Samuel had expected that learning magic would be a challenge. He had no idea just how difficult that very magic would be, however. On one hand, he felt an instinctual pull toward magic, and shaping the mana that he could sense around his body felt as natural as flexing his fingers. On the other, each attempt to produce an actual spell felt as though he were pushing against the door to an Archmage’s tower, encountering a barrier that refused his every attempt to break through to the knowledge beyond.

There were many schools of magic taught within the College, courtesy of the centuries of mages who had made deciphering the arcane mysteries their entire life lesson. Destruction, he understood easily enough. It was the practice of using mana to interact with the physical world, producing all sorts of destructive effects. Even Restoration, which had seemed to be its opposite at first, followed the same principle. Mana interacted with the body, bolstering and healing it. In some cases, it could even be used to subtly harm the body, weakening a foe.

Combat magic was easy enough to wrap his mind around, even if he couldn’t yet muster the skill required to cast a single spell. In the first Destruction class he’d attended, Master Moran had shared with them a simple incantation to conjure a tiny fireball. Every other student had managed the task by the time their lesson ended, and they’d left happy, if slightly exhausted. Even such a simple spell drained them of their limited resources.

Samuel, however, remembering Grimr’s warning against using incantations, had attempted to cast the spell without speaking. He had failed miserably, of course, succeeding in producing no more than a thin stream of mana from the palm of his hand. Master Moran had been watching the class’ efforts and had made no comment. But Samuel could read the man’s confusion and disapproval of his attempts. What was more, the teacher had offered Samuel a less than-favorable piece of advice as his students left the classroom.

“I applaud your efforts to learn magic in the true way,” the Destruction teacher had said, glancing up from the thick tome he read. “But you value yourself too highly. You are no master, and would be better suited to learning the proper way.”

Well, Samuel had been tempted to ask, which was it? The true way, or the proper way? The two values were contradictory. But after his encounter with the nobles, he’d resolved to keep his mouth shut. He simply had to trust that Grimr knew best, and knew what he was on about. He wouldn’t lead Samuel astray. He was, after all, an Ancient. Such beings were infallible, weren’t they?

Restoration had been a similar affair, save for one change. Archmage Kiinor, upon noticing Samuel’s attempt to cast her first spell without speaking, had addressed him at once, in front of the entire class.

“You there,” the sharp voice of the teacher had reached Samuel’s ears, breaking his concentration as well as that of his fellow students. “What are you doing?”

After glancing around in the vain hope that she wasn’t speaking to him, Samuel hesitantly replied, “Me? I’m trying to cast the spell.”

Archmage Kiinor had pointed bluntly at the blackboard at the front of the classroom. “I believe I was quite clear. This is the incantation required to produce the spell. Erik, demonstrate the spell.”

Her teaching assistant, a figure clad in light grey robes denoting him as a second year, had risen from his chair. Under the gaze of the younger students, he’d drawn a tiny knife from his belt and pricked his palm, producing a thin stream of blood. Then he’d sheathed the weapon and chanted, “Gather, latent power of mine, mana pure, and purge this wound.”

At once, the wound had closed, leaving only the light stain on his hand as evidence that the damage had ever existed. The class had murmured their interest and appreciation of the demonstration, then returned to their attempts with a new motivation. Archmage Kiinor had approached Samuel directly then. In spite of the fact that he stood a few inches taller, he’d felt quite small.

“Your words guide your magic,” she’d said firmly. “Not you. You will cause irreparable damage to yourself and your fellow students. Worse, you waste our time.”

And again, with Archmage Ashara. A petite young woman who seemed no older than Samuel, she already wore the white robe of a highly-ranked and respected mage. “Young Samuel, you’re trying too hard. It’s a noble goal, but it is far behind you. Try practicing with the incantation. Save silent casting for a time when you’re more used to using magic.”

Archmage Henrik Wembly had been no better. He hadn’t spoken directly to Samuel, but his demeanor with each glance had made it quite clear that he thought Samuel was a waste of his time and attention. By now, even his classmates had picked up on the behavior, having either witnessed it in a previous class or hearing about the weird noble apprentice who was trying to act higher than his ability. They treated him with disinterest and scorn to equal that of Lord Alistair Silver.

Now the day was coming to an end, and Samuel was beginning to find himself with a deep sense of malcontent with the College as a whole. He knew he could achieve this goal of learning and using magic, but could he truly be allowed to achieve his potential with such dismissive, rude teachers? It didn’t seem likely, at least given his reception so far.

Only one class left in the day, he thought. Transmutation. It was taught by a bald monk-like figure named Sean Astori. Samuel had heard rumors from the other students that Master Astori was perhaps the strictest teacher that had ever taught in the College. He was well-known for his lack of mercy for most students, and his harsh refusal to grant a grain of tolerance with even the most gifted of a class.

And so it was with a feeling of powerful apprehension that Samuel found himself finding his way to a seat toward the back of Master Astori’s classroom. The teacher hadn’t come in yet, so the class was talking quietly amongst themselves. Samuel paid them no mind, already at the far end of his patience in trying to interact with them. He just had to make it through this last lesson, then he could go home and eat a good meal and bathe. Then tomorrow, he may just decide that the College wasn’t for him.

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The door snapped closed, the simple noise silencing the rest of the class. Everyone faced forward to see a figure in dark blue robes staring at them in silence. Samuel had to admit that, for a thin and short figure, there was something oddly intimidating about their teacher for Transmutation. His arms were tucked behind his back, and he regarded them all silently, with a very strange expression. It was neither eager nor dismissive. It was as if he were waiting to see just how they would disappoint him.

