Chapter 38: United Anew

Miko:

The wagon rolled to a stop, and Kallen moved anxiously in his seat.

“What’s your deal?” I questioned.

He scratched nervously at his neck. “Nothin. I’m just not usually on this side.”

“You could’ve ridden up front; I mean, it’s your family’s wagon.”

“I know that! It just didn’t feel right…” Kallen eyed Maleki anxiously, like they understood something I didn’t.

“We’re here!” A voice bellowed from outside the wagon before heavy boots slammed against the ground outside.

The wooden wagon doors slammed wide open on their hinges. In front of the unfolded wooden steps stood a man with black peppery hair adorned with a reddish brown leather strap across his chest and waist that was visible behind a worn red long coat that flowed behind him. A rough beard was slightly covered by a cloth sun wrap that coiled on his neck.

“I’m a bit rusty. Did everyone enjoy the ride?”

“Yes, Daddy!” Was excitedly screamed next to us by a girl who was only five or six years old.

“Too loud, Sora.” Her mother scolded her by patting her hands. “That’s not very ladylike.”

“Come on, Sora, I’ll carry you through the mud!” The man said.

“You’re gonna carry me too, right?” Kallen smiled convincingly.

The man smiled back while shaking his head, revealing a small scar that ran along his cheekbone.

“Right, Dad? It looks pretty muddy out there!”

As Kallen’s father carried Sora away, she stuck her tongue out at Kallen.

“That makes a lot of sense, all of a sudden,” Maleki uttered with a face of shock.

“What?” Kallen demanded.

“Why don't you and Miko get along? She’s just like Miko.”

“You just figured that out after five days in the wagon with my entire family?”

“It was a slow burn, but that right there was the final piece to the puzzle. Miko sets you off so quickly because you have to deal with it all the time at home. Maybe that’s why we get along so well. We both have to deal with an insufferable younger sibling.”

“How bout you leave the puzzles for the guy who has the bulging brain over there!”

“Thanks!” I exclaimed.

“Not a compliment, Miko!” Kallen said in my direction. “The last thing I need is two idiots getting bright ideas all the time.”

“Come on, boys,” Kallen’s father said, peering back into the wagon. Ladies are already situated inside their room. We’ll make the ride up the mountain tomorrow afternoon. Don’t stay up too late, but the tavern is still serving food.”

“He’s way better at this than you were, Kal,” I muttered toward him.

“Oh, shut it, Miko.” He muttered back. “I missed it when you had the limp; at least then, I felt bad for you. Now you’re just semi-regular and an ass.”

“That’s fair,” I said with a chirpy tone.

He looked at Maleki for assurance, “Ugh. It’s even worse when he agrees with you.”

“You’re telling me,” Maleki replied with a smirk.

As we exited the wagon individually, droplets of rain pelted our coats, sliding down the leather and cloth off to the ground that had been heavily travelled by heavy wooden wheels. My boots squished softly into the mud, which Kallen seemed to take worse than Maleki or I did. He winced as his boots stuck deep into the mud, barely moving as he attempted to pull out of the grip of the wet dirt.

“Such great work with those two working legs you were gifted with at birth,” I said through separate, very audible laughs.

“Don’t even worry about taking a class on torture, Miko.” Kallen scowled.

“They teach that?” I said with a fake excited voice and a paused expression that even I would have wanted to punch through.

“No, but if they did, you wouldn’t need it. You’re already just splendid. Maybe if they do have one, you can take it, and they can torture you, so you know how it feels.”

“Ugh, all this nagging is making me hungry,” I said as my stomach growled and the rain began to soak through, wetting my back.

Maleki laughed with a scolding scoff, “We went days without eating multiple times, without complaint, and yet you can’t go more than a few hours without consuming something now.”

“Don’t worry, Miko. We’ll feed you till you choke tonight.” Kallen grabbed me by the shoulder and tossed me forward into the wet wooden doors in front of us. I didn’t have time to bring my good arm out in front of me, so I tumbled forward with my lousy arm.

