A few days later, Q, Cedric, and Ronan were together in the main hall, surrounded by their fellow first and second-years. The group sat in quiet anticipation, awaiting the Headmistress’s arrival to deliver the year’s opening remarks and signal the beginning of their first term.

Ronan’s brother, Taylor, had thankfully kept his distance after their initial encounter. To which they were thankful, but the damage had already been done. Cedric and Q faced chilly receptions when introducing themselves to their year-mates, and a late arrival all but ensured their current pariah status would likely continue, in addition to the truth about Q’s parentage being exposed.

They knew he planned to attend the Academy, but in the aftermath of the fire, and in all the hard training that followed, they’d simply forgotten. On their third day, they were greeted by the familiar face of Viscount Reginald Hargrove. Cedric saw him first, kicking Q under the table, and pointing with his head and eyes. As soon as Q’s gaze landed on the young man’s rotund figure, he knew it was only a matter of time until the Viscount recognized one of them.

Q watched as Cedric caught Celeste’s eye, wiggling his fingers in a wave, and mouthing the word hello. She gave him a half smirk before turning back to her friends and ignoring him.

He agreed with Ronan, their friend was playing with fire, but if Cedric wanted to risk getting burned, he was old enough to deal with the consequences. Q wasn’t sure if it was through some unspoken agreement not to approach them, but she was the last of their female classmates to do so. Though there were always those watching, and he doubted he’d ever be comfortable with the sensation.

Suddenly, the doors at the rear of the hall, swung open. Striking their stopper plates with an echoing boom, and out walked an imposing cadre of mages in black robes. It looked like most of their instructors were women, but there were two men among them, from what Q could see. The last person through the door was a woman with shiny silver hair dressed in dark red robes. She stopped in the center of the dais, with the rest spreading out to her sides.

Augmenting her voice, the year’s commencement speech began. “Welcome students, to the hollowed halls of the Mage Academy. These walls will be your home, your training ground, and your crucible. You will learn, grow, and prepare for a future that will not just serve yourselves, but this great kingdom. What you will learn here will shape you into the mage you are destined to become—one who is brave in the face of danger, stands tall under the weight of duty and honor, and will use the magic they learn here to protect, defend, and heal the people of this realm. You will be tested during your time here in ways that you could never imagine. We will not only sharpen your minds, but your bodies, and your spirits. Within these walls, you will learn magic is not merely a weapon or a tool, it is a responsibility—a commitment to those less able than yourselves—to uphold the values that hold our kingdom together. The lessons you learn here will be vital, whether you are called to the battlefield, a flood zone, or the royal court. You are now part of a noble tradition. A lineage of mages who sat right where you are now. They have faced the trials of service and emerged stronger, wiser, and more capable. Understand that your time here is precious. You will only have two years to prepare yourselves for what lies ahead. Use this time wisely. Forge bonds with your peers that will see you through the dark times, because there will be many. When your instruction here concludes, you will enter the world as Mages of the realm, each of you a crucial piece of our kingdom’s future. It is imperative that you take your studies seriously, approach every lesson with determination, and let dedication be your guide. Welcome to the Mage Academy. The Crown looks to you with expectation and hope. Now, let us begin.”

With those parting words, the headmistress spun on her heel and disappeared through the rear doors, which closed behind her with a theatrical finality.

“Not one for pleasantries, is she?” Cedric whispered into the quiet, his voice carrying further than he intended, earning a few giggles or glares from the ladies that overheard.

A black-robed instructor stepped forward, announcing, “Each instructor will now read off the names of those first-years assigned to them. Once you hear your name, please wait to stand until everyone has been called. Then you may leave your seats to join your training groups and instructors.”

There were forty-eight students in Q’s class with ten instructors. Splitting the first-years into groups of five and two groups of four.

The male mages were named first, and it was done alphabetically. With Vaelmara and Valtieri being so close together, they were placed in the same group. Q realized his grandfather may have had more than one reason for not registering him under Ashford.

While the rest of the names were being called, Q leaned over and asked Ronan, “If we are all meeting with the instructors after this, what is everyone in their second year supposed to be doing?”

“We have testing later this afternoon, so we have the morning off, but they want us here to fill the room and create the right effect.” Ronan glibly answered.

Cedric, eavesdropping on their conversation, jumped in. “Testing, oooh, what kind? I love showing off how great I am.”

With a hushed laugh, Ronan shook his head, saying. “You will take it yourselves in the next few days, but the instructors want us to knock it out first. They want to know if and how much we have improved since last year.”

The instructors finishing their list of names, put an end to their discussion, and they stood as those around them rose from their seats. Saying their goodbyes, the trio split off for the day.

