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Draken broods in the study. It’s been two days since he learned the truth about his father. He’s since thrown himself into his studies with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. Hoping to put the whole ugly business out of his mind.

A loud and rapid knock on the door. Draken ignores it, turning the page in his book. For a wizard’s tome it has some interesting insights into witchcraft. He is contemplating the possibility of a wizardly enhancement for his witch abilities when the loud rapping resumes like thunder on wood.

“Can someone get that?” He asks, receiving no response. He slams the book down. “Fine, guess I gotta do everything in this stinking place.” As he opens the door Draken leaps back in wild alarm.

“Holy mother of fuck!” He shouts, stumbling over backward as the humming ball of neon flame shoots past him in a blur of light and motion. He scrambles to his feet, eyes never leaving the sparking thing sending waves of terror through his soul as it zooms up the stairs.

“Shit, shit, shit, watch your ass, Hood something’s coming for you!”

A moment of silence is followed by a loud bellowing shout. Heart racing, Draken rushes up the steps two at a time and bursts into Hood’s office. The wizard’s face is grim and he holds the flaming orb in his hand.

“You did this,” he rasps, slamming the orb down on his desk with an audible clang. Hood stands from his pentagon shaped chair, cracking his knuckles on the armrest. “You realize of course that this prank of yours could have consequences for years to come?”

Draken shrugs. “I really don't know what you’re talking about.”

Keep denying, he thinks. There’s nothing he can do that won't make him look like a total fool. His eyes wander to the other object on the desk and he suppresses a smile.

“Alright, I’ll admit it. I stole some shit, so what? I’m a thief, it’s what I do and I'm proud of it. ”

Hood raises his eyebrow and smirks in an icy and mirthless kind of way.

“Your little larceny escapade isn’t what I'm upset about. Though don’t use my name again, i’ve got enough on my plate without dealing with the aftermath of your scam.” He picks up a stack of papers. “Half of these are complaint letters about my foul mouthed apprentice and his thuggish assistants and the other half are thank you notes. Nobody thinks you were lying, congratulations you got away with it. I on the other hand wasted all of yesterday going from house to house checking your work, because that’s what I'm expected to do. So, rather than checking and grading your work at the single house where your golem was running amok, you made a terrible mess of that by the way, I had to trapse to more than a dozen houses under the hot sun inspecting houses with no mystic presence. Yet one of these houses was actually under a terrible curse that you never noticed, so I had to spend three hours finding and removing the curse for free!” He throws the papers on the desk scattering them everywhere. After a breath he picks up the flaming ball. “Fine, i’m a little mad about it but not as mad as I am about this.”

Draken’s genuinely lost and confused.

“I really don’t know what the hell your talking about.” He takes a step closer, eying the ball. “And what the fuck even is this thing?”

“It’s an invitation.” Hood growls. “To the Apprentice Ball, a tradition that until now, to the relief of all had died a natural death”

“What’s that got to do with me?” Draken asks, swiftly dodging the flaming ball Hood tosses at his head.

“It was your idea, you moron!” Hood shouts.

The ball hits the wall with a metal clank and bounces to the floor, rolling past Draken’s feet. The image of a human head flares out of the ball. It’s the old sorcerer that Draken met the other day, the one from his training device.

“I see you’ve finally started taking apprentices again, Hood.” The sorcerer says in the same cool merciless voice that sends a chilling finger up Draken’s spine. “This new one seems ill bred for your tastes but I like him. He reminds me that young magic users don't really have a place to meet anymore. Why, after old Fezziwiz died off there’s barely been an apprentice ball. The last one was what, fifteen years ago? I know we aren't exactly friends, Hood but I want to do this right, like Fezziwiz used to in the old days. Every apprentice and every master all together at one party. I hope you’ll bring the boy, this whole thing was his idea after all. ” The face vanishes and the flames die to a simmer.

“Every apprentice and every master at one party, can’t you see what you’ve done?”