We breached the doors of the tavern, and the cold water pelting our backs sifted away, bringing the heat of the oil-lit room over us. The room was tall with stairs that led to the rooms on a second level, where Kal’s family had already set up, but we decided to find a table, having felt too restless from the long ride in the cart. Tomorrow’s journey up the mountain would be our final day in the wagon, but this was the first inn we had stayed in since we departed.

“Kal,” I said, sitting across from him at a small wooden table. “What do you know about the place we’re going to, Label?”

“Not much, really. There aren’t many majik schools, and the ones that do exist are in the capital cities for people younger than us.”

“That doesn’t really make sense. Wouldn’t everyone go to school if everyone had it?”

“From your perspective, yes. But to the rest of the continent, majik is not a hobby; it’s a sense, a weapon, or a tool. Everyone doesn’t go fight in an arena just because they can hold a sword; you only go if you have something special. Many people use majik in mundane, everyday life. Farming, building, manufacturing, cleaning; majik is like an object that you can take around with you everywhere and do anything with. While it doesn’t replace all things, we still use it to supplement our tools and techniques.” He continued, “However, I’ve heard only the best go to Label, and most that don’t get in go back to their family trade or find a new apprenticeship.”

“On the whole continent, there’s only one school? Isn’t that counterintuitive with how many people that is?” Maleki asked.

“Actually, no,” I added. “Based on what Kal told us before about the agreement that required all the kingdoms to send their maji to one school, having started after the war, it leads me to believe that they enacted this to interconnect the economies and interests of each country.”

“Wouldn’t they just go back home after they were done with school?”

“Not exactly,” Kallen said, searching the room for the tavernkeeper. “From what Father has told me, you end up making friends with people from different places all around the continent, which can make it harder to initiate conflicts or even fight, knowing you’ll be facing people you know. On top of that, some don’t return to their home country, which makes it harder for the family back home to enact damaging foreign policies or tariffs.”

“We’re just talking about a few people, though. How could that affect everything on a larger scale?”

“It’s not just a few. Label is a big school, but it also houses some of the most influential families’ children and other strong up-and-coming maji who then become influential. Those types of people tend to make friends and allies quickly.”

“I guess. Feels like a way to just keep advanced majik out of the hands of the lower class if you ask me, though.”

“No, that’s right, actually,” I said with a surprised face.

“Oh, don’t act like that. I do have a complex thought come out of my mouth once in a while.

I laughed, acknowledging his defensiveness. “Whether they admit it openly or not, that would surely be a known side-effect of isolating the school’s acceptance to recommendation only. Every book about historical wars that I’ve read from Grandpa’s collection almost always started with an uprising in the lower class. Maybe they think by posing restrictions, they can prevent competent militias from forming.”

“All right, that’s not enough words for my head today; it’s already shaken from the ride here.” Maleki took the last bite out of his food and waved a backward parting ‘Goodnight’ to us as he headed to his room. Kal and I had grown closer through my brother and the simple fact that I had to see him every day, but conversations, in general, are easier when started through Maleki. He has this unknowing confidence that I don’t possess, and where he speaks unconsciously, I have to try, and it feels awkward or forced, or both. So, I used Maleki’s escape as my own, leaving Kallen to enjoy the rest of his meal alone.

I didn’t sleep long, considering we arrived as the first sun was setting. The travel up the mountain to Label was extended by the rocky terrain and slim paths, which added a few hours onto our final day of travel. Once we passed the layer of clouds that wandered the upper middle of the mountain, we were able to see clearly up to what would have been the peak. Instead of a true pointy peak, this mountain’s top was more of a large rocky plateau that had been built on top of. From this height, all we could see were rocky slopes and a gray wall that appeared to be made from a different stone than that of the mountain. From within those walls, several buildings peeked above, which grew in more detail as we moved up the slope in our wagon with Kal’s family.

Finally, the horses came to a stop as Kal’s father pulled at the reins. The door opened a few moments later, revealing a large cliffside of stone and grass that sloped upwards to the front of the only entrance forward to the castle.

