Growing up, I always knew that I was one of the smartest children in my age group. When my cohort all became Classholders, then, none of us were surprised to find that I had awakened a Mage Class. After saying goodbyes to my family, I boarded the train that took me to the Academy. I did my best to suppress the small pangs of fear that shot through me, reminding myself that there was nothing to fear.

  My parents had met at the Academy, and they raised me on stories of their time there. Even though they had left a few centuries before, I could not imagine that their advice would be too out of date. And so, Enchanted travel case behind me, I entered the queue to enroll. As the first rays of dawn broke over the looming walls, it was my turn at the front of the line. I presented my parents’ letters of recommendation, and was quickly shown into the building.

  “Good morning,” I heard a voice say from the dark room ahead of me. Taking that as my cue to enter, I stepped into the void. The door behind me immediately slammed shut, and I jumped. I may have let out a small gasp, but certainly nothing which would deserve the belly rolling laughs I heard ahead of me.

  As the laughter subsided, a warm light bloomed in the space, and I saw a Mage sitting across from me. I quickly noted the badges on his sleeves, letting me know that he had served in the military before joining the Academy. Before I could look any further, though, he coughed.

  I looked up into the face of a killer.

  While I was growing up, my family hosted its share of events and parties. Nearly everyone there was from a hereditary House, with tangled webs of alliances, feuds, and marriages that kept all conversation surface level at the deepest. An off-hand comment about the color of a child’s hair could result in an honor duel, if my family was to believed. Despite the constant threat of violence, none of us Inheritors had the edge of someone who knew true violence.

  Every so often, though, a new House would be raised. Without fail, this came from the martial achievement of the new House Head. And, without fail, these new players were monsters masquerading as men and women. As I grew older, I realized that not any martial achievement was worth being raised into a House. Only some action which led to a decisive improvement in the war was worthy enough.

  There were a few Generals whose eyes held the violence of one who knowingly consigned thousands of their own to death. Those were the least monstrous of the new Heirs to the Republic. The violence they exuded was a cold and clinical thing. They did not revel in the deaths they caused, but they did not shy from them either.

  These Generals were few and far between, though. Most Generals clearly reveled in the horrors they had been able to inflict. Their violence was something far sharper; I often worried that I would be cut from nearly standing in their presence.

  Worst of all, though, were the Duelists. Even the worst General still had some thin glove between their hands and the blood they had spilled. The Duelists, however, had none of that.

  Without fail, they wore their Mantles proudly. Without fail, the Mantles had traces of the lives they had ended. None had fewer than a thousand fragments, and no fragment they displayed was below the Ninth Tier.

  Another cough, and I was jolted back into the present. This man radiated danger in a way different than any of the new Heirs I had known. It felt almost rough. Emerald green eyes boring into my own, he spoke again, “I understand that you wish to join the College of Enchantments.”

  There was nothing questioning about the statement, and so I remained quiet. Of the many lessons my parents had drilled into me, obsequiousness in the face of an unknown power was chief among them. Realizing I was still looking the Mage in the eyes, I quickly lowered them to the floor. I stood a little straighter, making sure that every fragment of my Mana was flowing the same way. This must be my entrance examination.

  “Is that correct?” he finally asked, apparently tired of trying to trap me in a faux pas. Even if the Academy was far less interested in the power plays of the greater Republic, that did not mean that there were no repercussions to what went on here. I was still the scion of House Embron. We may not have been one of the Great Families, but my great grandfather’s works were powerful enough that some of his Enchantments still stand. If I made a fool of myself here, not only would I jeopardize my chances of admission, but I would also shame my entire family.

  “Yes Magus,” I said, hating myself for letting my voice quiver. Even as we were to show utter deference, we were still to remind whoever we saw that we were Heirs ourselves.

  “Look me in the eyes, boy,” he said, voice colder than stone.

  As I looked up, I saw that the room had changed. No longer a warmly lit office, I now stood in the middle of a bare stone room. The warm lights had changed into a harsh blue, and the Magus stood.

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  “I am Dean Fux, and I will be administering your entrance exam.”

  Even without meaning to, I swallowed. I knew his name: he had made a name for himself as my parents were entering the Academy. After graduating from the Academy, he enlisted to discharge some unknown debts. The Fields of Glass can still attest to his power and skill. If he was only a newly raised Tenth Tier then, how much more deadly was he now.

  Heart racing, I forced myself to take a breath, even as his eyes drew me deeper into the depths of his spirit. Unlike the raised Heirs I had met, there was no pride attached to his violence. He was a wolf that had chained itself.

  “Demonstrate a basic knowledge of Enchanting,” he said, waving his hand.

  A hard backed desk materialized. On top of it I saw a pen and a page with some text. Apparently he was making me begin with a Theoretical examination, which my parents said was completely normal.

