After the past few days of her life, chaotic as they were, Megan was slightly relieved to return to the relatively normal life of a student in the College. The other students had enjoyed a relaxing two-week break from their studies, awaiting the start of a new year and making decisions about the future of their studies. They selected new classes, dropped old ones, or continued as they were. Some had advanced enough in their studies to acquire jobs within the College network and started those.

Megan had expected an uptick in the number of sideways looks she would receive this year, but even she was taken aback by some of the reactions that came from her fellow students. Many of her fellow new Proficients, Jordan and Rachel included, knew her well enough to keep their reactions limited, though some of her peers, like Michael, peppered her with questions the second that they saw her.

“What has he been teaching you?” Michael asked her, for about the thirtieth time that day. “You think you’ll be passing me up any time soon?”

“Shut up, Michael,” Rachel said, quite politely. “She’s only had two weeks of learning so far. And she was always better than you.”

Michael’s only response was to give Rachel a mock-wounded look, but he finally let the matter drop. For an hour. Their teachers seemed to be in on it too, Megan reflected. She’d always been a good student, so the way they treated her hadn’t changed much. If anything, they seemed to show her a little more respect. She was still asked to stand and give her answer to the more pressing or difficult answers that their teachers offered them, but then again, she’d done that in the past. Such was the life of a diligent student.

The students in years above her, the Adepts and Masters, were yet again different. Some of them, having met Megan in the year since she’d began her studies, knew her a little better and were friendlier to her when they passed in the halls. Others were perplexed that a mere Proficient could be chosen as a Paragon Apprentice. It was the opinion of many in their ranks that someone a little more accomplished should have received the role and the prestige that came with it.

The younger students mostly had the same reaction whenever they saw Megan. Even after two weeks away, the local legend of Megan Richards, the personal apprentice to the Archmage of Knowledge had started to grow. They stopped in their tracks when they saw her, and, ignoring the friends and classmates beside her, stooped into low bows, their eyes wide with awe. She tried to refuse these overtures of respect at first but quickly came to the realization that she couldn’t do a thing to stop them.

Samuel, true to his word, didn’t try to reach out to her at all that first day, or the next. In fact, it didn’t seem like he attended any College functions. The only class he taught, attended by a crowd of hand-selected students, was canceled for the first week, and its students were enjoying a free period in the time that they’d normally be lectured by the Archmage. This was common for his students, however, for Samuel was known to take random journeys when it was least expected.

Megan’s first real surprise of the week came towards the end of her second day, just as the lunch hour was coming to a close. She was returning from the Heron Tavern, talking jovially with Rachel and Jordan, when a figure stepped out to block their path, just inside the entrance to the College grounds. There was already a large crowd of students gathered, watching the stranger. Megan came up short when she saw him, and Rachel and Jordan faltered to a stop as well.

“Megan Richards!” the boy, who looked to be about a year older than her, shouted her name. Much more loudly than their proximity demanded, she thought. “I challenge you to a mage’s duel!”

Megan immediately took a step back, half-tempted to hide behind Jordan’s larger frame. The stranger wore the red robes of a Proficient, and though Megan didn’t know him personally, she knew that he was one of those few who attended Samuel’s classes. He’d already graduated from the special Spellblade training, that year-long program that taught Samuel’s own unique fighting style to students who opted to study it. His robes bore the symbol of the Thunderborn family, marking him as a member of one of the most elite mage families, and was already decorated with two badges of combat service.

Rachel cursed under her breath, just loud enough for Megan and Jordan to hear. Stepping forward, she shouted back at the Proficient in Megan’s place. “Go away, Thunderborn! It’s too early in the year for this nonsense!”

Thunderborn gave no indication that he had heard Rachel, his eyes instead locked on Megan. “You should not have been selected as Archmage Bragg’s Paragon Apprentice! That mantle should have gone to one of his own students. I demand that you trade your robe back in, and let a worthier successor earn it!”

In spite of her nerves, Megan felt her face go red. Hadn’t he heard about her very violent attempt to do just that? Surely one of Samuel’s more devoted students would have known about that and recognized that she had no choice in the matter. She opened her mouth to say something to that effect, but the arrival of yet another person interrupted her.

“Why are you challenging a weak girl like her, Proficient Thunderborn?” A voice, coming from behind the crowd, rang out in the expectant silence. “If you want a strong challenge, you can always fight me.”

Mutters of surprise rippled through the crowd at this new development. The Spellblades, while being trained and reporting directly to Samuel, had a similar honor duel system to that of Issho-Ni. It was seen as shameful for one of its members to refuse a challenge to an honest match. Yet the stranger, and Megan had recognized the voice immediately, hadn’t actually issued a true challenge. But it couldn’t be denied that he had the attention of everyone within the area.

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The crowd parted to let the new person be shown, and Michael could be recognized. Megan had no idea where he’d come from, or what he’d been doing, but looking at him standing there now, a sword at his waist, he looked oddly impressive, as if some unknown god had placed him there for that exact moment and purpose. Megan, Rachel, and Jordan looked at him in surprise. They’d had no idea that Michael had applied for Spellblade training, let alone been accepted. He’d kept the news quiet.