The gates to the castle in front of us were made of large metal bars that were heavily rusted but appeared strongly connected to the gray cobblestone pillars. There were no guards or armour-clad individuals standing in the way of the open path to the castle. Instead, oddly, there were three older men, one our grandfather’s age, in the way of the entrance. They were clad in simple clothes, robes that twisted to the side over a loose set of trousers, and with leather straps that looped around their waist and across their torso diagonally to hold some sort of parchment container.

We exited the wagon with Kallen’s father, Solen, leading the three of us behind him. He towered over us as most adults do, but that was not his distinguishing trait; more so, he seemed to walk with a soldier’s width and gait. From this position, it seemed almost impossible to walk next to him, as if it would be wrong to even attempt to do so. His father walked with pride, an envious one, though it seemed to waver in his face over this last week of travelling at certain moments. Solen carried the same relaxed face that Kal did, like he was comfortable wherever he was, but always intently focused on whatever was in front of him.

As we approached the three elderly men, their faces were uninvested in us, our belongings, or the position of our wagon and horses. The towers to the left and right of the gate at this level seemed unnecessarily tall, with just three old men in front of them, making even the guard walkway and defense positions seem even more blank without people standing in them. This was far different than what Quavoris had, and they were a neutral kingdom, never having even partied with a warring kingdom during the worst or best of times.

We approached with light feet, letting Solen take the first and final steps forward, a position that would force a conversation to begin with the strangers. “Xhorae shineth upon you, Arch Majister.” He spoke to the middlemost man before greeting the other two from right to left, “As well to you, High Majisters.”

The individual men wore distinct colours that were different from each other, likely representing their home kingdom, from my best guess, but they bore no marks or symbols to denote their affiliation. From this angle, it appeared only subtly symbolic.

They greeted Kallen’s father, each with a strong handshake, before the center man, bearing purple robes, spoke aloud, acknowledging each one of us quickly with his eyes until they only met Solen’s. “Xhorae, shineth upon us all. Solen, The Cinder Swordsman. What great pleasure it is for us to meet such a famous hero and a graduate of this very own academy at that.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Majister. This academy made plenty of warless heroes, a feat accredited to this castle’s great council of majisters. However, I was only here to drop my son Kallen off and his friends. I will leave you to your process, majisters.”

Solen moved backward as if to step away from them, but before he could offer a bow, the center man spoke, interrupting his movement.

“You know, Solen, we have an opening as an instructor here at the academy for an Armiger, and your renowned skills at manifesting would not go wasted here. We have a great need for your generation’s majik.”

“I am not worthy of your compliments; I fear I am not the man I once was.”

“Aren’t we all, Solen?” He laughed wisely. “Do I look like the famed general I once was paraded to be? These old hands ache after even a short teaching session these days, but there is still so much I can share with them. Your child’s generation needs men like you and me, the scars and wrinkles help show the necessity for what we do here.”

“I brought my wife and daughter, and the horses, you know, and as great as this great castle is, it is no suitable home for them, I’m sure you can understand.”

“Of course, Solen. I don’t mean to impose. However, we would house them in the city below, and the horses could be stabled here with our staff or even below with your family or in a public facility. The instructing position would come with a quarterly stipend, and all your necessities would be covered.”

“I-, I’d have to, “ He stuttered in joyful bewilderment.

“Of course, it would be wise to discuss this with your family first. Why don’t you walk the grounds with your family while we take the boys to our testing facility? It’s no harm, whatever decision you make, but the students really would profit from such a skilled instructor as yourself being available to them. Talent is of no difficulty to find here, but skill, true, precise skill, is so very valuable. It has been many years since kingdoms warred openly; that anxious tension needs to be refined and contained by strong and persistent voices like yourself.”

“Thank you, Arch Majister. Your words and the offer are far more than I am worth. I will go discuss it with my family right away.”

“We await eagerly, Solen. The Cinder Swordsman is worth the wait.” The older man spoke with finality.

Kallen’s father smiled, but a slight grimace could be seen uncontained on his lips.

