A numb sensation was creeping from the top of Megan’s head and working its way to her toes. The Archmage’s words bounced around in her head, which seemed to be quite empty at the moment. She simple stared back at him, mind and body blank. Then, after what felt like hours, she let out a nervous laugh. The simple noise broke the silence, and her brain slammed back into its normal operation. The shock was still there but temporarily supplanted by confusion and humor.

“What are you talking about?” She said, a quizzical half-smile forming on her face. “I’m from Jyrok.”

Samuel looked at her for a long moment, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “No, actually, you’re not. The memories I gave you are of growing up in Jyrok.”

“The…. memories you gave me?”

He gave her a nod of confirmation, a sympathetic and slightly wary expression on his face. “You were born in a city called Miami if memory serves. I pulled you to Ahya shortly after Eric died, and gave you a year to get acquainted with life in Milagre.”

The random thought occurred to her that, when she’d applied to join the College, her initial skills had been deemed too advanced for the first year. She’d been put straight into the second-year class, despite this being a very rare occurrence. She’d suffered a lot of questions because of the event. Her peers had thought she’d received special treatment, but she’d just shrugged the insinuations off, confident that her natural skills were just that good.

Now she wondered if that had been Samuel’s doing as well. Had he intended her to train in magic and become his apprentice from the start? Well, that certainly seemed to be the case. Then her logic and reason returned, and in her usual stubborn way, she crossed her arms. She set her face to be as impassive as possible and gave the Archmage her best disapproving frown.

“Archmage Bragg, this is a very bad joke,” She said firmly. “Please drop this disturbing topic at once. While you’re at it, I don’t want to be your Paragon Apprentice.”

“I assure you,” he replied, “it is not a joke. I am telling you the truth.”

“Then prove it,” she challenged. “Give me back my memories of this other world I’m supposedly from.”

As the challenge left her lips, she realized that he could just create another fake memory. But then she thought about it, and realized that she couldn’t remember a single spell in existence that could modify someone’s memory to that extent. She clearly remembered growing up on the rocky coast of Jyrok, playing on and around the gargantuan cliffs that were the token landscape of the area. Nobody could recreate twenty-six years of memory with that accuracy. Sure, Bragg was good, but not that good.

“Certainly,” he said at once, moving forward. “That’s the easiest way to prove my claim and start your introduction.”

As he took several steps towards her, something deep inside Megan reacted instinctively, and violently. Her hands instantly came up to ward him off, and she spat a spell out. It was low power, but effective for stuns. Bragg reacted instantly, his own left hand coming up and swatting the small lightning bolt away. Did he just smack lightning with his bare hands?

Undeterred, Megan took a hasty step back and fired off another spell, this one considerably more powerful. A solid wave of air burst from her out in a full sphere, sending objects around her flying in all directions. But again, Bragg just put one hand out. The instant the barrier touched it, it dispersed. Well, damn, she thought. He paused in his advance now, a thoughtful expression coming across his face.

“Why are you attacking me?” He asked. “You asked me to give you your memories back.”

Instead of replying, she pooled the mana in her hands and stretched it, creating a short and thin stick out of the material. It was one of the few spells she knew that didn’t require an incantation, and therefore one of her fastest. She swung the stick at Samuel’s head. She had thought of a blade but didn’t want to initiate lethal combat with the Archmage. Plus, if she could just stun him, then she could be out and away before he got back up.

There was a bright flash of light that nearly blinded her, and Samuel had gripped the conjured weapon with his right hand. He still looked very hesitant, but now there was a bit of impatience mixed in. He pointed at her with his left hand, drawing a circle in the air. Now, she knew that Samuel was the undisputed master of silent and fast casting, but the effect seemed to hit her even before he finished describing the circular motion with his finger. An invisible force hit her behind the knees, sweeping her legs out from under her and sending her crashing to the floor.

It was only as she hit the hard stone of his office floor that she realized he had manipulated the air to swing around her and hit her knees. But she wasn’t given any more time to consider the attack, nor launch one of her own before Samuel reached down and lightly tapped the center of her forehead. Then her vision seemed to fade away from the scene, and she began to see quite another scenario around her.

She was in some kind of building, though it looked alien. The architecture and decor around her were much more colorful than any she’d ever seen There was a bed, more extravagant than any she’d ever owned, taking up one corner. The floor was wood but felt like cold stone on her bare feet. And on the wall across from the bed was a mirror. Those were rare in Tyrman, a luxury that only the richest could afford. She looked into it and saw herself. With one very obvious change.

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She was not wearing her wizard apprentice’s robes, but a loose-fitting tunic that had very short sleeves, and breeches made of some blue fabric. She reached down to feel them, encountering a rough texture. Certainly not like any clothes she’d ever owned. Unbidden, a word occurred to her mind, pulled from some distant place she didn’t know. Jeans.