Q and Cedric reached their instructor, one of the two males in the cadre. He looked to be in his mid to late-twenties, with long dark hair that touched his shoulders. He had a hawkish nose, but intelligent dark eyes that surveyed his group. They focused on Cedric for a moment before he asked, “Vaelmara… I thought I recognized the name. Is your mother Elara Vaelmara, the Mind Witch?”

Cedric signed, but nodded his head in agreement, already knowing what the next question out of the man’s mouth would be.

“Do you have her talent for mind magic?” Their instructor asked, hope, and a touch of excitement evident in his voice.

And there it was. “No.” Cedric said, gritting his teeth. “I take after my father when it comes to magic. I can use Mental magic, just not to the same level as her, no one can.”

To Cedric’s great relief, their conversation was interrupted as two more joined their little trio.

Mages Thorne and Wakefield, the final two members of their group, made a striking contrast. One was tall, with dusky skin and dark, wavy hair that cascaded to the middle of her back, while the other was shorter, her honey-blond hair braided and elegantly gathered at the nape of her neck.

They introduced themselves, with Mage Thorne being the former and Wakefield the latter.

Buford Burns, their Instructor, though, he requested they just call him Burns during training or Instructor Burns when others were present, led them out of the main hall and into what Q assumed, to be a classroom in a nearby building. The room’s main entrance opened at the top, with tiered seating leading down to an open dais at the lowest level, where the instructor would likely stand to deliver their lectures.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Burns started with an overview of their daily routines.“Each morning after breakfast, you will report here. We’ll spend an hour studying the rules and regulations essential for your time in the Core, and then an hour meditating to help you connect with your Gifts, in the hopes it will assist in their development. Following that, you’ll join the other first-years in the large auditorium for general lectures on the five Gifts.”

Mage Thorne raised a hand, grabbing Burns’ attention, and asked. “Why do we need to waste our time learning about all five, when most of us can only use two or three of them?”

Burns nodded to the young woman, “That is a fair question, and the answer is, so that you will understand the basics of what the other Gifts are capable of.”

“I get that,” she argued. “But why would that be useful in a real scenario?”

Burns looked at the file folder in his hand and flipped a few pages, before asking, “Mage Thorne, you have access to Elemental and Physical magic, correct?”

She flinched at the casual announcement of her Gifts, her gaze darting to the other students, a flicker of unease evident in her eyes.

Noting her expression, Instructor Burns waved off her concern. “You will be training with this group for the next year, Mage Thorne. You are each going to learn what the others are capable of to an uncomfortable degree. Which reminds me.” He said, looking directly at Q. “I’ve gone over all the testing results from your arrivals at the academy—except for yours, Mage Valtieri. It seems Mage Hastings has somehow misplaced them.”

Q dipped his head from his seat, “My apologies, Instructor Burns. Would it suffice if I just shared which Gifts I have?”

I doubt he would believe me if I just told him where my stellum count came in at.

At the man’s nod, Q, said, “I have access to Elemental, Mental, Physical, and Transmutation magic.”

A snort came from either Thorne or Wakefield. Q wasn’t sure which. But Burn’s eyes widened for a moment, before his expression turned skeptical. “I would normally take you at your word.” The mage said slowly, “But as there are less than forty mages in the entire kingdom that can make the same statement, and I know for a fact that Mage Hastings is aware anyone scoring over an eighty during their testing for stellum needs to be reported to the Headmistress… I’ll need a demonstration if you don’t mind.”

Having no issues with the request. Q raised a hand, palm up, and conjured a vortex of air that ruffled the hair of those watching. Letting it die out, he lifted the heavy wooden table in front of him and Cedric with one hand. He let the table go while it was still a foot off the ground, and held it in place with his telekinesis for several seconds, earning a gasp from Mage Wakefield. Slowly, he returned it to the ground, where its legs touched down on the stone floor without a sound.

He looked around for something smaller than the table to transmute, but Burns raised a hand, “I will consider that acceptable proof, Mage Valtieri.” Instructor Burns said dryly. “I’m sure I’ll see you cast Transmutation magic during your time here. I must admit, the speed with which you switch between Gifts is something few of our second-year students could manage.”

Cedric muttered, “Show-off.” But it was the other two mages whose reaction caught Q off guard. They sat openmouthed and wide eyed, staring at him in awe.

His brows drew together as he asked, “What’d I do?”

*****

Mage Academy

Headmistress’s Chamber

Headmistress Cassandra Moonscar stared at the man standing before her in stunned silence. This was not the way she thought the first day of classes would go.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that, please?”