As he swiveled, the man spoke again with a slight finality and confident tilt of the neck. “And Solen, we aren’t our last battle. We are the accumulation of them all. What we choose to do after defeat or victory is what defines the shape of tomorrow’s shadow.”

Solen’s face wasn’t visible as he stepped away from us, creating an awkward gap between the three men and us. Kallen attempted to share a glance with his father but kept his stance straight and did his best to appear focused in front of the Majisters, though Maleki and I both appeared to have noticed his unnerving appearance.

“Well, boys, would you please join us at the testing facility so we may verify your documentation and prowess?”

We nodded unanimously in agreement, yet I was the only one to not respond as Maleki and Kallen gave a convincing, “Yes, Arch Majister!” What a bunch of suck-ups they are. Kallen’s just copying his father, and Maleki’s being respectful as always, but I’m not sure which one annoys me more. The pathways were made of stone that sparkled with an almost glass-like visibility on the surface, and as manicured and structured as this path was, there were no buildings in the immediate vicinity. Instead, we walked through a meadow of trees that the path diverted through for almost five minutes before we reached a broad and tall white stone wall that would have rivaled the cliff that Maleki climbed with me on his back. The wall bulged outwards every ten feet, making it even more difficult to climb since there seemingly weren’t any cracks anywhere along the wall despite the aged look of the white bouldery stone.

The Arch Majister walked with both hands behind his back, and they met in a solid fist-to-fist formation. Despite his age, the man walked like a soldier through and through. We saw echoes of this in our father, but it was stronger with Grandpa, though it has wavered with his age. We approached the wall where the path collided, and the purple-robed Majister placed his palm on the wall, with his fingers outstretched and not touching the stone. After a short delay, his fingers moved quickly and independently of each other in a way that almost seemed to defy normal coordination. A soft orange light cracked within the area of the wall that he was touching, spreading like a flame in a field, revealing a hundred cubed shapes that shifted quickly until a small doorway through the wall appeared. Now that the door in the wall was opened, I could see that the thickness had far surpassed my initial perception of it. Several hundred feet of off-white stone stood before us, with no cracks or openings, not even a seam or line to show where the first builders would have brought the pieces together.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Maleki questioned from the center of our group.

“Yes, it is special indeed. This fortress is the second-oldest place on this continent, and while you would think that makes it decrepit or faulty with time, the opposite is more true than you can imagine.”

“Second only to Quavoris,” I said stoutly.

“Ahh,” the older man replied. “Did you apprentice under an academic by chance?”

“No, but I’ve been there. This material, the stone, and the path. It’s all made almost exactly like the oldest part of Quavoris, where the temple of the Last Gods is.”

“The Last Gods.” Another man to the left spoke as we walked through the tunnel. His robes were blue, and his age was closer to the middlemost man’s, but perhaps a few years younger. “We believe this to have been their final abode before they disappeared entirely. We understand only a small amount of what they once did.”

As we broke through the mouth of the long tunnel, before us sat a wide, empty courtyard, desolate and without any structures. This was more like an empty stone field that was walled off by a smaller set of pillars that appeared to be the actual academy itself. We followed the Majisters toward the middle of the arena-like area where a large symbol resided, which appeared to be the symbol for the fortress or the school itself.

“Before we begin, to properly introduce myself, I am the Arch Magister of this academy and one of the three examination proctors that determine whether or not you will be accepted into this castle’s inner walls.”

“May I see your writ of recommendation, boys?”

Kallen stepped forward first, presenting a finely tied parchment that the man unrolled over his forearm. “It’s just from my father, sir.”

“A fine recommendation indeed, young man. If you’re anything like your father, you’ll have more than enough talent to progress quickly here.”

Maleki followed after Kallen stepped back into place. “This is for both my brother Miko and me.”

