Front yard buzzed with life, a sprawling mix of applicants and uniformed students scattered across the square-shaped space. The cobblestone path that cut through the square was teeming with movement, leading from the iron gates to the massive wooden doors of the main building. At its center stood the stone fountain, the statue of the hooded figure holding its wand aloft towering over us like some silent guardian. The gentle trickle of water did little to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in my head.
Applicants huddled together in small groups, their voices a mix of excitement, nerves, and bravado. Students clad in their sharp uniforms, lingered on the grass beneath the shade of the trees or leaned casually against the walls, their blue and green ties marking their years. Their presence seemed almost deliberate, as if meant to remind us of the gulf between where we stood now and where we might one day be.
Amid the wave of faces, Alina stood out. Her attire, far more striking than the uniformed students around her, set her apart even more. The white blouse, corset-style lacing, and tall leather boots made her look less like a scholar and more like someone ready to step into the wilderness. She sat on a stone bench near the fountain, her auburn hair catching the sunlight as she leaned back. Her expression was distant, as if lost in thought, but when she caught sight of me, she waved back with a small smile.
I made my way over, weaving through the throng of applicants. Her sharp hazel eyes scanned me the moment I approached, taking in my slouched shoulders and the faint scowl that clung to my face. She didn’t need to ask to know something had gone wrong.
“What happened?” she asked, her tone measured but curious. “Did it go bad?”
I slumped onto the bench beside her, my gaze fixed on the statue in the fountain. The figure’s raised wand seemed to mock me, its poise and power the exact opposite of what I’d felt in that room. “I messed up,” I said flatly. “They asked me to perform a fire spell. It didn’t work.”
Her brows shot up, genuine surprise flickering across her face. “Fire spell? That’s a tough one even for me,” she said, leaning back and swinging her legs idly beneath the bench. “Must’ve been Professor Bloodrose. He’s a nightmare to please.” She smirked faintly, clearly amused by some memory. “He asked me ‘what would happen if two fire spells collided.’ Like hell I’d know. So I just smiled and gave him some nonsense about ‘combustion and magical destabilization.’ I don’t even know what that means.”
I couldn’t help but crack a faint smile at her self-assuredness. “And how’d the others go?” I asked.
She leaned back, her fingers laced behind her head, confidence radiating from her. “Pretty well, actually. Professor Varon gave me a bunch of rare herbs to identify, like Bloodwort and Silverleaf. Felt like they’d done their homework on me. Nailed every question, though.” She paused, a flicker of pride in her tone. “Even Professor Faeheart praised me for my answers regarding treatments on beasts. What about you?”
I exhaled through my nose, trying to piece together the fragments of my performance. “Professor Varon gave me potions to identify. I picked the right one but fumbled the explanation, it wasn’t precise enough from her expression. Professor Faeheart’s scenario was... little complicated. And Professor Selvar’s trick with the apples? I caught the illusion, but it felt like he wasn’t satisfied with my reason.”
Alina chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Professor Selvar is tricky one. Did you see how young he is? He made me cast a light spell, ‘wisp light’. Simple enough, but it took me three tries to get it right.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “But did you notice the Headmaster? I wasn’t expecting him to be part of the test.”
I nodded. “He’s... intriguing,” I admitted. “There’s something about him. He has the air of someone who’s seen more than they let on.”
“Like some old man from the village?” she teased.
“Something like that,” I muttered, staring at the statue again. Its face was hidden, but I could feel its unseen gaze bearing down on me.
Alina stretched her arms, yawing on the back of her hand. “Well, let’s wait for Rowan, then we’ll grab something to eat. I’m starving already.”
I nodded absently, letting the murmur of the yard wash over me as the minutes turned to hours. The sun shifted in the sky, casting long shadows from the western spire, its sharp silhouette cutting across the yard like a sundial.
Finally, I spotted Rowan stepping through the back doors, his grin wide and triumphant, like he’d just bested an army. His brown coat was slightly rumpled, and his hair, as usual, was a mess, but he looked alive with energy. Alina and I rose to meet him as he jogged toward us, his voice carrying before he even got close.
The shadows stretched long across the yard by the time Rowan emerged from the building, his usual messy hair sticking up even more than usual, his face split into a wide grin. He strode toward us like a victorious soldier returning from battle.