She blinked, and the scenery changed once more. She was walking on a wide path made of huge square stones, under a bright sun. She smelled the familiar sting of salt on the air, which meant she was close to the ocean. She was also carrying several heavy books in her arms, and on her back was a very oddly designed rucksack. Glancing at the books, she realized they were made of clean white paper, not the yellowy parchment she was used to for school. Textbooks.

She had to hurry up, she told herself furiously. The first day of college, and she’d been stupid enough to oversleep. There had only been enough time for a quick shower and to throw on the first clothes she could find before she had to bolt out of her dorm room and sprint for class. Showing up late on the first day would not give a good impression to her professors. Professors? The word was foreign and strange to her.

“Megan Richards, please report to the Dean’s Office.” A loud bodiless voice echoed across the massive courtyard she was standing in. “Megan Richards, please report to the Dean’s Office.”

Crap, she thought. What kind of trouble was she already in to be summoned to the dean’s office? She’d been in the college less than a day, and already things were going badly for her. With a sigh, she hefted the stack of books a little higher and changed directions. She remembered where the Dean’s Office was thanks to the tour she’d been given, months ago, during Orientation.

The halls of the administration were, unsurprisingly, nearly deserted. Nearly all students were either in a class by now, or in their dorms soundly asleep. Megan caught sight of a few teachers and office aides here and there through windows, typing on keyboards, or else talking on the phone. In the first week of the new term, there was a lot of clerical work to be done. Students had to pay their tuition, change classes, or some other minor thing that snowballed into the quiet chaos she now witnessed.

Outside the Dean’s office, she knocked three times. There was an immediate quieting of the voices inside, then a call for her to enter. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and pushed the door open. The Dean, who she recognized at once, was sitting behind his desk. Across from him, in one of the two chairs facing the desk, was a tall man with black hair and bright blue eyes. It was Samuel, her bewildered brain supplied.

He looked very strange outside of his Archmage robe. He was instead wearing a tight-fitting and very expensive-looking white suit, with a dark blue shirt peeking through. He also wore a tie, a dark silver in color, and on his wrist was a very shiny watch. He looked like a banker, she mused to herself.

“Ah, Miss Richards,” The Dean stood up and gestured her to the other empty chair. “Please, have a seat. This is Mr. Samuel Bragg.”

She wanted to say ‘I know’, but the words wouldn’t leave her mouth. Instead, what she heard herself say was a meek ‘hello Mr. Bragg’. Samuel smiled warmly and gave his usual reply of ‘please, just call me Samuel’. Archmage Bragg was well-known for his dislike of official titles and formality. He would tell everyone, even lowly apprentice mages just starting school, to call him by his first name, and ignore any of the many titles he had.

“Mr. Bragg represents the Ahya Support Fund,” The Dean was saying now. “He has been scouting our campus for promising individuals for some time now, and would like to have a few words with you.”

Megan looked at the Dean in confusion. Had he really just used Ahya’s name? How could he possibly know it? This world was far too advanced to be the world she knew, she thought. Also, she added in her own mind, what a strange name to give this shady organization. She wondered why Samuel had chosen it. The Dean, after shaking Samuel’s hand once more, promptly left his own office, closing the door quietly as he disappeared.

“Greetings, Megan Richard,” Samuel said, extending a hand. “I’m very honored to meet you.”

Not wanting to be rude, Megan set her books down and shook his hand. Despite his lanky frame, he had a surprisingly strong grip, and she could see the calluses on his hands that came from hard work. Her Ahyan mind of course knew that Samuel was rumored to be a master with the sword, so this detail didn’t catch her off-guard.

“Nice to meet you too,” she heard herself say, again in that meek, confused voice. “What is the Ahya Support Fund?”

“It is a scholarship,” he explained. “Created to help exceptional students pursue their interests and find their expertise in the world. It is a very new enterprise, but we have a lot of influential people backing us.”

“I’ve won a scholarship?” Megan asked. “But how? I never entered for one.”

This was perfectly true. Her parents were what was referred to as “quietly rich”. They had a lot of money to their name after a lifetime of hard work, but lived conservatively, so their lifestyle was rather bland. But they’d pooled together quite a lump of funds in order to fund their only daughter through college. So when she’d applied, Megan wasn’t required to submit forms for financial aid of any kind.

“Nobody applies for our scholarship,” Samuel replied. “We seek out talent where we can, and draw in recipients when we find them.”

That sounded kind of shady, Megan thought. “So, what exactly are the terms of this scholarship?”

Before Samuel could reply, her view shifted once more, and she was only aware of lights flashing across her vision. Tiny pinpricks of color whipped around her, standing out against a black background. Then she was jerked back by some invisible force, and her eyes opened. She was back on the hard stone floor of the Archmage’s office. Samuel was staring at her intently, his eyes wide with surprise.

“You weren’t supposed to come back that quick,” he said, clearly perplexed. “How much did you see?”

“I met-” she began, but then her mind, already feeling heavy and disoriented, gave up on the rest of the conversation. She felt her head fall back and hit the stone once more, and everything went black.