The older Majister had a look of surprise as he unrolled the document. Our parchment was not as fine, and the paper was well-worn and torn in certain sections. We had no need for scroll paper as much as other families did, I suppose. Kallen’s family had contracts of agreement and lists of supplies to be delivered, which meant they had better access to them. Ours was reused, ink scraped off, and the seal rubbed away so a new one could be put in its place. However, it was not the quality or lack thereof that seemed to capture his attention, but instead, his eyes drifted to the signature at the bottom and the seal that sat below it.

Our grandfather’s name and his symbol, made of wax, stood apart from the words of acknowledgement and encouragement for our attendance at the academy.

The Phortix family symbol was a series of interconnecting lines that crossed at a circle, where within sat the symbol of Agni. Our grandfather’s symbol, The House of Mortica, was different. It wasn’t complex, nor was there even a letter. Grandpa would simply thumb the scorching hot wax until it flattened down. His fingers were almost immune to the heat of the forge after many years of smashing away at the blistering metal. The bottom of his palm and fingertips hardly even show any identifying lines or circular impressions at the points where he would make contact. I even distinctly remember hearing an uncharacteristic shout out of him when we were playing one day. He had moved to grab his forging hammer but had accidentally grabbed a sweltering metal hilt instead. Apparently, this was not the first time that had happened, seeing as how he hardly took much time to acknowledge the pain thereafter.

“This seal,” The man said with wonder. “I’d recognize it anywhere. There were none quite like Thaumus.”

“You knew our grandfather?” Maleki asked with a chirpy tone.

“Why, yes, of course,” he said, letting the parchment roll back into itself with a snap. “He was a dear friend. And I fear there weren’t many by the end of the last war.”

“Our grandfather never speaks about those times.”

“Many do not. But in all my days on the frontlines, your grandfather had more effort in ending the war than I ever did.”

The Majister handed the scroll back to Maleki, gripping both of our shoulders tightly without sharing any other words, only ending that conversation with a nod of respect. “Now that recommendations are in order. We’ll need to see how your capabilities are with majik.”

Kallen stepped forward to the front before the three men, and we stepped off to the sides to give him the space he needed. We had only seen Kallen’s majik when we asked him to show us how it worked on the way here from Outer Korvast. He was reluctant, but I was overly curious and thought seeing it in action might help us develop our own majik.

He rolled his sleeves up to the halfway mark of his forearm, revealing the single thick black line on both of his wrists that he had once shown us at the table in Quavoris. Kallen grabbed his wrists with both hands, squeezing tightly until the thick black line grew into a reddish colour. He spun his hands over the top of his head while sliding outwards. As he exited, a flame trickled starting at the edge of his forearm near his wrist, and grew into a flame that covered his hand like a glove.

“An Auror, like your father. I wouldn’t have expected anything less. It seems the talent truly does flow well in that Phortix blood.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kallen said with a forced smile. I noticed him wince as he turned around towards us to find his new spot off to the side.

“Would you like to go next, Maleki?”

Maleki stuttered as he stepped towards the middle of the marked ground. “Well, you see, sir…Miko and I haven’t actually learned how to manifest our majik yet.”

The high majisters at the sides let out a small contained chuckle, which was quickly hushed by the wave of a hand from the Arch Majister.

“Boys, this is a school for advanced maji. You come here to refine your skills and learn how to apply them in battle, not how to manifest them for the first time.”

Maleki looked to me for reassurance. We had discussed this beforehand and knew that it was important that we figure out our powers before we got here, and we have been trying ever since we left The Garden, but to no avail. I read several new books I found in Grandpa’s hidden stash and asked every question I could think of to Kallen, but our majik is just too new to our bodies to develop right away. However, in the event that we weren’t able to manifest by the time we got to the school, we were prepared to tell them about our majik. It was a risk, considering that the information could expose us to unwanted attention, but if we wanted to get into the academy, this was a risk we would have to take. With the Ikhons most likely being here, we had no other choice but to share a little and gain their interest. I nodded just slightly for Maleki to notice, to signal my approval.

“Arch Majister,” Maleki began, speaking quieter than before. I must tell you something for only your ear. The Arch Maji looked at Maleki with a raised eyebrow but obliged after a few moments, stepping toward him to where the conversation would only be audible to me and Maleki.