“Come on, guys,” he called out, rubbing his stomach dramatically. “I’m starving! It took forever in there. There are still a few left to go. Let’s eat.”
Alina stood, shaking her head with mock exasperation. “Don’t scream about it. We’ve also been waiting for hours, you know. Let’s head to the Feast Hall. Applicants are allowed in there today.”
Rowan grinned and dashed toward the main building. “Then let’s go! What are we waiting for?”
Alina shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she followed him. “You’re insufferable.”
I trailed behind, the tension from earlier still lingering but fading with each step.
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Feast Hall was alive with noises. The scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and rich spices filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of smoke from the hearths. Three long tables stretched the length of the hall. Bowls and platters piled high with food lined the tables: roasted chicken, thick sausages, steaming fish, freshly baked loaves, and enough fruit to feed a village. It was a feast fit for nobles, the kind of food I had only dreamed of eating with the loose pockets of mine.
The applicants, dressed in a mix of plain tunics and travel-worn cloaks, were scattered along the benches. Many were eating as though this truly were their last meal, their hunger more apparent than their manners. The chandeliers above cast a warm, golden light, while the candles mounted along the walls burned steadily, their flames unwavering. At the far end of the hall stood a raised platform, its long table currently empty. Ten chairs sat behind it, the one in the center a high-backed seat that resembled a throne.
Servants, dressed in plain but neat uniforms, moved swiftly between the tables, carrying trays of fresh food to replace what was taken. Doors on either side of the platform opened and shut in rhythm as they came and went.
Rowan practically drooled as he stepped inside, his eyes darting from dish to dish. “By the gods,” he muttered. “If this is how we’re eating every day, I don’t even care about the tuition.”
I couldn’t deny it. My mouth watered as I took in the spread, though I tried to keep my composure. Alina, on the other hand, didn’t flinch, her sharp eyes scanning the room with detached interest.
“I was wondering where all the applicants had gone,” Alina remarked, her hazel eyes scanning the hall. “Look at them clawing at the meat. You’d think they’d never eaten before.”
We found a spot at the far corner of the hall, away from the loudest groups. Rowan immediately dove into the food, piling his plate with bacon and bread. “Fuck. This is amazing,” he said between bites, his lack of manners earning a sharp look from Alina.
“You’re going to choke,” she said, though her tone was more amused than scolding.
I grabbed a piece of pork, the tender meat practically melting in my mouth. “Definitely worth it,” I muttered, leaning back in my chair.
Alina wrinkled her nose at our lack of etiquette but gave a soft chuckle before finally helping herself to a piece of chicken. “You two are animals,” she said with mock disdain.
Rowan grinned, grabbing another handful of bacon. “How’d your assessment go, anyway? You didn’t flirt with that handsome professor, did you?”
Alina smirked, her tone dry. “If you must know, I probably aced it. Impressed the two professors and did better on the others. What about you?”
Rowan looked up smirking. “Lady luck was with me. Most of the professors didn’t give any interest to my charms. But the Headmaster questioned me the most. I didn’t think he’d actually be involved in the entrance exams. You said otherwise.”
Alina leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “Apparently, the professor assigned to oversee the exam had to leave for ‘personal reasons.’ So, he took over. One of the seniors told me about it.”
I nodded, remembering the weight of his gaze. “He’s… different. Wise. Sharp. Strong…”
Rowan snorted, shaking his head. “Well, he didn’t seem to hate me, so I’ll take that as a win.”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Speaking of commotion, did you hear what happened after you left, Einar?”
I set my fork down, meeting his gaze. “What happened?”
“There was an applicant named ‘Owen Harshton’. They say his wand burst during his test. His hand was mangled. Blood everywhere.” Rowan’s tone was quieter now, serious. “They rushed him to the infirmary. If professors hadn’t acted quickly, he might’ve lost the arm.”
Alina froze mid-bite, her hazel eyes widening. “His wand burst? That doesn’t just happen. Unless…”
Rowan leaned closer, his voice dropping further. “Unless it was sabotaged. A senior whispered that the wand had cracks all over it, invisible to the eye but rough in hands. It wasn’t fit for casting. Someone must’ve tampered with it.”
“When did this happen?” I asked, my voice low.
