Being a non-mage at a school of magic is no blessing.
I would come to understand this painful truth within my first few days at Wyrmlithus. News that I had no magical abilities spread like wildfire among the students and professors. I became the target of their hostility almost immediately. Without any specific reason, everyone at the Academy despised me. The mere fact that I was different – a possible non-mage – made the other students reject my presence among them.
The girls would snicker quietly as I walked past, while the boys hurled insults or aped animal sounds in mockery. Some of the bolder ones tried to trip me or threw whatever they had on hand — including food scraps. Other times, they'd pretend to drop small bronze coins in my path, hoping I would stoop to pick them up in front of them. I never did. Eventually, they had to retrieve the coins themselves.
Even the teachers looked at me with disdain when they passed me in the halls, only to turn their heads away in disgust. To them, a non-mage was a creature worthy of nothing but contempt.
I quickly learned that the best strategy to avoid trouble was to ignore everyone. If they saw I wasn't reacting the way they expected, the students would stop their antics as soon as I was out of sight.
But my problems didn't end there. The bed I slept in was hard and uneven, turning nights into a real torment. Every time I lay down, it felt like I was lying on a freshly plowed field. It took me at least half an hour to fall asleep, twisting and turning until I found a somewhat bearable position. Without fail, I'd wake up each morning with my ribs aching as if I'd been thoroughly beaten. Of course, there was no pillow, but I quickly learned to do without such a useless luxury.
After several months, I got used to the discomfort and would fall asleep almost as soon as I lay down. That's when I realized that, for all my criticism, Wyrmlithus did offer at least one positive thing: it made me more resilient in the face of life's hardships.
There was, however, one thing I couldn't come to terms with: the food.
Officially, meals were included in the tuition. In practice, if you didn't tip the cooks generously, you were left with nothing but scraps from the preparation of the main dishes.
I received just one meal a day — late in the evening, after everyone else had eaten. To call it a meal was generous. Dinner usually consisted of a few slices of bread and a thin broth with a couple of floating vegetables. Only on very rare occasions did I get a small piece of meat or cheese. Even a prisoner ate better than I did.
Since the food I received wasn't enough, I learned to fend for myself. Sometimes I'd go to the city's main market and help carry goods in exchange for a dozen dates or some other fruit — never money. I cobbled together a fishing rod and a small net, and I often went to the nearby river to catch fish and cook them myself. If I couldn't cast spells, at least I could fish — and that made me more useful than many of my classmates.
Rumors about me began to spread, each more frightening than the last. They said I snuck around at night to steal food, money, and clothes. If someone lost something, they'd loudly claim I was involved. People even started saying that my mere presence brought them bad luck and misfortune.
But the most outrageous rumor of all was that I fed on the Academy's rats — raw, of course. Still, no one could explain why the number of rats in the basements seemed to be increasing, not decreasing.
I learned to ignore the rumors and began sneaking through the hallways during hours when student activity was at its lowest. That way, I avoided drawing attention to myself.
Needless to say, I didn't make a single friend at the Academy. Every last student treated me like I had the plague. Getting close to me had become unthinkable.
One day, I asked the Academy's chief scribe if I could look at the student files of my parents. If they had truly been mages, I hoped the information might help me better understand the situation I was now in. Perhaps, by discovering the hidden parts of their lives, I'd find some clue to help me solve my own problems. It was a faint hope, but given my circumstances, I was willing to grasp even at a straw.
The chief scribe — a short man with a rounded belly — glanced at my patched uniform with disdain and then snapped indignantly:
"I'm not anyone's personal scribe! I serve the Academy! Just look how much work I have while you bother me with your trifles. Do you have any idea how many documents I have to prepare daily for the thousands of students who walk through these doors? Without the work we scribes do, this place would collapse!"
As he spoke, the scribe raised his pudgy hands toward the ceiling to emphasize his indignation. I noticed that, although stained with ink, his fingers were adorned with several thick gold rings.