“I know this might be hard to believe, but Miko and I just recently gained majik in our blood, and we have access to separate elements that no one else ever has.”

The older man just simply nodded his wrinkled head to himself like he was being told a joke he had heard before.

“To clarify, you’re telling me you both were born as nomajs.”

“Our parents were both unnatural maji.”

“It would be wise to not share that information so sparingly, boys.” The Arch Majister’s eyes were burned a wispy orange.

“We’re aware,” I spoke aloud. “I know of the ancient order about people like us, but we don’t have a choice.”

“And yet you stand here before me, departing with this information so freely.”

The courtyard was even quieter as each party awaited the other to fill the dead air with words, but a few moments passed, and we all simply stared. Maleki and the Arch Majister’s presence seemed to fill the room like giant, weighty stones, making the rest appear more like pebbles.

“And if I asked for proof of your supposedly newfound majik?”

“We can’t manifest our majik to prove ourselves.”

“We have other ways. You would not be the first to pretend to have majik, though you might be the first to pretend to do so at a prestigious school specifically for maji.”

“We’ll, take whatever tests you’d like,” Maleki said without faltering.

The high majisters had not appeared to have heard any of the conversation, though they did seem to be eying Maleki and me intently. Their eyes were like daggers, watching our stillness with suspicion. The Arch Majister stepped away for what felt like an eternity until he appeared back into view on the opposite side of the courtyard, wielding a small cylinder.

“This device is used to test one’s aptitude towards an element. Such as in the case when manifestation has yet to occur, and they are trying to develop their majik, but aren’t sure the best way since every element has its own path.”

“I thought you said this academy was not interested in teaching someone how to manifest?” I questioned with a provoking tone.

“We are the center of all developments in the majikal world in more areas than just combat. We have access to artifakts that even some kingdoms are not privy to; even the ones that do not have a strong inherent use at the academy can still be used in other creative areas by our students, or in our case today, to test whether or not majikal blood runs throughout you.” The magister paused, waiting for me to reply with a face that screamed, ‘Any other sly comments?’

“If you consent to testing, present your forearm.”

I stepped forward alongside Maleki. We both pulled a sleeve on one of our arms, revealing a thin black line along both of our wrists.

The high majisters arrived at the man’s side, and each retrieved one of the artifakts and then approached both of us. The artifakt unfolded, appearing as a type of gauntlet when closed, but was now displaying a set of bars and a tiny protruding sharp metal point.

The Arch Majister explained how the device worked as the other two pulled our forearms flat and centered the point over the thin black line on our wrist.

“Agh,” I winced as they closed the artifakt around my arms, tightening it with straps that latched at the bottom. Once the device was fully in place, they slid a small metal section on the top that brought the sharp point into our wrists, which forced another audible grunt from my lips, though Maleki didn’t seem to flinch, instead only holding the Arch Majister’s gaze intently.

The gauntlet began to hum a soft whirring sound, almost like a sharp, focused breeze on a pair of Grandpa’s chimes. After a few moments, the sharp point retreated from my punctured skin.

The courtyard, the stones, the pillars, every blade of grass, everyone but Maleki and me seemed so still. Even Kallen, who knew and believed what we told him, seemed stunned. This was undeniable proof of what we had said.

My gauntlet filled with green wispy particles until the clear glass tube was almost entirely green. Similarly, Maleki’s was filled with a strong luminescent purple hue.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Maleki spoke aloud, noticing the center man’s wise smirk with a little exposed frustration.

“The gauntlet failed, sir.” The high majister to the left spoke.

“Wrong.” The Arch Majister said in a scolding tone. “The tube would be clear had it failed.”

“That is not a colour the device is supposed to emit.” The other majister said reluctantly.

“No,” he scolded again. “Those are just colours you have never seen before. Knowledge of the unknown is only ignorance if you choose not to believe what you have otherwise seen proven before your eyes.”

Maleki moved to speak again, but his words were cut off.

