"You," he said, "are you George? I was given this address to take William to the scholarship test hall with me." He said this while pointing toward William.
"No, I am George. He is William," said George. "But why are you here? The test is after two days—so why do you want to take him away two days earlier?"
"Two days earlier, huh? Don't you know we take them earlier to prepare them?" the man replied.
"Oh, alright. And do you need to take only him or his belongings too?" George asked.
"Give him two pairs of clothes so he won't worry about what to wear. Also, you can come watch the test if you want," the man said.
George prepared the clothes—ones he had bought five days ago on sale—and said goodbye. William left with the man.
Would there be strong people and magicians? Will I meet different kinds of people? Will they be kind? William wondered as he walked.
"Boy, you got some magical powers?" the man asked.
"Yes, sir. I can light a fire, make liquid water freeze, and do a few other things," William answered.
"That isn't magic. That's basic skill, kid. You might have a low level of magic," the man said.
William felt deflated but remained determined to learn.
Soon they reached the hall where he would stay for two days with other children. There were no nobles here—taking a scholarship was considered taboo for noble families—so most children were peasants, masons, and vendors' kids.
"Stay here for the next two days and make some friends. You'll get food and sleep at set times. You won't starve," the man said.
"Okay, sir," William replied.
Inside the hall, William saw a boy his age summon fallen soldiers. Even before any aetherium measurements, everyone could tell this boy's power was enormous.
Aetherium—the other children explained later—was the measure of magical power inside someone. The higher the aetherium, the more magic a person could perform and the more often they could cast spells that required large reserves of energy. Some magics consumed little aetherium and could be repeated many times; others demanded so much that even a glimpse would leave a child breathless. A child with very high aetherium could summon, sustain, or repeat complex magics that ordinary apprentices couldn't.
"Wow, that guy is amazing. I should meet him," William said.
But the boy—Merlin—was rude. When William approached, Merlin used magic and shoved him into a wall. William cried out in pain.
"Why are you doing this to me?" William asked, wincing.
"Stay away from me. I don't talk to weaklings," Merlin snapped, even though no official measurements had been taken yet.
Some children helped William up. One of them, Victor, smiled kindly.
"Are you okay, bro? Hope it didn't hurt much," Victor said.
"I'm fine. What's your name?" William asked.
"I'm Victor. I'm here for the scholarship exam," Victor answered.
"Nice to meet you, William," Victor said. "So why did he push you?"
"I don't know. Let's just go—food's ready." They headed to the cafeteria.
Meanwhile, Edric—the spy—ran like a streak through three villages that day, searching for anyone who might have seen William. He found nothing yet and kept going.
William and Victor sat eating. William asked about Victor's family; Victor explained both his parents worked as farmers for a local landholder.
As they talked, the courtyard's atmosphere buzzed with nervous children preparing for the exam in two days.
When William and the man reached George's home earlier that morning, they had noticed something else: a man standing in front of the main door. George had asked, "Who are you?" The man turned, revealing a faint scar and a silver pendant. His blue eyes fixed on William.
"You…" the man had whispered.
Catherine — in her room, inside the castle (expanded ~200 words)
Catherine sat on the narrow bench by the tall window in her old room inside the castle. The curtains were drawn but not fully closed; moonlight sliced across the patterned carpet and fell on the embroidered pillow beside her. She pressed her fingers against the carved wooden toy she'd once made for William, feeling the grooves where his small hands had traced the grain.
Being back in the castle felt like wearing someone else's armor—familiar metal that pinched and ground. Her steps earlier through the hall had been watched by a thousand eyes that remembered her shame. Now, in the quiet of the room, the weight of those gazes pressed inwards. She replayed every moment: the slap, her father's venom, Andrew's whispered promise. Her secret—William—hung over her like a fault line.
Is he warm tonight? Is he hungry? Will he find shelter? The questions echoed relentlessly. She imagined him sitting by a small fire, or being pushed away by other children, or laughing with someone who would care for him. The hope and the fear tangled until she could not tell which feeling moved her more.
Her hand drifted to the window latch. Below, the castle's lanterns flickered like a string of reluctant stars. In the courtyard, faint silhouettes moved—guards on patrol, couriers hurrying, and someone else who had not been there yesterday. Her heart stumbled at that last thought. Who is that stranger? she wondered.
A servant rapped softly at the door and entered with a folded note. Catherine unfolded it with trembling fingers. The message was short, written in a hurried hand: "We have found a trace. Meet at midnight by the western stables. Come alone." The paper smelled faintly of smoke.
Her breath caught. Her name beneath the note—just one word—was a signature she knew too well. It was not Andrew's or Stephanie's.
She glanced toward the hallway, then the window. The castle felt smaller, as if walls could close in on secrets. She put the note against her chest, heartbeat loud and accusing.
Outside, someone hammered the stables' wooden latch three times—the same way a certain old messenger used to call.
Catherine's mouth went dry. She slipped on a thin cloak and moved toward the door. Every step toward the western gate felt like stepping down into a trap.
As Catherine reached the stables, a hooded figure stepped from the shadows and lowered a hand. Before she could speak, the figure's sleeve fell back—revealing the same silver pendant the man in front of George's door had worn. The pendant glinted as the moonlight struck it. The hooded figure's eyes rose slowly—and Catherine saw, with a cold, impossible clarity, eyes that belonged to her father.
"Did you think you could hide him forever?" he whispered, smiling like a blade.
Catherine staggered backward, the world tilting—because the voice, the pendant, and the eyes should not have been together.