I shrugged and was about to leave when he continued, in a slightly softer tone:
"You must understand — to us, time is as precious as gold! May the gods grant you the proper key to the wisdom in my words!"
I sighed as I walked away. Yes, I understood perfectly well what the "key to wisdom" was. It was precisely what I was missing — the one thing I lacked that could help solve my problems at the Academy.
The end of the first semester was approaching when I became the target of the first serious attack. I had climbed the stairs to the first floor and started walking down the long corridor that led to the back of the Academy. Suddenly, from the left, I heard a shout:
"Hey, non-mage! Catch this from me!"
I turned halfway and saw a boy about my age, with very light blond hair, almost white. I didn't know him. As I usually did in such situations, I wanted to keep walking, pretending I hadn't heard. But this time, it didn't work.
The blond boy stretched his hands toward me, saying a few unintelligible words. Suddenly, I felt something hit me like a gust of incredibly strong wind, knocking me to the floor. My magic book flew from under my arm, landing far away amid the laughter of those around me.
Dazed, I tried to stand up. All around me were students giggling and making jokes at my expense.
"Nice! You showed him!"
"Did you see that fall?" someone laughed. "That'll teach him a lesson. What's he even doing here with us?"
"Want some more?" the blond shouted. "That's how we treat non-mages. You don't belong here, freak. I don't know how you fooled the professors, but you won't fool us. Your place is outside, you piece of trash. Get out! Out with the non-mage!"
His screams were quickly picked up by those around him. "Out! Out!" they all shouted, clapping in rhythm.
I got to my feet and tried to run, but it was too late. The blond boy muttered his spell again, stretching his hands toward me. A gust of wind, stronger than the first, pushed me back and slammed me directly into one of the pillars lining the corridor. The impact stunned me badly, and I struggled to stay conscious through the overwhelming pain.
"See, you little wretch?" the blond sneered. "That's your first real magic lesson. No need for classes anymore, non-mage! I can teach you in a second everything air magic can do, in case you didn't know. I can hit you with gusts of wind, even tiny tornadoes."
I looked around at the crowd surrounding me, searching their eyes for a trace of compassion. But there was none. They were all laughing, yelling, nudging each other, and cheering the blond on. There wasn't the slightest chance that any of them would help me.
As I scanned the crowd, I briefly noticed the girl with black eyes. She was the only one not laughing. Could she be about to help me?
She looked at me for a few seconds without making the slightest move. Her gaze held nothing but indifference. Then she turned and walked away from the group watching the scene. It seemed she had no intention of witnessing my public humiliation.
"Did you like that, non-mage?" the blond shouted cheerfully. "You can't even cast the smallest spell or protect that slimy rat-skin of yours. I've saved something special for last. This one's really going to hurt!"
It seemed his spell needed some preparation, because I saw him raise one hand above his head and start tracing concentric circles in the air while chanting an indecipherable litany. With each motion, silver trails formed in the air around his hands, lingering for a few moments.
Encouraging shouts came from the crowd: "Yeah, teach that non-mage a lesson!"
There was no point waiting for the spell to finish. Judging by past experiences, the result could only be very painful—maybe even deadly. Without getting to my feet, I quickly took off one boot and hurled it with all my strength at the blond's annoying face.
Focused on his spell, the blond didn't see the flying boot until the moment it smacked him square in the forehead. With a dry thud, the spell collapsed and the rings of light exploded in a silver flash. Screams and chaos followed. Everyone nearby was thrown to the ground by the shockwave. Several spectators, along with the blond attacker, were left with minor injuries.
I stood up with effort and retrieved my boot. Pain surged through my body, a reminder of the violence of the attack—but at least I had managed to stop him. I expected to be punished for what I had done, but at that moment, I was just glad I had defended myself. The stunned looks on the students' faces showed they hadn't seen that coming.
"Call for help, quick!" someone shouted. "The non-mage dared to fight back! Call the Academy guards!"
Seconds later, several guard mages came stomping down the main corridor. Without ceremony, they grabbed both me and the blond and dragged us to the Dean's office.