah. The sight of her hands taught with pain and likely some nasty burns up her arms beneath her sleeves made my gut spin more than ever. It must have been painful. Drive like this alienates me from people like her. I'd rather have been anywhere else than have witnessed that stupidity done just to try and pass a junior licence exam.

“Drink.” The examiner commanded again. “You cannot continue in your state. There is a risk of permanent damage. Cooperation is advised lest you wish to be barred from ever practising magic ever again.”

Like a hammer stroke to the head, the mere thought of that punishment sobered her up of the pain and pride.

Even if Hannah tried to take the vial her fingers probably wouldn't be able to properly grasp it.

The examiner held the vial to Hannah's lips. After the content of the vial were drunk the second examiner placed their hand at the base of Hannah's neck and incanted a spell.

The tension in her immediately subsided and her breathing began to normalise. Her hands were still stuck in their position as though they were trying to squeeze the air but Hannah looked like she could now at least wiggle her fingers with considerable pain. She was normally as white as they get without being mistaken for a snowman but her fingers had turned a raw red.

“We will escort you to the nearest medical facility. Please during your rest reflect on your actions and come up with a plan for a less self-destructive method of overcoming the same obstacle.”

Hannah had an angry fire in her eyes as she bit back her reply. It was going to be a long week. She probably vowed in her head that she'd get them next time.