“Not long after you left, he was the next applicant after you,” Rowan said, eyeing me. “It could’ve been you, you know. Good thing it wasn’t. Goddess must be watching over you.”
Alina’s voice cut through my spiralling thoughts. “How could I have missed the cracks? I performed the spell too, and it worked perfectly.
“You might have missed it, don’t linger on it much,” Rowan replied simply, though his tone carried a note of unease.
I stared down at my plate, the bacon forgotten. The noise of the hall faded to a distant hum. The wand… I remembered its smooth texture when I had picked it up. And then, after the failed spell, the roughness. The cracks. No one had noticed. No one can notice as they were not there before. Fuck. Did it happen because of me? My wild essence? My wild magic?
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“Einar,” Rowan called, his voice distant at first. I blinked, realizing he’d been speaking for some time. He shook my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You alright? You’ve been staring at that plate like it owes you some explanation.”
“Huh? Yeah,” I muttered, shaking my head.
Rowan raised an eyebrow, then gestured toward Alina. “She was saying we should wait in the yard for the results. What do you think? Stay here or get some air?”
Alina glanced at me, her expression expectant but concerned. I pushed my plate away, standing. “Let’s get some fresh air,” I said, my voice firm. “Can’t stand all this chatter.”
Rowan shrugged, grabbing one last piece of bacon before following. Alina trailed behind, her sharp eyes watching me carefully, though she said nothing. The unease in my chest refused to settle.
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The evening light cast long, slanted shadows across the front yard of the college. The stone paths glistened faintly with dew, and the flickering lanterns mounted along the walls painted the scene in hues of gold and soft orange. Most of the yard was bathed in this dim, warm glow, though the towering spires above us loomed dark and shadowed against the purple sky. The sound of the crowd was a low hum, punctuated by the occasional laugh or murmur of conversation.
It had been hours since the feast, and the excitement of the day had begun to wane for most of us. Rowan, however, seemed immune to the weariness. His voice carried as he went on and on about the houses—Drakenhall, Umbrawards, Luminaris, Calithor, and Nightingale—their different cultures, competitions, and reputations.
Alina had long since stopped trying to reason with him, her head propped on her hand as she absently tapped her boot against the cobblestones. “Rowan,” she interrupted at one point, her tone exasperated but faintly amused, “if you say the word Drakenhall one more time, I’ll throw my boot at you.”
Rowan ignored her entirely, his brown eyes wide with excitement. “Imagine the competitions though!” he continued, his hands gesturing wildly. “They say the winning house gets access to restricted spells and rare tomes. Special rewards, Alina! Spells! And fame! And food. Did I mention the food?”
I leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, letting their voices wash over me. The lantern light above flickered, casting fleeting shadows across Rowan’s animated face. Alina’s pointed sarcasm. The light breeze carrying the smell of damp earth and a faint metallic tang, possibly from the wrought-iron gates nearby.
“Not to mention the jobs,” Rowan added, shifting closer to us. “You can earn coins by working at the infirmary or the library. Two coppers a day! That’s not bad, considering how broke we’ll all be after paying tuition.”
“Rowan,” Alina sighed, running a hand through her auburn hair, “you’ve gone from house rivalries to labor economics. Impressive. Truly.”
“Someone has to think ahead,” Rowan shot back, flashing a grin. “What about you, Einar? Which house are you betting on?”
“Does it matter?” I asked, my voice flat but not unkind. “We’ll end up where they think we belong.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Optimistic as ever.”
Before I could reply, a sharp whistle cut through the chatter. A senior student, clad in the black-and-silver-lined robes of a fifth-year, stood near the center of the yard, waving a hand to gather our attention. Around him, the scattered applicants began to drift closer, forming a loose crowd.
In the midst of the growing assembly stood Professor Selvar, his playful smirk unmistakable even in the dim light. He held a folded parchment in one hand and raised the other to silence the murmur of voices.
“Good evening, applicants,” Selvar began, his tone light and easy, as though we weren’t all waiting with bated breath. “I hope you enjoyed the meal earlier today. I regret to inform you, however, that not all of you will get to enjoy it again. Not until next year, at least.”
A ripple of unease passed through the crowd. I could feel the tension growing, a coiled spring in the air. Selvar, as always, seemed to thrive on it.
