"Young Master Lanen, wake up! Today is the first day of school!"
Bright sunlight slanted across the rooftop outside, while a gentle breeze carried the scent of morning chimney smoke through the crisp, slightly chilly air.
The streets buzzed with the clamor of daily life, and the homing pigeons in the attic flapped their wings, cooing softly.
In the dawn light, Lanen reluctantly cracked open his eyes, glanced at the sunlight streaming through the window onto the bookshelf opposite, and rolled over in his small bed with a groan.
Then he buried his head back into the pillow.
"Beta, just ten more minutes… only ten," came a muffled voice from the depths of the pillow.
"But, Young Master—"
Seeing him about to succumb to sleep again, Beta quickly grabbed his arm and pulled. "Hurry and get up! We have to leave early today—Madam has already arranged the carriage for 8:30. If you don't move now, you'll miss breakfast!"
"..."
And then, as if on cue, the alarm clock on the bedside table erupted into a deafening clamor.
At his wit's end, Lanen flung the pillow aside, sat up with his eyes still closed, and slammed his hand down on the alarm.
The back panel of the clock sprang open, and out popped a yellow-crested finch. The bird surveyed its surroundings, locked onto its target—and then viciously pecked Lanen's hand, eliciting a fully-awake shriek of pain.
"OW—OWOWOW! Who put this sadistic antique here?!"
During the Glorious Age, which began over two centuries ago and lasted for a hundred years, a particular breed of mischievous mages and nobles had flourished. Many of their little "inventions" still survived to this day, tormenting the minds and limbs of later generations—such as Lanen's fingers.
As products of the great advancements in arcane arts and alchemy—the transitional period from ancient to modern magic—these artifacts bore distinct characteristics of their era.
Take, for example, the Banneray family's heirloom "Wake-Up Alarm Clock." Its core mechanism was the widely adopted mechanical clock of the time, already refined with deep technical expertise—whether in the escapement mechanism or the intricate cascade of gears. As a hallmark of the Glorious Age and beyond, its power source was a standardized energy-crystal array.
Yet, it also incorporated an ancient magical creation: a tiny alchemical bird with just enough intelligence to accurately target the softest parts of a limb—like a hand. And, as if that weren't enough, its beak was enchanted with spells for pain amplification, heightened sensitivity, and instant healing—ensuring an unforgettable experience without leaving a scar.
"You set it last night, saying only such a decisive and effective alarm could guarantee you wouldn't oversleep."
"...Right."
Lanen had no idea whether this twisted invention was the brainchild of one of his ancestors or some unscrupulous mage's whimsy.
Grumbling inwardly about his forebears, he rubbed his bleary eyes and dragged himself out of bed to wash up, conveniently forgetting all the praise he'd heaped on the old alarm clock the night before.
Must've been too excited to sleep, he thought.
Descending the spiral staircase into the small dining room, he found the rest of the family already seated. He hurried to his place and focused on his portion of milk oatmeal, fried eggs, and smoked sausage.
"The news lately is all trivial nonsense. Look here—White Town Farm lost three cows due to improper feed, and over on Lemon Tree Street, a passerby chipped half a tooth falling into a sewer repair site," Baron Banneray complained between bites of breakfast. "Truly, what peaceful times we live in." Whether that last remark was sarcasm or genuine nostalgia was unclear.
"Well, they have to fill the pages somehow," Lady Banneray replied without looking up.
"Since you're catching the carriage today, you probably won't have time to finish the paper. Take it with you—it'll help pass the time," the Baron said, turning to Lanen. "It might be a while before you see hometown news again."
Primary education was already widespread, with public schools everywhere. But due to magical aptitude, family circumstances, and—most critically—a lack of qualified instructors, the establishment of arcane schools remained a distant dream. So despite its size, the city of Lavender didn't have a single arcane academy of its own. Children who graduated from public school and wished to pursue magic—rather than attend one of the city's other institutions—had to travel to the neighboring city of Lorendan.
Poking at her sausage with a fork, Lady Banneray sighed. "My poor little Lanen has to commute now. Heaven knows, he's only twelve—it's worrying. At least Beta's in the same grade; they can look out for each other."
Lanen just mumbled through his food, something that vaguely resembled "Don't worry, I'll be fine."
By the time they finished packing, the carriage was already waiting outside. After the servants loaded Lanen and Beta's two large trunks, the boys said their goodbyes.
