Alan, Emma, and Milla waved goodbye to Joe at the academy gates. He stayed, watching until they vanished into the crowd. A tear slid down his cheek. Memories surged: Milla's birth, her first giggle, her first wobbling steps across their kitchen, and the day she hurled her first rock across the yard, eyes filled with pride.
Now, she walked away, steady and sure. She didn't look back. Pride and loss twisted Joe's chest. Every moment—her laughter, her magic, her stubborn streak—had led her here, further from him. He wiped his face and stared at his hands. How old they looked.
The children found a classroom buzzing with whispers. Their instructor stood at the front, a man in his thirties. He was lean, stiff, and sharp-eyed. His navy cloak bore a silver emblem; its tangled pattern seemed meaningless to the students. He scanned the room like a hawk.
When silence fell, he recited a speech in a flat, rehearsed tone:
"Welcome to Nedel's Primary Magic Academy. This place will shape you into mages worthy of Frostgale's halls or the ranks of its finest guilds. You've been chosen from countless others—remember that privilege. Here, you'll learn the principles of magic: its laws, responsibilities, and power. Master these lessons, and the world beyond the city's walls will open to you. Excel and your name will be remembered in history, legends, and songs. This is where greatness begins…"
He paused with disdain in his throat and shrugged. "Most of you'll forget this by tomorrow. So, let's just move on. I'm Mr. FluGer. I'll teach you magic theory—Mondays and Tuesdays. Ms. Wellform will torture you with practical spells on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Ms. Silvermine will teach you to swing a sword on Fridays and Saturdays without losing your fingers. Sundays are for rest. Questions?"
He scanned the room. No hands rose. "Good. Let's not waste time. Introductions: name, background, goal. Keep it short."
One by one, the students stood. Chairs creaked. Voices mingled. A boy with unruly moss-green hair slammed his desk, eliciting startled looks from his peers. "Gerral Harrt. Son of Vice-Captain Harrt. I'll be the captain." His jaw tightened. He didn't specify which party, but his meaning was clear—only one captain mattered.
Next, a girl with silver hair so pale it seemed to glow rose slowly. "I am Nora," she murmured. "I am not from this city. I wish...to grow stronger." She sat quickly, leaving her family name unspoken.
Mr. FluGer rapped his knuckles on the lectern. "Clarification," he said, his eyes sweeping across the room. "This is Nora Dawn. She's a noble from the capital." He paused, letting the weight of her name sink into the minds of the unruly students. "We strip titles here in the academy, but don't forget them. Beyond these doors, the rules no longer apply."
His gaze pinned a smirking boy in the third row, voice tuned a scale deeper. "Outside, it will do you well to offer her the respect her bloodline demands."
Nora's cheeks burned with embarrassment. Now, everyone knew. Her hair, the only silver in the room, made it impossible to hide. Whispers rose around her—some filled with admiration, others with disgust. From the other side of the room, she caught Gerral's cutting glare.
"Next," Mr. FluGer barked, silencing the whispers.
Alan and Emma stood in turn. Their names were simple, and their goals modest. Their words faded, overshadowed by Gerral's ambition and Nora's unveiled nobility.
When it was her turn, Milla shot up with that proud and untroubled grin. "I am Milla!" she declared like a court announcer. The floor trembled faintly under her excitement, though only Alan noticed. "I will be the best earth mage in all history! Just watch!" She plopped back down, oblivious to the cracked tile where her heel had struck and, even more, oblivious to the scoffs from literally everyone; even Mr. FluGer rolled his eyes.
Once introductions ended, Mr. FluGer launched into a dull lecture about academy rules and punishments. His monotone delivery made even warnings about "respecting peers" forgettable.
The tour that followed stirred more interest. Students shuffled through drafty classrooms, the Great Library, stacked high with dusty tomes, the cafeteria reeking of burnt porridge, and the training ground scarred with years of spellfire. Some whispered excitedly; others lagged behind, quiet and wary.
Alan has no interest in the books or the field, but a wall-mounted device caught his attention. Its clockwork dragon was frozen in mid-roar, a glass sphere swirling with storm clouds. He traced its gears, trying to unravel its impossible workings.
Emma lingered in the library, running her fingers over the spines of gilded books. She tugged one loose, blinked at its yellowed pages, and then slid it back with a quiet sigh. She took another, scanned it, sighed, and tugged it back. She walked through a whole shelf, doing the same. Her action was so strange that some began questioning whether she had ever seen a book.
Milla dashed between groups of students, laughing too loudly and asking too many questions.
By the time the tour ended, shadows stretched long across the practice fields. Milla had traded many chatters with students, but now, their names had already been forgotten.
The dismissal bell rang, and the three regrouped by the gates under the fading light of dusk. Milla bounced on her heels, recounting snippets of conversations she'd shared. "Did you see the guy with the glowing wand? I swear he was trying to show off!" she exclaimed, laughing as she mimicked his exaggerated gestures.
Then Milla froze, her laughter cutting off abruptly.
"Ugh, Dad," she groaned, ducking behind Alan and Emma.
Joe stood at the gates, his bald head gleaming, arms crossed like tree trunks. He waved wildly the moment he caught their shadow stretching across the courtyard. "Firefly! How was it? Make any new friends?"
Alan snorted. Emma elbowed Milla gently. "He's kinda cool," she whispered.
"You don't get it," Milla muttered, face flushed. "He's... Dad."
Joe herded them toward the road, one arm slung around Milla's shoulders. "C'mon, spill it! Meet a prince? Eat magic food? What'd you learn?"
Milla rolled her eyes but leaned into his side. Her hidden smile grew as he rambled on.
When the academy fell silent, and every soul had long departed the premises, slow, deliberate steps echoed through the halls, drawing closer to the Great Library—tap... tap... tap...
A gilded book, protruding slightly from its shelf, slid free with a faint, grating sound—scrrrritch—only to have a page torn cruelly from its binding.