  The Dean, as I now knew, turned away as I took a seat. I let out a sigh of relief as he did. Even if I was used to being around those who had an incredible Pressure, that did not make it any more comfortable. It was clear that he was someone who had trained to use every one of his Statistics as a weapon.

  As my heart rate slowed, I realized that the test had begun before I even took a seat. He had been intentionally exerting Pressure. I only hoped that I had not embarrassed my Family or myself too badly.

  When the examination finished, Dean Fux suddenly smiled. All at once, he no longer seemed like a monster. Every hint of violence was gone, and he felt like the kindly grandfather that every child dreams of. As new threads of fear began to cling to my soul, he spoke. Even his voice sounded softer and warmer.

  “Congratulations and welcome to the College of Enchanting.”

  Another wave of his hand, and there was suddenly a doorway to a dormitory. I knew that this would be my home for the next years, and so walked in, head held high. After all, I had passed the examination. I was now a Student of the Academy.

  The years began to pass by as I went through the courses in my curriculum. There was no question that I would follow in my mother’s footsteps and become a Beautifer. However, that did not mean I had to be her exact copy.

  I found myself enjoying some of the theoretical parts of my studies more, only partially because of Sam. Sam was attractive, there was no denying that, and I felt a spark between us. So, maybe I did sign up for Introductory Enchanting Theory in hopes that we might become study partners.

  Or maybe lab mates.

  Or maybe, if everything went perfectly, something more. It had worked for my father, after all! As the term came to a close, my grades in that course were high enough that the Professor invited me to join the next course in the series. Even if I was still more than a little afraid of the Bearborn, I wasn’t so deaf as to miss hearing Sam’s heart start beating as Professor Bearson asked. What else could I say except yes?

  I went home for the Term Break, and found my parents shockingly supportive of my choice to study Theoretical Enchanting. My father ruffled my hair and extolled the virtues of choosing a career for love. My mother, rolling her eyes, still mentioned how expensive a new Enchantment series was to commission.

  On the first day of the term, I went to my Intermediate Theory classroom a quarter turn before it was supposed to begin to make sure I would be able to save the seat next to me. In retrospect, I needn’t have bothered getting in so early. There was only one other student in the room, and my eyes almost flew past him as I scanned the familiar lecture theater. Focusing on him, I saw a large, broad shouldered man. He gave off no Pressure, to the point that it almost felt like he had less presence than the pen he was holding. Even when I forced myself to see his clothes, they did nothing to give the man more character. He was dressed plainly, in what I thought was a poor recreation of the rural style.

  “Hello,” I said, waving to the man. He did not pay any attention, frantically scribbling away on the page in front of him. I vaguely recognized a few of the runes he was working with, but since he did not seem interested in conversation, I put him out of my mind and sat down.

  The room slowly filled up as the minutes before class began. I waved to my friends as they filed in, noting that almost everyone in the room had been in the Introductory course the term before. Other than the strange one in the back, I knew all of their names, even if I didn’t know them well enough to wave. With a minute until class was to begin, the door opened and the student I had been looking for walked in. I did my best to stifle a grin when Sam sat down next to me.

  Eyes like freshly tilled soil caught my own. “Is there any chance that I can borrow a pen? I seem to have misplaced mine”

  I rolled my eyes, reaching up and taking the pen from behind Sam’s ear. If my hand lingered there for a short moment, well, I wanted to make sure it didn’t get caught in a curl. Our brief flirtation ended with the tolling of the bell.

  “My name is Professor Bearson,” he said, and I caught a few students rolling their eyes. We all knew him, and he knew it.

  Before he began his lecture, though, I saw a new expression on his face: surprise.

  “You in the back,” he called, and we all turned. It was that strange man, who also turned around as though he didn’t know that he was sitting next to the wall. “What is your name?”

  “My name is Jeb,” he replied, voice quiet and detached. When he opened his mouth, I stopped being able to look away. A strange sort of Pressure emanated from him, as though he had only become real upon speaking, like something out of a morality story. The professor asked a few more questions of him, which only served to highlight how unbothered the Mage was. Whether it was confidence or arrogance, I couldn’t tell.

  Bearson seemed satisfied that he belonged, though, and launched into the first lecture of the term. Inwardly, I sighed. Of course he had forgotten

  When he finished the final derivation of the period, he looked up, as a formality. After all, this was the same derivation that they had gone over dozens of times the previous term. Raising my hand, I saw the question in his eyes as he called on me to answer.

  “Professor, will there be a syllabus for this class?” I asked. Sam chuckled next to me, and that made the embarrassment of calling out one of my Professors almost tolerable. Syllabi in hand, the two of us walked to the cafeteria to get an early lunch.

  I made a note to keep an eye on that “Jeb”, though.