“I have here,” he said, lifting the parchment, “the names of those who have passed today’s trials. Remember, there were only thirty-two seats left. And I am delighted to say…” He paused for effect, his dark eyes scanning the sea of nervous faces. “…that every seat has been filled. I will now read the names of those who earned their place. Ready?”
A resounding “Yes!” erupted from the crowd, though some voices carried more desperation than confidence.
Selvar smiled, almost lazily. “The first name on this list—our top scorer for the day—is Alina Eveline. Forty-three points in her written test alone, plus five additional points from her assessments. That gives her a total of forty-eight out of fifty. Grade A. Well done, Miss Eveline. Come to the front.”
The joy on Alina’s face was impossible to miss. Her hazel eyes widened in disbelief, then quickly softened into a proud, restrained smile as she tried to hide her emotions behind her hands. Rowan gave her an exaggerated clap on the back, nearly knocking her off balance. “Look at you, top of the class already,” he teased. “Don’t forget us commoners when you’re famous.”
“Shut up,” she muttered, though her smile lingered as she stepped forward to join Selvar.
The list continued. Name after name was called, the crowd thinning slowly as the selected applicants moved to the professor’s side. For every name called, there were dozens left standing, their hope dimming with each announcement. I shifted my weight, arms still crossed, counting the names as they came. Twenty. Twenty-five. Rowan glanced at me nervously as if willing his name to come next.
Finally, Selvar called out, “Rowan Aldwych. Thirty-eight points in the written test, plus five from his assessments. Total of forty-three points.”
Rowan punched the air, grinning ear to ear. “Yes!” He turned to me and clapped me on the shoulder. “Told you I’d make it. See you on the other side.” Then, with a confident stride, he joined Alina.
The names kept coming, slower now. I waited, unmoving, until finally—“Einar Emberheart. Thirty-five points on the written, plus four from his assessments. Total of thirty-nine points.”
The relief that coursed through me was immediate but muted. I exhaled quietly, stepping forward to join the others. It wasn’t about pride or joy—just survival. For today, I had made it.
When the last name was called—“Aaranoc Leapis”—Selvar tucked the parchment under his arm and addressed the remaining applicants. “That will be all,” he said, his tone softer now. “To those who couldn’t pass, this isn’t the end. Try again next year. Remember, if you have the will to learn, no exam can stop you. No college can stop you. Thank you for being here.”
As the defeated applicants shuffled toward the gates, some with bowed heads and others muttering angrily, Selvar turned back to us. “As for you,” he said, his smirk returning, “follow me. There’s a small 'ceremony' in the Feast Hall. Your house will be announced there. And yes, there will be food too.”
Rowan couldn’t help but grin. “We’ve survived,” he whispered, falling in step beside me.
The walk back to the Feast Hall felt shorter this time, though the cobblestone path seemed darker under the night sky. The warm glow spilling from the hall’s windows was more inviting than ever, promising food, shelter, and—for now—some semblance of certainty.
When we reached the Feast Hall, the long wooden doors were open wide, spilling golden light onto the cobblestones. The warm glow illuminated the darkening night, drawing us in like moths to a flame. Inside, the hall was alive with the soft murmur of voices and the clinking of dishes.
The five long tables that dominated the room were almost empty, except for the first-years who had been selected earlier in the day. Their robes were crisp, their ties bright with their respective house colors: crimson for Drakenhall, grey for Umbrawards, yellow for Luminaris, green for Calithor, and black for Nightingale. The students sat at their assigned tables in neat clusters, their excitement palpable even from a distance.
The smell of food hit me again, stronger this time—a heady mix of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spiced stews. My stomach growled in response, and I glanced at Rowan, whose grin widened as his gaze locked onto a platter of chicken wings near the far end of one table.
Professor Selvar led us to the front of the hall, where the teachers’ table stood on an elevated platform. The same table I’d seen earlier, with its throne-like chair in the center, now seated the professors, including Selvar himself, who took his place alongside them. Professor Bloodrose sat stiffly, his crimson robes pristine, his expression as sharp and unyielding as ever. Professor Faeheart smiled faintly, her calm presence a stark contrast to Bloodrose’s cold demeanor. Headmaster D’Athrin sat at the center, his silver-blue robes catching the candlelight, his piercing gaze scanning us like a hawk watching over its flock.