“Surprised, no. You learn not to be surprised after sleeping on a battlefield. You become aware of your surroundings, and you let intuition take control. And I have seen many things in my life that were not supposed to be. Your Grandfather seemed to attract the impossible.”

The center majister paused, pacing back and forth between the other two. “This changes nothing, though. You still have no control over your abilities. From the looks of you, Miko, you’re suffering from some sort of degenerative disease, or else you wouldn’t have an entire arm wrapped up like that, which also makes you severely stunted in the combat department. And you, Maleki, you’re two years behind the other students your age, and you have no grasp on your majik yet. We would be isolating both of you severely, and there are many strong-willed individuals in this school. We try our hardest to create a sense of peace and stability at this school, but when you isolate the most talented and most skilled people all into one castle, no matter how large, tensions tend to rise, personalities clash, and you’re not prepared for that.”

“Not prepared?” I laughed. “If only you knew what it took for us to get here. We’ve fought off a lot worse than the majik twats that you build here. Maleki even went toe to toe with that stupid prophecy kid, Kaelum. And that was without majik.”

“So you’ve met him. And is there anyone else who can corroborate this?”

Kallen raised his hand slightly. “It’s true, Arch Majister. They did fight in Quavoris.”

The older man stopped his pacing, eyes dead set on Maleki, before he stepped backward and dragged his hands forward as if throwing sand, but instead, several triangular rock shapes formed in front of him, floating in the air. After a brief delay, he turned his palm and shot one of the stones at Maleki with frightening speed. Maleki dropped his shoulder at the last second, allowing the object to shuttle past him until it lost its control and bounced off the ground far behind him.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” I yelled from the side.

Neither of them budged or retorted. The majister shot both stones at Maleki, one lagging right after the other. Maleki ducked the first stone, letting it pass above him, but the second was prepared for that move and positioned itself lower than the first’s trajectory. With a single palm on the ground to catch himself, he pulled slightly left out of a runner's stance and strode past the object within the tiniest degree of distance between.

The Arch Majister didn’t seem unprepared for this reaction, as he moved quicker than the first time to reposition himself and create three more stones that balanced themselves before him. But Maleki was moving quickly now, trying to break the gap between them. Each stone fired after a short delay, but from different angles: the first from the middle, but the other two came a few feet off from the man’s shoulders.

Maleki had yet to figure out anything substantial about his majik, but what Nomen told us that day about the subconscious field he emits around himself is becoming more relevant than ever. Watching it from this perspective, it’s difficult to tell if the objects are missing him or if he’s dodging the objects. He’s clearly moving intentionally, but there’s no way he’s dodging so precisely without having ingrained this into muscle memory, which means that gravitas is either making him aware of the trajectory or it’s somehow manipulating it before impact. The problem here is that my foolish brother doesn’t know anything for certain; he’s just moving, acting without a plan, per usual, and I just have to sit here and watch. Even if my theory is correct, there’s no telling what the range is on that field, or even if closing the distance would be beneficial.

This didn’t seem like an ordinary fight, but neither of the high majisters looked as if they intended to intervene or assist their elder. And unless that became the case, Kal and I would need to watch on like spectators to whatever bout was occurring in front of us. Even if this is some sort of test, it doesn’t make the stones any less sharp or heavy. They could still seriously harm Maleki, or at worst, kill him if he isn’t careful or if he doesn’t dodge at the exact right time. We’ve been lucky so far; we aren’t war heroes or expert hand-to-hand fighters, and we certainly have no majik to even the tides. Out of all the things my brother is, his hard-headedness and unwillingness to quit are what get him into trouble more often than not. They’re also what separates him. Whether you’re talented or skilled, it doesn’t matter to him; he’ll just grit his teeth and keep on moving.

Maleki dodged the first stone that shot at waist height down the middle, but the Majister had put more distance between them with each staggered shot. The next one that came from the left nearly hit him, but he dropped his neck enough so that it only caught his collar.