“It’s a party, what’s the big deal?” Draken asks, picking the ball up from the floor. “It might even be fun to hang out with some mages my own age.” He tosses the ball back to Hood.

“Is it that you can’t dance, you an old man with two left feet?”

Hood’s eyes show no amusement as he shakes his head. “You’re not getting it. This is a big party with teenagers, booze and magic. With you apprentices running wild and the web of complex relationships between the masters it’s already a recipe for disaster. But then add how you teenagers take everything so seriously, each little drama is life or death to you. You get bullied or jilted or goaded into a fight and it becomes some major moment in your life and your memories only exaggerate it as time goes by. The juvenile bullshit that happens at these balls has sparked dozens of magical feuds which go on for years and lead perhaps to hundreds of deaths, countless dismemberments and disfigurations and incalculable property damage. And that’s not even including the dangerous pissing contests between masters, who frankly ought to know better and yet somehow never do.”

Hood shuffles the papers together and puts the dimming ball in his drawer, sinking down in his chair with a dismal look on his face. “I’m just old enough to remember the last apprentice ball, we rioted in the street and burned down a building.” Noticing the smile cross Draken’s face at the mention of rioting, Hood groans. “You would like the idea of a riot.”

A knock on the door breaks the lull in conversation. Each eyes the other impatiently as the knocking resumes. “I’m not getting that.” Draken says, recalling the last time he opened the door. “Who knows what's' knocking this time.”

Hood turns in his chair and looks at the crystal ball on his shelf. “It’s Veronica, looks like Zern just joined her. I can guess what this is about.” Hood taps his fingers on the armrest and slowly turns to face Draken. “Let them in, asshole!”

The boy backs slowly out of Hood’s office, recognizing the look in the man’s eyes as one most commonly seen before receiving a beating. When he opens the door he stumbles back a step, spotting the same look in Veronica’s eyes.

“I never thought anyone would be crazy enough to bring it back.” The witch says, pushing her way past Draken and tossing her cherry red cloak on the nearest chair. The carved bird at the top of the coat rack pipes up. “I’m right here, lady!”

Veronica flips it off as she sits on the couch.

“Don’t pay any attention to her.” Morro says, gently hanging his own cloak on the rack. “She’s just mad that someone of influence finally had the sense to restore a fine old tradition.”

“Fine Tradition? You sorcerers must all be crazy!” Veronica shouts. “It’s a damned madhouse is what it is.”

“Nonsense Tamrin, the ball is a place where young mages can network with their peers and their superiors alike, forge lifelong bonds and even find love if they’re lucky.” He winks at the witch.”Never too late, you know.”

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Veronica rolls her eyes. “You seem to be forgetting the brutal fights and vicious pranks,broken hearts, rapes and murders which inevitably turn strangers into lifelong enemies.”

The sorcerer shrugs as he helps himself to a bowl of candy. “Those things can happen anywhere, it’s the price of being young. Everyone’s a bastard when they’re young, myself being no exception.”

“Nonsense!” Hood shouts, coming down the stairs in a hurry. “Really, Zern you must admit that the ball only lasted so long because Fezziwiz insisted upon it and nobody would contramand a man as respected as he. Yet even in your day they knew that the ball only pours oil on the flames of conflict, breeding generations of mage feuds through the chaos it inspires.”

Zern’s eyes flare hot. “You’d know all about feuds Blackard but if I'm remembering correctly what you did can’t be blamed on the ball. You hunted those poor devils down to the babes in arms and I very much doubt that it was your attendance at that year’s ball that made you do it.”

Draken looks between his two masters, they are outwardly calm but the tension filling the room is enough to choke on. The look in Hood’s eyes is like nothing he’s ever seen.

“Watch yourself old man.” Is all the wizard says before taking several deep breaths.

“Not so old I can’t handle you.” Morro’s cool reply. Hood clenches his fist dangerously close to his spell belt. Is this the kind of pissing contest Hood is afraid of? Draken thinks as he tries to angle himself between them.