“I am Sean Astori,” he stated plainly. “For the duration of your first year, I am the unfortunate soul assigned to teach you the subtle art of Transmutation. As there are no flashy displays of power to my specialty or legendary accolades to my name, I am sure none of you expect much of these lessons. That is fine. I am not here to nurse your egos, or to tell you that each and every one of you is a great mage in the making.”

Samuel sat back, surprised in spite of himself. The rumors had said that Master Astori spoke frankly and offered no attempt to cushion his words, but to witness him in the flesh was an entirely different level of aloofness. One could almost be forgiven for thinking that Astori didn’t care one way or the other if any of his students succeeded in College or in life.

“Transmutation is the art of changing the physical qualities of mana. In simpler terms, you use your mana to change the world around you. Not through the destructive power of a massive fireball, nor even through the foul stench of a thrown potion. No, you change it to your whim using nothing more than your own wit. It requires no power. No, it requires something far more important. Mastery.”

Without another word, he turned to face the blackboard behind him. Without uttering a single word, he gave his hand one casual swipe and a cloud of fine white dust appeared out of nowhere, settling on the surface in a scrawling text. Another incantation. What was more, it seemed far more complicated than any of the incantations they’d been shown that day. Master Astori correctly interpreted the quiet mutters of the students and turned around once more.

“Expecting a simple incantation?” He asked, his eyes glinting with a hard light. “Or perhaps you thought that I, like my colleagues, would baby you with a chance to cast some simple spell? Well, then. Allow me the great pleasure of disappointing you. There is nothing easy about this school of magic.”

From the pocket of a robe, he retrieved a small stone, no larger than the palm of his hand. Before their eyes, it lifted off his hand by several inches, then, without warning, crumbled in on itself. The fine powder that was left drifted down lightly, some landing on his palm, but most missing and falling gently to the floor. Then, just as quickly as it had disintegrated, the dust returned to its original position and became a solid stone once more. Samuel thought it might be an illusion until Astori let it fall, where it clattered noisily against the stone floor.

“This is just one example of what learning Transmutation can offer you,” Master Astori said. “The incantation for the first step, turning the stone to dust, is behind me. You may begin.”

Samuel looked at the incantation, more out of curiosity than any other reason. There was silence in the room as the others did the same.

Solid by nature, the rock is immovable. But even the greatest defense falls to the ruins of time, and of persistent force. I command this force to my aid. Penetrate this stone, seek out its weaknesses, envelop it, and exert my will. Shatter, solid stone, and become powder.

Predictably, the classroom was now full of students muttering the incantation over and over again, now holding a stone of their own. It gradually became a dull rumble of incoherent words and stressed faces. After five minutes, not a single person had succeeded in casting the spell. This was a marked difference from their other classes, where the naturally talented mages had at least managed to cast the spell once.

It did indeed seem as though Transmutation would be a far more difficult class than the others he’d attended. Letting out a low sigh, Samuel held up the stone in his hand, staring at it intently. He was tempted, sorely tempted, to try the incantation, just once. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but something in him wanted to rise to Master Astori’s expectations. No, not just to meet them. He wanted to rise above them and prove to the irritable little man that he was more than he thought. He was a worthy mage, and he would succeed here. But Grimr’s advice echoed in his mind, and he resolved, yet again, to try without the words.

“Stop!”

Master Astori’s words shattered the silence and the concentration of the class as easily as he’d shattered the rock in his hand. Samuel looked up from his stone to meet Master Astori’s gaze. The teacher was staring at him sharply like a hawk and had already begun to pace toward him. All around them, the rest of the class was smirking to themselves, sure this would be a repeat of the previous classes.

“Apprentice Bragg,” the teacher said, using Samuel’s name for the first time. “Did you have trouble memorizing the incantation that I wrote on the board? Or can you not see it clearly from where you sit?”

“No, sir,” Samuel said. His annoyance at being singled out yet again rose to the surface, preventing him from being polite or obedient. “I’m trying to do it without the incantation.”

“Well? Why haven’t you, then?”

That was not what Samuel had expected to hear. He’d been waiting for some version of ‘just do it the way I said’, or perhaps ‘You don’t have the skill required’, responses like what he’d been given by the other teachers. “Err, what, sir?”

“Why is that rock not powder within your hand? Did you think you could stare it into submission?”

Before Samuel could reply, the teacher pointed toward the blackboard. “The incantation exists for a reason. It is a schematic designed to guide your mana. Why are you not following the instructions?”

“I’m trying not to use-”

Master Astori slammed one hand down on the desk in front of Samuel, making him jump. “You think you are such a gifted mage that your mana will do what you want? You mean to give it no direction?”

“I’m trying to-” This time, Samuel let his voice die out. He finally understood. He knew the truth of it, what Grimr hadn’t shared; what he had to learn for himself. Of course, Grimr had left that piece of information out. He wasn’t the type to offer the full answer. Samuel had to stumble upon it himself. The secret to magic.It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t use the incantation. It was just another method of guiding his mana. He actually had to guide it.

Penetrate. Seek out its weaknesses. Exert his will. Shatter it.

He forced his mana to flow into the stone, filling every gap so small that his eyes couldn’t see it. As before, making the mana move was easy. Pitifully so. His mana coursed through the rock, until it enveloped it completely, surrounding and filling it. It was working! He pulled his mana back, willing it to take the stone with it. Dismember the stone, he thought with all his might. And, just as it had done in the teacher’s hand, the pebble disintegrated, leaving nothing more than a thin trickle of dust that fell from either side of his hand, drifting down onto his dark robe.

He’d finally cast his first spell. Not only that, he realized with glee, but he’d done it before anyone else in the class. He stared down at the tiny pile of powder in his hand, feeling a wave of triumph crashing around inside him.

“Finally,” Master Astori said, standing upright and glaring around at the other students. “A first-year with a brain.”