Andro, dressed in the finery of a court mage, set out on the road back to his homeland.
The courtly robes were far too lavish, covered in gold and silver ornaments and studded with jewels. Wearing them was terribly inconvenient.
Andro was unaccustomed to it—once he put on the robes, he could neither raise his feet properly nor extend his arms freely. Even the staff that had accompanied him through six years of magical study was taken away. The Großherzog's servants declared it outdated, shabby, and unworthy of courtly dignity.
Now, even the simple act of traveling back to his home in Hohenburg required a carriage. Walking was impossible.
"The day I first left Hohenburg, I walked out on my own two feet."
"The Association's Director, the Dean of the Academy—Lady Aura herself—walked beside me that day."
He drew back the curtain. The sight of rolling hills and sunlit meadows met his eyes. For a moment, the air outside seemed to rush into his lungs like freedom itself. He remembered what it felt like to run barefoot over those same hills, laughing until his chest hurt, the voices of his classmates echoing around him.
A smile tugged at his lips. He felt an urge—childish, foolish perhaps—to leap from the carriage and sprint through the grass, arms open wide as he once had on the day of his graduation.
But the jeweled robes pressed against him like armor, and the strict etiquette drilled into him weighed on his chest heavier than iron. His hand dropped limply from the curtain.
"Normal," the Großherzog had assured him after a formal dinner, his voice thick with wine and indulgence. "Young men are always unaccustomed at first. In time, you will grow into it."
Andro had nodded politely at the time, but the image of the Großherzog's corpulent figure filled his mind now. The man's stomach straining against velvet, his arms buried in layers of lace. Compared to that overflowing abundance, Andro felt like a stick wrapped in fabric far too large for him. Still, he clung to hope. Perhaps one day, when he matured, he too would fill these robes with the confidence of a true court mage.
But he also knew the truth: few court mages ever returned home. Once he reached the Principality of Ateto, his life would be sealed behind palatial walls, dedicated entirely to foreign service. He would be a jewel in another ruler's crown, never again free to walk the streets of his birthplace.
And so he had begged permission for this detour.
One last glimpse of Hohenburg.
The longing in his heart ached almost unbearably.
He missed the villagers who had pooled their meager savings to send him to the Hohenburg Academy.
He missed the teachers who had fought to win him every advantage.
He missed the classmates who had studied by his side for six years before parting ways, some staying behind to teach the next generation of apprentices.
And above all, he missed Dean Aura—who had secured him a place at Kribi, fought for him, and personally escorted him there.
When he first entered Kribi, it was Dean Aura who had pulled strings to fast-track his admission, despite his talent being less dazzling than others. She had even left him a sum of money to endure those harsh first months.
Andro still remembered her parting words before she hurried back to Hohenburg:
"Use magic to change your destiny. Hold your future in your own hands."
Andro closed his eyes, clutching that memory like a flame against the cold.
"She told me the Hohenburg Magic Academy would be proud of me…" His voice was barely a whisper, but it trembled with determination.
A smile formed on his lips, boyish despite the robes of a court mage. "I'll give her a surprise."
Though his body was confined, his spirit ran far ahead—across the green hills, through the stone gates of Hohenburg, straight into the Academy's lecture halls.
He patted the large chest beside him, eyes glowing with pride.
Inside was the treasure the Großherzog had given him as compensation for never being able to leave Ateto again. Its worth could rival the wealth of three entire Hohenburg Association branches.
Andro would leave it all here in Hohenburg.
It was his gift, his repayment to the land that had raised him.
"The Hohenburg Academy is short on funds. When Dean Aura sees how much wealth I've brought back, she'll be overjoyed."
He remembered the day he left. Aura had been scraping together every coin she could, buying up young slaves and peasant children to give them a chance at magic. By the time she had seen him off, she was penniless, unable even to afford a carriage, and had walked back to Hohenburg on foot.
Andro would never let her suffer such indignity again.
She was selfless, noble, a woman who gave everything for others. She should never have to endure such poverty.
And now, finally, Andro had the power to make things right.
The carriage rattled across mountains and dirt roads.
At last, crossing a jagged gorge of stone, he arrived at the city he longed for—Hohenburg.
The gates opened, and the crowd gathered in anticipation.
Supported by several liveried servants, Andro stepped down from the carriage. His limbs ached, his body weighed down by the suffocating finery of the royal court. He tugged at the stiff collar strangling his throat, and at last, as his blurred vision cleared, he saw the sea of faces before him.
There they were—so familiar, yet now so distant.
His old teachers, their hair grayer but their gazes sharp as ever. The Association treasurer, who once pressed stipends into his hands when he had gone hungry. Classmates, many of whom had stayed behind to teach the next generation. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to judgment, and Andro's chest swelled with both pride and unease.
And then, at the very front of the assembly, where the crowd parted as though by instinct stood Dean Aura.
She was unlike the figure Andro remembered. Gone was the regal purple mage's robe that once shimmered in lecture halls, gone too the tall hat that marked her as a scholar among scholars. She wore instead a plain gray-and-white homespun dress, patched in several places, and on her head rested nothing more than a wide straw hat to guard her from the summer sun.
Yet her aura had not changed. Her sharp eyes pierced straight through him like nails, making his heart seize with guilt.
Why did she look at him as though rebuking him?
Wasn't he bringing gifts?
"Dean Aura!" Andro shrugged off his attendants and staggered forward to salute her. But the heavy robes trapped his arms, making even the simplest bow a clumsy ordeal.
Aura waited indifferently for Andro to finish his awkward salute, then watched him fall back several times in an unsteady state, and finally be supported by a servant to keep his balance.
"Where is your staff?"
"This!"
Andro took out a short stick as if he was offering a treasure. One end was decorated with sparkling gems, which was extremely luxurious. However, in terms of mana conductivity and the convenience of casting spells, this gem stick was not even as good as an ordinary fire stick.
"This is the royal scepter of Ateto's court."
"And your original staff?"
"I threw it away. The Großherzog said it was unworthy of a prince's court."
Andro walked around proudly, like a child showing his satisfactory work to his mother, to show his most beloved dean that he was now a completely different person from the poor wretch she had once taken in.
After the display, his eyes fell on the dean's thin cloth clothes. Andro complained a little that Aura came to greet him in such clothes, and asked in a questioning tone:
"Dean, where is your mage's robe?"
"This," Aura casually twisted the hem of her dress. Although it was just an ordinary gray and white cloth skirt, and even had traces of patched square pudding on it, it still looked elegant.
"It was a gift from an apprentice's mother," she said softly.
"And your original robe?"
"I pawned it. The students said they had no food."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Andro opened his mouth, but no words came. The weight of her answer pressed down on him harder than any scolding could.
Before he could respond, the spell broke.
A small child darted out from the crowd, her bare feet pattering on the stones. She ran straight to Aura, clutching her waist. Aura's gaze softened instantly. She bent down, her hand gently stroking the child's tangled hair. Her sharp, cold eyes melted into quiet warmth.
Andro's chest clenched at the sight. The shift in Aura's expression—from rebuke to tenderness—struck him harder than any lash.
"That robe was worth some coin," Aura murmured, her voice low, her hand never leaving the child's hair.
Andro stood rooted, his jeweled scepter suddenly heavy and hollow in his grasp.