The paper was crisp, its edges sharp against the pads of his fingers. Two columns dominated the page, ruled by black ink that seemed to judge the very air around it. On the left, a list of subjects: Magic Theory, Mathematics, Science, Human Tongue, and History. Beside them, in the right-hand column, the number 100 sat in every single box, a perfect, unyielding regiment of success.
In a different font, smaller but no less significant, the bottom of the paper bore the words Magic Engineering, accompanied by yet another 100. But there, like a scar marring pristine skin, sat the anomaly. Between the rows of perfection, the number 65 glared back at him, corresponding to the course titled Magic Combat.
There were two of these papers on the desk, clones of one another in every respect save for the headers. One read "Grading Period 1," the other "Grading Period 2."
Arthur looked away from the papers and into the mirror. He looked completely at ease, a faint trace of confidence lingering in the corners of his mouth. His messy brown hair reached the base of his neck in the back and along the sides, falling in loose, uneven strands that framed his face without care. From the front, it funneled down toward his nose, untamed but deliberate, as if he preferred the chaos. His deep brown eyes, steady and unhurried, met his own reflection without doubt or hesitation. The navy-black uniform fit him neatly, its polished trim and clean lines doing little to disguise the quiet arrogance that came with knowing exactly who he was—and what he was capable of.
His book lay open, solitary in the center of the table where the sunlight from the window struck it, illuminating the text like holy scripture. He was basking in his own radiance, a king in his own mind, until the door creaked open.
Cedric entered the room, a towel wrapped low around his waist, ruffling his damp hair with a second towel. His bare skin was clear-white, unblemished, save for the six large, individual markings that branded him. They sat in the center of his chest, the front of where his left arm and shoulder met, the medial side of his right forearm, the backside of his right thigh, and the lateral side of his lower leg. The physical blessings all bore different symbols in their centers, yet they were united by the complex markings that surrounded them—two circles, encased by a much more unique ring, positioned much further out than the standard geometry of magic required.
In accordance with the distance between the two presently existing circles, there could have been five, perhaps even six rings between the second and the last. But there weren't. They were empty spaces, as if the power that existed prior had been suppressed.
Arthur ignored the peculiarity. He did not want to think anything that would acknowledge a single positive attribute about the boy standing before him. He recognized the symbols, of course. They corresponded to the four Primary Elements of Earth, Fire, Water, and Wind, as well as the rare symbol of the Celestial God. But the symbol on his back… that one, Arthur could not recognize.
Not that he cared. It wasn't his first time seeing it, after all. In fact, he had noticed the disappearance of Cedric's blessings by his second week at the academy. He had thought about it several times throughout the initial days, and smiled a countless number at the potential weakness it implied, that he had become numb to the sight little more than a month later.
Cedric tossed his towel onto his bed, revealing short, fluffy brown hair that sprang up as it dried. He had been taking care of it, unlike Arthur, who let his grow long and wild. Cedric had managed to maintain the cut for the three months since they had left the ground.
"What's this?" Cedric asked, his voice bright, stepping toward the desk. "Are these your report cards for the last two grading periods? It's nearly all hundreds! Do you want to see mine?"
Arthur did not turn. "I don't particularly care to see it." He didn't even give him the respect of being acknowledged.
Cedric, undeterred, sneaked up behind him while Arthur looked away. He reached out and lightly pinched a strand of Arthur's long hair. "Woaah! Your hair has grown so long! It's so pretty, you almost look like a girl! Hehe."
Arthur slapped the hand away instantly. He spun in his chair, staring at Cedric in utter disgust. His nose wrinkled, eyes cold as ice, lips curled, and his chin raised, as if even the act of looking at Cedric was beneath him. "I don't recall giving you permission to touch me."
Cedric's mouth hung open, his smile faltering as his eyes grew lost. He tried to smile again, forcing the expression, and turned his attention to something different to salvage the mood. "You like reading books, right? You're always with that big book every time I see you."
He crouched under his bed, the wood scraping against the floor, and pulled out a small, closed box. Arthur had never seen it open before. From it, Cedric took out two paper manuscripts. Even together, they would not make up a third of the width of Arthur's Holy Text.
"You're having some trouble with your Combat Instruction Class, right?" Cedric asked, holding out the first manuscript. "I have this book on Sword Teachings. I actually wrote it, hehe—"
Arthur stared at the paper. A mage trying to teach a swordsman magic? You must think so lowly of me, Cedric. How arrogant. But then, a darker thought crossed his mind. But I suppose that means you've finally begun to develop a consciousness. I have no need of any teaching. I'm sure I could match the strongest in the Honor Class if I actually tried to win.
"And if you want to learn Spellcasting, I have this great book on how to improve magic control," Cedric continued, producing the second manuscript.
Arthur's jaw tightened. He let his teeth clench together until they ached.