The dean's office had suddenly become cramped. Besides me and the blond, three witnesses had been brought into the office – one boy and two girls. One of them was the girl with the black eyes.
As far as I could tell, the dean wanted – at least formally – to give the impression of fairness. But considering how much everyone at the academy hated me just for being a non-mage, it was unlikely the witnesses would be on my side. Only the jury was missing, and it would have been a full-fledged trial.
Before the hearing began, the dean shot me a scathing look, then said sharply:
"You have the right to remain silent – and you'd better use it. If you speak, you'll make things worse for yourself. Now, we'll hear the witnesses first."
The first invited to speak was the girl with the black eyes.
"What's your name?" the dean asked.
"Elesya," the girl replied, "and I'm from the Arleng family."
"Not a particularly wealthy family," the dean remarked, "but still respectable. Do you know this student?" he asked, pointing at me.
"A little," she answered. "He came to my class only once. Since then, he hasn't shown up. It seems he's having some difficulties with magic lessons."
"Do you believe he's a non-mage?"
"I don't know," she replied cautiously. "I don't think it's my place to evaluate others' abilities."
"Did you see what happened?"
"Only part of it. I left before things reached the end."
"Alright," said the dean. "Tell us everything you saw."
In a few concise sentences, Elesya recounted the events. She explained how the blond had attacked me without provocation, solely out of hatred toward non-mages. Though brief, her testimony had the advantage of being neutral and, at the same time, closest to the truth.
After finishing her statement, Elesya apologized, saying she had lessons to study for, and left. I silently thanked her for not lying or letting herself be swept up in the general hatred against non-mages.
Silome, another blond girl with freckles on her face and washed-out blue eyes, began her testimony:
"Of course," she said, "the non-mage is to blame! He walked past us full of contempt, without looking left or right. He didn't say anything, but I'm sure he was laughing at us inwardly and defying us. His attitude enraged Doric, who felt the need to teach him a lesson with a few air spells. But the non-mage, instead of accepting his punishment in silence, dared to fight back..."
"How did he do that?" asked the dean. "Does he know magic after all?"
"No, he took off one of those weird shoes of his and threw it at poor Doric's head before he could finish his final spell. Everything exploded!"
Annoyed, the dean told everyone in the room to leave, except me and the blond boy.
"Incredible," the dean murmured. "A non-mage managed to defeat you."
"Alright," the blond boy whined, "but I didn't expect such an attack from a non-mage..."
I sat tense in my chair, waiting for the dean's reaction.
"That's right," the dean thundered. "You can't expect a magical attack from a non-mage! But nothing stops him from attacking you physically. A non-mage can hit you, cut you, maul you, and kill you ten times over before you finish your spell. You were arrogant and underestimated your opponent. Before attacking, you should have raised a protective barrier against physical attacks."
He took a sip from his glass of potion and continued:
"There's nothing more shameful than being defeated in combat by a non-mage! Next semester, you'll be suspended from classes for a week, during which you'll review all the defensive spells you've learned. If you weren't from the Raskez family, I'd expel you immediately for bringing disgrace to the Academy, but I must settle for a lesser punishment. You're lucky your family donated generously to Wyrmlithus. Now, get out of my office!"
The blond boy threw me a hostile look and walked toward the door. His look made it clear that harsh revenge was coming.
"Wait a minute," the dean stopped him. "Before you leave, you must promise not to touch Sam again. And the same goes the other way."
The blond boy nodded grudgingly and quickly left the room. Left alone with the dean, I felt the tension rise.
"As for you," said the dean, "I have a special punishment. You'll have to prove you're a mage not at the end of the year, but tomorrow, when the semester exams begin."
I felt suffocated with indignation.
"And why am I being punished? What's my fault for being attacked? It was just self-defense!"
Full of disdain, the dean replied without turning to face me:
"If you were a real mage, you would've known how to defend yourself against magical attacks without endangering others. It's not our fault that you're below the level expected at your age. Understand? There's no excuse for being a non-mage within the Academy's walls. We don't tolerate such things. If you ended up among us by mistake, then we must expel you."
He paused briefly, then continued in a sharp tone:
"A non-mage enjoys no respect from us, and until proven otherwise, that's exactly what you are. You're a nobody, understand? You have no rights and no say in front of us, the mages. I don't care what family you come from. I don't care that your parents were skilled mages. If you can't pass tomorrow's primary exam, you'll be expelled and sent into slavery. Of course, with your memory wiped."
The pause in the dean's speech was crushing. I felt every word like a blow.
"Therefore, you have until tomorrow morning to prove you're a mage. If you manage to successfully perform three spells of your choice, you'll be allowed to stay. If not, you'll be gone for good. And be warned – you won't be given a chance to retake the course in your case."