Instructor Burns cleared his throat and restated, “Yes, headmistress. During my initial meeting with my new group of students, we were discussing why they would be learning about all five Gifts. It reminded me that I had not received the testing results for one of them. The student in question asked if just telling me would suffice, to which I agreed. He then proceeded to claim access to all but Healing. In my skepticism, I requested proof.” Burns took a moment, clearly shaken, before continuing, “Headmistress—the demonstration the student put on… is one I would have found difficult to even manage myself.“

Cassandra stared at him with wide eyes. “We’ll come back to the fact we apparently have a student with over 80 stellum in this year’s class. What exactly did he do?”

Nodding rapidly, Burns explained. “To start, it only took a moment for him to create a miniature cyclone in the palm of his hand that he controlled until it blew itself out. An act that I am uncertain our returning second-year students could have accomplished so smoothly. Then, he physically lifted the table in front of him as if it weighed nothing, and kept it aloft telekinetically. I didn’t even realize he was no longer holding it, until I saw his hands by his side when it touched the ground. It was that precise headmistress.”

“What was the name of the student?” Cassandra asked, frowning. Realization striking a moment before Burns spoke. With dawning horror, she already knew the answer.

“Quinten Valtieri, headmistress.”

The Capital City of Gremelda

Royal Palace - Royal Wing

The royal family was seated in their private dining hall, enjoying a rare evening meal together. It seemed that as time passed, they were becoming more and more infrequent.

An old tradition, begun when the royal children were young, had the king reading the day’s reports over dessert, their contents sparking family discussions on their implications for the kingdom. Queen Clarissa had instituted the practice as a way to involve their children in matters of State and to better prepare them as leaders of the realm.

The king began reading the third report from the Mage Academy aloud. But stopped suddenly to finish it on his own, his continence changing the longer he read. Clarissa and his children watched in concern as frown lines cast Frederick’s face into shadow.

Unexpectedly, he angrily crumpled the page into a ball and threw it across the room. Turning to Clarissa, he proclaimed, “By the falling stars, that family just keeps popping up like a thorn in my side. Why could it not have ended with the boy going to the academy, and I never having to hear about him again?”

At the mention of a boy, the heads of both princesses Roslyn and Gwendolyn, locked onto their father, like birds of prey finding a field mouse in the open. “What boy?” Roslyn, the eldest princess of 18 years, asked.

Prince Estes, hearing her excitement, tuned back into the conversation from where he’d been feeding one of the royal hounds under the table.

The king conjured a small flame, and it flew across the room, turning the ball of crumpled paper to cinders and leaving a small scorch mark on the white stone.

“The norm-born.”

The prince and princesses exchanged looks. This was news to them. “Norm-born, what do you mean, norm-born? A boy? I thought that was impossible.” Asked Prince Estes.

Clarissa was the one to answer, “We thought so as well, dear, but the Archmage reported that there have been a few documented cases over the last several hundred years.”

“Don’t we need more male gifted, papa?” Gwendolyn asked, her lips turned down in a thoughtful frown.

“Yes dear, we do. The issue your father has isn’t actually with the boy. He has done nothing wrong, it is more of the circumstances surrounding him that are the problem.” Her mother clarified.

Prince Estes, already bored with the conversation, grumbled. “If he is at the Mage Academy, he is hardly a boy. I was leading men to war when I was only a year older than he must be.”

Covering her mouth, Princess Roslyn murmured just loud enough to be heard, “And we all heard about how well that went.”

Turning red in embarrassment, the prince opened his mouth to retaliate when Gwendolyn interrupted with another question. “What did he do that needed to be reported to you, papa?”

Sighing, the king answered, “Nothing, my dear. Other than putting on an interesting demonstration of his Gifts. It was included in the report because he tested at 150 stellum. It is—”

He was cut off when the prince jumped to his feet, spluttering, “150 stellum! That’s more than me! By the stars, that’s more than the Archmage.”

Staring down at his son, the king nodded and said, “Yes, which is why it was included in the report. We have so few gifted at that level, any time someone tests over 80 stellum I am notified.”

Roslyn tapped her chin, side-eying her father. Turning to her sister with a vulpine smile, she suggested, “A young, powerful mage. I can’t wait to meet him. I bet he is right around our age Gwen, who knows, he could be the future husband to you or I.”

The kings head snapped in her direction, “Absolutely not, you cannot marry the son of a traitor.” His voice cracking through the air like a whip, making everyone at the table but his wife flinch.

The queen’s sigh filled the silence that followed the king’s outburst. She had never agreed with Frederick’s decision to keep his mistake hidden. And based on the frequency with which the young Quinten managed to irritate her husband. She had a sneaking suspicion this would not be the last time Frederick would be cursing the poor boy’s name.

Fixing her gaze on her daughters, she mused silently, What if Roslyn’s words strike closer to the truth than she intends? Surely, not even this boy was blessed by that much stardust.