A new barrage appeared in front of the elder; this time, six smaller, unsharpened stones floated in the empty air between his fingers. He pulled his hands out to the side, and the stones drifted left and right, and then, with a push, they flew faster than if a grown man had chucked them with all his might.

Maleki missed the first two, but the next caught him in the shoulder. He missed another after shifting his shoulder to the side, but the fourth caught him in the stomach, doubling him over. The man didn’t relent, though, and neither did Maleki.

He was up fast with quick, wide strides in his dash towards the Majister. But he was prepared; the onslaught of stones was just a distraction to mask what was hiding slightly behind him, covered under the dust of the now rubble-filled courtyard. Two stones, larger and sharper than the first three, shot out quickly. They were as big as Maleki together and moving at the same speed. There was no dodging these, and meeting that head-on wouldn’t go well without some sort of armour or defense.

Before they arrived, Maleki’s eyes shifted up, and he removed his scythe from its holster on his back with his left arm, reaching over the opposing shoulder. In that range, he had to be quick, and the swing had to be almost completely shortened. He pulled hard, using only one hand and then moving the top of his forearm to help brace. The scythe's blade impacted with the two stones, carrying them off to his side and crashing into the ground, cut cleanly in two.

“There it is.” The Arch Majister clapped. His age returned to him quickly, dropping the forced battle stance he had held before. He had appeared so young there in that moment, as if he chose to ignore that his bones and limbs didn’t move as they once would have used to.

“That explains how you kept up with Kaelum. I fear the boy plays the aggressor too often these days, but he never seriously hurts anyone. As I said, this is a school full of strong-hearted individuals. You should expect to see more like him, and as they come, he is more tame than others.” He continued. “But I see your Grandfather’s Osmium still exists. It’s a crutch, a tool; it only decides a battle if the wielder is competent. You send a fool off to battle with it, and he’ll die all the same. If you rely too heavily on it, throwing majik to the wayside, you’ll die the same death as the fool.”

“So we passed?” I asked with confusion.

“A recommendation is only good for one attendant.”

“But-“ I interrupted.

“But-“ he said, looking directly at me. “Your grandfather wasn’t a warrior or a soldier; he was an artisan, a very skilled smith. That recommendation acknowledges one of you to join as such, and to create great things.”

“So we have majik you’ve never seen, and you want one of us to just make stuff, and you’ll just decline the other?” My tone was never as respectful as Maleki’s, but it certainly wasn’t at this moment.

“There are rules that we all must abide by, but we can operate within them. It doesn’t mean you can’t take majik-combat classes, but it does require at least half of your classes to be related to creating things with majik rather than destroying them with it. And I think you would be better suited for that, with your arm, and considering your age. This will keep you further away from the hotheads.” He looked over to Maleki without pausing. “Which you seem to be well acquainted with already, so I expect you know when to ease tensions and not escalate them. And that blade will not leave your room; you’ll need to learn how to actually use majik, and the Osmium will only stunt your growth right now. If you are this skilled without majik, I can’t imagine what you’ll be when manifesting it.”

“Sir?” Kallen asked the Arch Majister. “But I thought you said a recommendation was only good for one person. How will Maleki get in?”

“We accept many people’s requests to stay here at the academy, from those who are well accomplished or well known, sometimes both, like perhaps someone who is the head Maji for a school of blooming elites.” He smiled wisely and raised his eyebrow as if he was telling a joke that he was convincing us was funny. “And it has been a few years since I last did so. However, Maleki, do you know that the more accomplished your recommender, the more attention you’ll get from others, and you’re already at a serious disadvantage. They’ll target you heavily, and while I’m no pushover despite my age, they are younger and more agile; they will devote themselves to exposing your weaknesses. You will have to do better than you did today to stay relevant amongst them.”

“Thank you, sir, but I can handle it. We’re both ready.” Maleki moved to holster his scythe. “Arch Majister, who was your last recommendation, if I may ask?”

“My last recommendation?” The Arch Majister returned the question with his smile that furrowed his brow. “Well, it seems like you two are already acquainted. The prodigy of Aerth. The other child named by prophecy. Valour Voracle.”