Thunderborn whirled around at Michael’s words, ready for the challenge they could all sense was coming. Once he recognized the source, he scoffed. “Apprentice Ciayol, what the devil do you think you’re doing? You think you stand a chance against me?”

A grin crossed Michael’s face, one that his friends recognized immediately. There was one unique trait about him that made him an excellent friend, and terrifying rival. He loved fighting. He loved it so much that, ignoring the rules, he would challenge any person that he thought shared his obsession, regardless of rank. He got this hungry sort of look in his eyes that made him look more bestial, one of the few moments that you really started to understand that he was one of Bora Bora’s descendants.

“Hey, now,” he said, his eye starting to smolder. “You interrupt my beautiful friend’s day with a rude challenge but get all indignant when someone calls you out? You seem so eager for a pointless fight. Why wouldn’t you accept one from me?”

The crowd was forced to move yet again as a figure in blue robes stepped into view, looking from Michael to Thunderborn, then to Megan. A Master, the crowd muttered. The presence and witness of a Master were required for any duel to be an official one. Of course, this rule didn’t stop other students from fighting unofficially, but the decision to step into the open cast a light on the situation and made the next few seconds crucial. Either make a real challenge or get a move on, the Master’s eyes said.

Thunderborn looked less sure of himself as he glanced at the Master, but he still had a stubborn set to his shoulders. He decided, unwisely, to just ignore Michael. He opened his mouth once again to challenge Megan, but Michael shouted over him, making the moment unavoidable.

“Megan-”

“Nathaniel Thunderborn!” Michael roared. “I challenge you to a mage’s duel!”

Thunderborn flinched at the words and slowly turned to face Michael. The challenge had been heard clear as day, and he couldn’t refuse now. Like many others within the College, Thunderborn knew of Michael’s natural gift at both magic and combat and knew that he liked to challenge students above him. He didn’t always win, but he certainly had a reputation. He controlled his features, offering Michael a seemingly confident smile.

“Spellblade rules?” He asked. “Or are you not confident in your skills?”

“Of course,” Michael agreed, drawing his sword and making the extra challenge irrefutable. “Come on, Thunderborn, let’s see if you’ve earned those badges.”

That slight insult was enough to motivate Thunderborn. With a snarl of anger, he ripped his own blade free, and the crowd took several steps back. Smiling slightly, the Master took another step forward, raising both of his hands. He knew this would happen, and had wanted to be the one to officiate and witness it. Like all Masters of the College, he believed in a certain way of doing things, and that way did not include ambushing fellow students for a challenge. He looked at Michael for a long second, passing a silent message. Michael nodded his understanding. Time to teach Thunderborn a lesson.

“Begin!”

The instant the word left the Master’s mouth, Thunderborn charged forward, the runes along his blade flaring up with his mana. He brought his sword across in a wide, powerful swipe. Michael, whose blade was unadorned, wasted no time in attempting to block. He simply flicked his left hand in a whip-like motion, creating a bolt of lightning that shot straight for Thunderborn’s face.

The crowd let out a shout of surprise at the counterattack, but Thunderborn’s reactions were finely honed. A mere inch from his face, the bolt was deflected by his Counterspell, the spell that was only mastered by a lucky few. It was, of course, one of the many original spells that Samuel taught to his students. The attack gone, he lunged forward again, his sword reaching for a thrust now. But Michael was no longer there.

The novice Spellblade appeared behind his opponent through a quick Travel spell, energy bursting off his body as he reached out to grab Thunderborn’s collar. He yanked the other student back with surprising strength, twisting his hips like a master martial artist and throwing him down to the cobbles. Thunderborn recovered quickly, firing two quick bursts of air that forced Michael to defend, while he rolled back to his feet.

A normal mage’s duel featured two mostly stationary figures, each one trying to dominate the other with mental prowess. This fast-paced, physical style of a duel was a rare sight. Despite over five hundred years of Samuel’s influence, it was still a surprise to see mages practicing the more physical magicks, and even rarer to see one that excelled in their use. So this duel between two proficient fighters was a spectacle to the witnesses, and they shouted their obvious delight.

Michael lowered his sword after blocking the two strikes, a dangerous light of joy in his eyes. Unknown to his fellow students, Michael had been training with his cousin in the Maravino, the Crown’s elite fighting force, for the past few months. He’d recognized his own weakness with physical combat and had worked hard to fix that. So he’d taken on the extra training, in secret, and hadn’t given the slightest inkling of his new skills until now.

Thunderborn clearly hadn’t expected him to have an idea of what he was doing, and his face said as much. Glaring across at his opponent, he knew as well as anyone that he’d only just barely managed to avoid losing the duel in an instant. He had nearly three years more experience in this style of fighting than Michael, did, and he was furious that a mere apprentice Spellblade could have upset his stride so easily.

“You’ll pay for that, Ciayol,” he snarled. “Don’t think that just because you know how to swing a sword that you can defeat me. I’m months from Masterhood.”

“That may be true,” Michael said, his eyes positively flaming with battle lust. “But I’ll still put you flat on your behind.”