“Calm down,” Draken says. “If it’s that much trouble we won’t go.” He feels uncomfortable under the eyes of three masters. The room is very quiet for a moment that seems to last an hour.

“None of us are that brave.” Hood says in a whisper. “Were it anyone else i’d say to skip the party but this is Mavolaik Chain, top level in the council. Insulting him might get us all killed.”

“That brings us to our real problem.” Morro pulls an orb identical to the one Hood received from his kimono. “We each got one of these I presume. The instructions are clear enough, everyone brings their apprentice.”

“The problem being that we happen to be sharing ours.” Hood grunts.

“Do we present the boy as our joint project and let come what may?” Tamrin asks.

Morro shakes his head. “I know the council, being the only one here who’s on it.” He places his hands uncomfortably on Draken’s shoulders, making the boy cringe inwardly. He doesn’t like it when older guys get handsy, even if they don’t mean anything sexual by it. He grits his teeth, trying to pound down the knee jerk reaction as the old man drones on. “If we reveal this young fellow now as war circles like a hungry buzzard and him showing the skills of the beginner that he rightly is, they will put him in the army immediately.”

“The army?!” Draken shouts, pulling away from Morro as alarm bells ring in his head. “The army aint supposed to take anyone under fifteen. Why the hell would anyone put me in the army?” Draken instinctively backs toward the door. His brain admonishes him for being gullible, he should have known this whole thing would have a downside. “Nobody said anything about putting me in the goddamn army, I don’t agree to it.” His hand is on the knob. A lot of Top Boy’s old buddies went into the army during the island war and got cut to ham hocks. The few bastards who made it back are all fucked up. No way in seven hells is he gonna go out like that.

“Mages are special cases, every apprentice is expected to serve some time in the military. Eventually, when you’re ready you’ll be enlisted.” Morro says, his tone soothing.

Draken hesitates for a few heartbeats and opens the door. .

“Forget the ball, forget it all I’m done.” Draken says, his mind returning to a couple of nights ago when Hood had mentioned something about them wanting him as a weapon in the future, rambled about the possibilities of war and it all seemed so remote and unconcerning. But Morro sounds as though the war is on the doorstep and the thought of joining the army now and being plunged into the kind of hell that leaves men maimed and pathetically begging on the streets for the rest of their days, unable even to steal. That’s a thought Draken’s mind won’t even process.

“You’re all crazy if you think I'd ever join up.”

A wave of calm washes over him as Veronica approaches.

“I know you’re scared of the war. We all are but we can’t hide from it. Not even if you renounce magic and run back to the streets.” Draken never noticed how deep her eyes are, how full of warmth. He blinks trying to shake the spell but her words feel like honey in his ears. “Come the draft the army will take you just the same. Round you up and dump you in the front lines. You’ll be cut to ribbons most likely. Yet ,as a trained mage you’ll be doing the cutting.” Draken looks at his masters, each wearing a deadly serious expression.

“It’s still a ways off,” Morro says. “Maybe even a year or two, we do have time to make you ready for it.”

The wizard clears his throat with a deep phlegmy cough. He might be coming down with something, Draken makes a note to keep his distance. “Assuming we find a solution to our present dilemma, I think we can all agree that three months is hardly enough time to get him ready to survive a war. Barely enough to train him past raw basics but put him in the army and teach him a bunch of powerful spells he can’t yet handle and we’ll be looking at a disaster.”

Morro nods his assent. “Sadly, that’s exactly what they’re likely to do. Train him on powerful attack spells he hasn’t mastered and toss him at the enemy like a mad dog.”

Draken taps his foot in annoyance. His masters’ habit of clumping together and talking about him as if he’s not there is really starting to bug him.

“He’d become a monster,” Veronica says. “I’ve seen inside his head, I know.” Hearing that hurts a little until he remembers just what he planned to do the other night with only a single dangerous spell at his disposal. The alley comes to mind as well. Reluctantly he can admit to himself that he might easily become a real piece of shit.