The hall slowly quieted as the remaining first-years, including me, Alina, and Rowan, found seats at the long tables. We sat together at an empty spot near the middle, the tension in the air easing as the promise of food loomed closer. Rowan wasted no time grabbing a piece of bread from a nearby platter, shoving it into his mouth with zero regard for decorum.
“You’re insufferable,” Alina muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched in amusement.
Before Rowan could respond, a sharp slap echoed through the hall. It came from one of the professors at the teachers’ table, their hand striking the wood to draw our attention. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to the Headmaster as he rose from his seat.
“Welcome, students,” Headmaster D’Athrin began, his voice smooth and deep, carrying effortlessly across the hall. “You have come far. Each of you has proven yourselves worthy to stand here today. This is not a place for the ordinary. You were chosen because you possess something rare—something powerful. You were chosen not just for your knowledge, but for your character. Remember that.”
His eyes swept across the room, lingering on each of us in turn. When his gaze met mine, I felt the weight of it, as though he could see straight through me.
“Magic,” he continued, “is not a privilege. It is not a toy. It is a force—one that can heal, protect, and create, but also destroy. Within these walls, you will learn to wield it with precision, restraint, and purpose. And let me warn you now: there are forces beyond these walls that will seek to use you. To control you. To destroy you. Here, you are safe. Here, you will be tested—not only in skill but in will. And if you prove yourself worthy, you will leave these halls stronger than you could ever imagine.”
His words settled over us like a heavy blanket, silencing even Rowan’s usual chatter. The headmaster’s tone shifted, becoming softer but no less commanding. “This academy stands on the pillars of excellence, integrity, and curiosity. Let these values guide your path forward. Now,” he said, gesturing toward Selvar, “I leave the next part to Professor Selvar. Most of you will find him more engaging then the old me.”
Headmaster returned to his seat with a soft chuckle, and Professor Selvar stood with a laugh. He moved to the edge of the platform, raising his wand as he spoke. “Now we will move on to the houses. The college is divided into five houses: Calithor, Drakenhall, Luminaris, Nightingale, and Umbrawards. Each house reflects different qualities, ideologies, and strengths. But make no mistake—your house is more than a name or color. It is your family, your comrades, and your responsibility. You will succeed together, or you will fail together.”
He flicked his wand toward the back of the room, and with a whispered chant, an illusionary parchment materialized above the doorway. The parchment floated midair, its edges glowing faintly as it unfurled to reveal five columns of names, each topped with the sigil and color of a house. Gasps and whispers broke out as the new students craned their necks, searching for their names.
I scanned the list quickly, my eyes darting between the columns. And then I saw it: Drakenhall.
My name was listed under the crimson dragon sigil, alongside ‘Rowan Thorvald and Alina Eveline’. Rowan let out a triumphant whoop, pumping his fist in the air. “We’re in the same house!” he exclaimed, grinning at both of us.
Alina smiled faintly, her excitement more subdued but no less genuine. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other,” she said, though there was warmth in her tone.
Selvar continued, his voice carrying over the murmurs. “Your assigned houses were determined based on the tests. Each of us tested your character, instincts, and thought processes, and your final results revealed where you belong. Your house leaders will be arriving shortly to welcome you. In the meantime,” he said, gesturing to the tables, “enjoy your meal.”
With that, Selvar returned to his seat, and the professors began conversing quietly among themselves.
The tension in the room dissolved almost instantly, replaced by the sound of clattering dishes and excited chatter. The servants came with more plates of food, and the tables quickly filled with the kind of food that made the earlier feast pale in comparison.
Rowan wasted no time grabbing a plate of roasted chicken wings, stuffing one into his mouth before turning to us. “Drakenhall,” he said, his voice muffled by food. “Best house already.”
“Don’t choke,” Alina replied dryly, though she was smiling as she reached for a bowl of stew.
I ate in silence, my thoughts lingering on the headmaster’s words. Your house is your family now. The weight of those words settled in my chest, heavier than I cared to admit. I glanced at Alina, who was absentmindedly stirring her stew, and Rowan, who was enthusiastically tearing into another piece of chicken.
We were strangers, in truth, bound together only by circumstance. But something told me that wouldn’t last long. Whether I liked it or not, Drakenhall was now my family.
And families, I’d learned, were both a blessing and a curse.