"Goodbye, Father! Goodbye, Mother! Goodbye, Steward! I'll write often!"
No one came to see them off—it was a small family tradition. After all, their parents had made the same journey alone at their age.
The Station
The two of them lugged their chest-high trunks into the queue at the platform.
As soon as they arrived, a lanky man with chestnut hair held up a sign and called out:
"Atlanta Arcane Academy! Students bound for Lorendan Arcane School, gather here!"
Every year at this time, magical schools chartered entire train cars to transport their new students from recruitment cities. Those who lived nearby or missed the arranged transport had to make their own way.
Following instructions, Lanen and Beta presented their admission letters and were directed to a waiting area, where they perched on their luggage.
"Look—elves!" Beta nudged Lanen and whispered. Following his gaze, Lanen spotted two pairs of long ears and faces so flawlessly androgynous that gender was impossible to guess.
"Probably transfer students. There are plenty of elves living outside the Elven Empire these days," Lanen murmured. "We barely saw any in public school, but I bet they'll be more common now. Elves usually have strong magical aptitude. Still, don't stare—it's rude."
Yet throughout the wait, Beta kept sneaking glances at the two elves, fascinated by their pointed ears.
When the sun had shifted past noon, the lanky man returned, herded them into line, and led them onto the train.
After struggling to hoist their trunks onto the luggage racks and settling into their seats, the man—now identified as their guide—boarded as well, pulling out a clipboard for roll call.
"Quiet, please!" He waited for the chatter to die down before continuing. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm Castor Hughes, your orientation guide for this trip. When I call your name, raise your hand—Jackson Andel!"
"Here!"
"Solon McDonnell!"
"Present!"
"Heidi Grant!"
"Yo!"
...
"Lanen Banneray!"
"Here!"
"Beta Victor!"
"Present!"
...
"Ayr Benz!"
"Here!"
"All accounted for," he said, snapping the folder shut. "We depart in five minutes, so no one leaves the train unless you fancy racing a locomotive." Most of the carriage chuckled—Lanen decided the man had a sense of humor.
Seemingly amused by his own joke, Hughes added: "And once we're moving, definitely don't jump off. Ninety miles per hour is a terrible speed for impromptu acrobatics. Anyway, I'll be in the next car if you need anything."
"Once we're underway, feel free to eat lunch and get to know your classmates. If you didn't bring food, the vendor will come by later—everything's fairly priced. Trust me, reasonably priced train snacks are a rare sight."
"That's all from me. Eat, nap, and we'll be at Lorendan Station before you know it. The school's pickup will be waiting, and I'll return before arrival."
With that, he disappeared into the next car, closing the door behind him.
The two unpacked their beef-and-ham sandwiches.
"Look, the snack cart's here," Beta said, eyeing the approaching vendor.
Handling their own travel budget for the first time, both were giddy with independence. They each bought a bottle of corn juice, and Lanen added a tin of "Dancing Ginger Cookies" while Beta opted for a pack of "Mystery-Flavor Candy."
As Lanen placed a cookie on the lid and watched it silently jiggle, he chewed his sandwich pensively: This really is a different world.
"Which primary school did you two attend?" The question came from the pair across the aisle.
Only then did Lanen properly notice the two green-haired boys—one burly, one slender—sitting opposite them.
"I'm Hale Wesley, and this is Roger Wesley," the stockier one said, pointing to his hair. "Yes, we're twins. Though given our builds, that's hard to believe."
"Lanen Banneray, and this is Beta Victor. We graduated from Olive District Public School," Lanen replied politely.
"We're from Mirror Lake Public School. Well, now we're acquainted."
They shook hands all around.
Being young, they quickly warmed up, swapping snacks and chatting about school life. Lanen even shared the morning paper. The same scene played out across the carriage, turning what should've been a dull journey into a lively few hours.
"I heard some primary school subjects become electives at arcane school. I'm definitely keeping P.E.," Hale declared.
"You're wrong—P.E.'s mandatory," Roger corrected, sipping orange soda. "So's math."
"Our public school teachers always said math is the foundation of magic and arcane studies," Beta chimed in.
Racking his brain for conversation, Lanen recalled a famous quote:
"You've all heard the saying, right? 'On the path of arcana, our eyes and ears deceive us, our experience and imagination hinder us, our mana and mental power obscure the truth—but math won't.'"