“How do we avoid that scenario then?” He asks. “How do we keep the council from finding out, dress me up in a bunch of disguises at the ball and hope nobody notices?” He laughs at his own joke then spots the look in their eyes and stops. “I was joking!”

“It’s still not a bad idea.” Morro says, clasping his hands. “One of us will bring Draken Crowe and the others will bring his alter egos.”

“But I was joking,” Draken repeats but the eyes of his masters tell him that the machinery of their minds is already moving. Morro smiles with tight closed lips as he twirls his mustache between his fingers.

“This could actually be fun,” the old man says. “We’ll make a competition of it. Whoever teaches him the most in the next two months gets to use him at the ball and the other two will have to dress him up for an hour and then make an excuse to leave.”

Hood rubs his stubbly chin, thinking on the prospect.

“Won’t work,” he grumbles. “The kid bumped into the old bastard the other day and gave him the idea for this whole mess.”

Draken winces as he feels the slap of an invisible hand connect with his face.

“You little shit!” Veronica shouts in his head, while maintaining a calm and collected appearance. She smiles, inclining her head in his direction letting him feel the anger radiating off her like heat off a furnace.

“That’s not necessarily an issue,” Morro says. “I’ve known the man for years, he’s never been good with names and these days he can’t see well without his glasses, which he almost never wears. ”

Hood smiles thinly, a low almost inaudible chuckle rising from his throat. “It could work.”

“Let's’ think practically.” Tamrin says. “The best way the boy will learn is to take off the kid gloves and toss him into the work. Push him to the next phase of training now and he’ll pick up what he needs to know more quickly.”.

Clicking his tongue, the sorcerer glances at Draken and shrugs. “I’ll admit there’s merit to the point. The first year of apprenticeships generally involve a lot of handholding and little practical teaching. Time mostly put into lectures and skill tests, theory over practice. Most students do tend to learn more in the second year, when they are trusted to use magic unsupervised and go to work for the community.”

Blackard Hood sits in an armchair and takes a cracker from a dish on the table. He holds it up to the beams of sunlight cascading through the window as if to inspect it for some flaw.

“I’m wary of skipping any of the boy’s education, he’s as hard and salty as this stale cracker and a year of passive learning under our gentle guidance would do him a world of good. However, war is fast approaching and we can’t keep him secret for that long.” He takes a tentative bite and grimaces. “I don’t like it, he’s not ready but it’s the best call. Besides,” he grins. “I expect to win.”

“You’re assuming I go along with this.” Draken says, tired of holding his tongue. “Maybe I just go back to my life. Seems easier than disguises and jobs and joining the fucking army.”

“It’s your life,” Hood says. “But consider those friends of yours. You’re too young to remember the conscriptions during the last war. The army sweeps the streets clean of anyone who looks old enough to fight and if you claim to be too young they’ll beat you until you admit to being the right age. When they’ve picked the streets clean of fresh meat they move on to the inns, brothels and flophouses until they’ve gathered up every young man without a title. Even if you somehow manage to dodge them all, your friends are bound to get nabbed. I know for a fact that your uncle and that gangly minstrel are both already being watched by recruiters. On their own they’ll both likely end up getting sent to the front lines to be cut to confetti. But, as a mage, even an apprentice you’ll be an officer entitled to two servants of your choice. ”

The thought of Top Boy taking orders from him brings a brief smile to Draken’s lips and the image of Warren being thrown to the wolves isn’t a pleasant one. His uncle’s a survivor to the bone but Warren has always been a tad soft, he’ll go to pieces after a brawl worried that he might have killed someone. No telling how he’d crack if they tossed him face first into the grinder.

Draken reluctantly takes his hand from the doorknob and puts it in his pocket.

“Fine, I suppose if I'm gonna get fucked one way or the other this way is the least awful.”